~•~
Just the Polaroids and memories,
Fills up the empty space.
Visuals in a bokeh at places,
Behind those sunlight traces
dust of bygone ages.
The blurred trees,
Sing melodies,
Of etched time-long gone.
The soft hues,
Of heaven's blues,
And the caressing wind braces.
The silent whisper,
Of the hanging vesper,
And the monotonous warmth
Protrudes an awful charm,
Amidst this ethereal beauty
Of rain.
The hazy glitches,
The smouldered peaches
Upon the smeary skin
Is akin
To scratches, set upon
By the slithering moon beam.
The light faces,
Dawned upon transparent pages
Of the rain stricken window.
It's dark, Its gray,
Laid down to rot and stay.
And amidst the tenebrous dark night
myself lay,
Reflecting upon the meadow.
~•~
YOU ARE READING
Serenade✔
Poetry"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. " ~Oscar Wilde __________________________________ ✔You stay under the carpet of my room, Dusting the corners of my soul✔ __________________________________...
