The Boy who loved the Sun ✓

| Touch my poetry |

Silent touches to ease                                           

my painful heart ache  that I endure                       
every passing hour                                                 

As I stare at the vacant ceiling                               

at three am on a misty friday night                       

Under the soft shadow of the single lit lamp              

in my room                                                                 

all my scars are gradually healing                         

waiting for the winter sun's                                      

mild consoling                                             

soothing heat rays                                           

maybe there is an anxiety creeping ,           

feeling that I can't unfold                                                                            disguised as happy notions                                                                   accomodate in my throbbing chest  ,              

there is a strive                                                          

i think this is what those insufferable fools          

​​​​like to refer to as love 

 

Icarus closed the book . As allusive as it may seem , it was three in the morning of a friday . He had read all the poems in the book . After he was done with the concluding poem , he brushed off the unwanted moisture that had accumulated in his eyes . He looked out his open window at the densely clouded sky . Not a star in sight . The moon barely visible , past the grey shackles of the blinding aflame spectre . Icarus's rigid grip on the concrete window sill loosened as he ran his hand through his blond hair . His hair ,  a hypotonic aura of golden hue , that he had remarkably tamed . He desperately ran his right hand through it , the book in his left . He didn't know Apollo . He had never had a proper conversation with the one the book belonged to . But as he read the poetry post midnight , he was aware how much sense it made to him . He discovered why it would mean so much to him . Icarus did not know Apollo but today he knew who Apollo was , and what made him Apollo . 

The poems on each page had an intricate significance and as Icarus comprehended them , he realised the profound meaning of it in the boy's life . What was even more shocking was that he could strangely relate to it all . Some of the pages were marked in the corner , some sentences were underlines , entire paragraphs were highlighted . Icarus reread those stanzas , those lines , persistently . Every poem painted a picture in the canvas of his imagination , that drove away all doubts and delusions . Apollo felt misunderstood just like him . He shed tears and let out heartwrenching cries in dark solitudes like himself . They were so similar , yet so distinguishable . That was the night he fell in love . Nevertheless he was not supposed to know that now . 

He turned over on his stomach , in the free fall position , head buried in his pillow , hands grabbing his own neck backwards . Tears ran down his blushed cheeks . This time it was nothing like a soundless weep , he was sobbing . He was bawling his heart out , all consumed by the pillow . He screamed to make himself feel somewhat better . Guess we all have to rely on a pillow at some point in our lives . The melancholic witness of all our tragedies . 

When he looked at the clock on his table , half of it covered by the presence of the turquoise curtain , it was dawn already . Ofcourse he did not have to make an effort to see the clock for this information . The novel beams of afresh sunlight forcedly burst into his now brightly illuminated room , and the turquoise curtains had no intentions of intercepting their path . They fell directly on his face and made the tear stains from last night sparkle in their very own glowing light . Morever , Daedalus himself knocked on the door to wake up his son . Well he accidentally walked in, for the door was not exactly locked . He would have fallen on his face lest he had controlled his physical balance . Brushing the sudden scare off him , he put on a cheerful smile to camouflage the displeasure and perturbation prevailing in his heart and mind . His constant worry about his only child , Icarus . He was entrapped . Captured within the iron bars of a labyrinth holding him back . And he could not breakout unless he learnt to fly . 

Currently Icarus hardly cared about fleeing from the torment he had acquiesced for ages. All he ever wanted at this moment was to touch Apollo's poetry.

Word count : 690 words