S O W M Y A

a small token of kindness ( 21st january 2023 ) 
          
          bruised october, champagne bread; weeping permissions and tightened braids. a mother of brass, windows of pages; ebbs of midnight, divided miseries. 
          
          copper sprain, malachite oxygen; birds of meetings, broken silences. venn of the woods, the wind and the windpipe; foreign vowels, submerged wrinkles. wet crayons, scents of blue; crisp metaphors and pigeon hues. 
          
          palms of desserts, midnight sober; fire that slips, a womb of sonnets. lemonade poems, an annihilating waist; casual grave, a whisper of conclusions. a poet of confessions, a sky of sin; sacred rain, storm antique. 
          
          blurry opals and cigarette soliloquies; swaying septum and a bouquet of tattood ribs. spine of butter, vinegar patio; breastbone shelter, cronus love. white doorstep, a welcome ghost; trees forget leaves, winter shrinks bones. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token token kindness (01st january 2023)  
          
          steadfast sunsets, crooked mornings; lake a crowd of gleaming mournings. lyrics that burn, bones hopeless; tongue of wind, it rarely stays. a future of magma, temple and cityscape; humans among humans, a home bereft. 
          
          a birth that bleeds, a firmament of fleeting wisps; feet smelling of earth, lips a facade, what we appreciate. filigree like rain, a blush of darker reign; summer distorted, desert a burning lace. panaroma of a kaleidoscope, a bard like grackle; pits of doubt and a park of frission. 
          
          jardin de tuileries, seeds of breezes; memory endearments and waves of freedom. satin scents, devoted petals; barricaded branches and canvas of dripping enchantments. convivial music, lily trenchants; reflective denouements, fulgent waterfalls of wisterias. 
          
          violent fears, chalices of secrets; numbing encouragements,  frosted vanilla. oscillating mountains, cloved cessations; tainted vicolos, bricks of dried redolences. parasols of petrichor, labyrinth of moonflowers; tower of desire, rose precipices. keep a smile, with flowers divine; they grow not on well made roads but through the rough womb of mother earth. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (07th november 2022) 
          
          patterns on palms and paws, warriors of lost tears; smears and sunlight immersed in veins; water and wax, both who prick sins. mind the bashful door, the silhouettes of skins unfurnished; freedom is only if the streets are not crowded with regret. 
          
          ports of integrity and boats of grace; rain a moon that reverberates, a storm and wings with their own mind. condemn the sky and its fingers of silver syllables; what cannot hold blood can only ever be vacant. 
          
          secure the horizon, wash the world with ancient rhymes; hang the throat by its heart. song of canaries, struggling cabarets; they say nature is weak where footprints are dense. here is the hand, the hand of reckoning; sometimes stalwart beneath abyss. 
          
          tides crash into limbs, limbs of salt and tsunamis; hope dragged in a slipstream, gratitude weather worn, vehement. find me in seas and mysteries; lock your eyes with the breathless cerulean. be it silly or be it the law; do not water a thorn hoping it will grow as a rose. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (5th november 2022) 
          
          mouth of honesty, bloody honey; ravenous sobriquets, transparent metaphors. panting edicts, divine passages; unambiguous gravity, chaotic muscles. summer hunger, fermenting sun; mullein breaths, fervent dust. metamorphic roads, joyous courage; naked rage and newborn remembrance. 
          
          exuberant mountains, icy bees; conformed pollen, eclipsed wins. clavicle roots, burning prayers; mediocre comfort, hopeful sorrows. web of confidants, shadows of the known; gentle croaks, hesitant murders. mind a wild animal, a forest caged; auroras and sacrifices, reminiscent repercussions. 
          
          bodies of petunias, breathing skins; blood of stories, water of prison. white cotton whispers, kind demons; alchemy of weaknesses, battling questions. sacred dignity, waves of hormones; rituals of october, bargaining autumn. drop by drop, zest of oranges. 
          
          esprit of mother's milk, primal daughters; lust of earth, a shadow pure. work into exhaustion, round the clock and round the ; there is half of hope alive, half of flesh left to strain. cold is the night, still and mellow; cold is the sun that has wrung itself yellow. perhaps the moon curses its cries, hides in lone pain and white sky, for then it is rarely rejected; unlike storms. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (09th june 2022) 
          
          mourning shades, earth a rustic moon; candle soldiers, sunset roars. glass of wind, a sea that chimes; struggling lungs, alveoli of pride. circles sacred, birds and barks; persistent melodies, life a screaming scar. half of ourselves, half of earth; skeptical rules and societal lusts. 
          
          summer lightning and thunderous rainbows, yesterday's reflection in today's waters. blooming trains and grieving whistles; gravity a fork, humans fixated. ripening fruit like a sturdy kettle, boiling season as a cloudless friend. 
          
          birds of the night, mediterranean lungs; lace of glory, air a crochet undone. toes of rhythm, seventh sense; sweetness of earth's roots, pears engraved as tendrils in veins. brightness of fog, of a breath fuzzy; life in the woman's womb, a universe- like history. life blurry, a home of shadows; night, death and the womb, bringers of awakeness. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          
          (do not fear the dark; we came from it, we came from wombs) 

Hello My lovelies
          
          Happy New Year to all of you. May this New Year bring joy and love to you all. I have decided to bring consistent updates for Broken Hearts and Shield of Silver. Comment which book you what an update on first 
          
          Muahh 
                  Sowmya 

Finally published the first chapter of Shield of Silver, check it out hope you like it!
          
          Love 
          Sowmya 

a small token of kindness (25th November 2021) 
          
          fangs of fortitude unmask themselves from the rays of the sun and buckle in tenderly to a musty memoir. maternity remains, in most of its stages, within the sky's blends; like soft lather from a coffee's gaze. what is meant to be forgotten sticks around in the climate of the mind, as though music from piano's striking stars. 
          
          watch and catch, hold and explore, what the jewels of the night sing as a prose; as a reminder of its stretched solitude, from one bit of its existence to the rest; marks of slippery injury and sweat upon its body. much it begs for, dark after dark, in trillium twilights, in coffee-lit sunsets, in flickering frostbites and mourning mangroves. 
          
          in the obliterated shores of the abandoned seas, of the golden sand marked with diabolical tongues of caramels, there are present gleams of faded beginnings and unstrained marks of life's plannings. unbearably beautiful it is; they hold onto the fury of the waves and wishes the sea goodbye. 
          
          things that can lure the air into desolation, by their side and beside their gaping heart, are those black with loneliness. cradle the pink veins of the foetus with the thick knot of the placenta around it; a momentary connection between life and its second form. it is alone there, the new heart, in its own pool of sorrows. 
          
          every so often, it is apparent and seen, the mind making connections with several violins; and the foetus an instrument rare to hold. many a beats a heart uses, but none can it find close enough to even see. prettiness is a state of solitude; like a cloud of beauty but nothing to rely upon. and the stars that hang all night without a bed to toss upon. 
          
          mind is easy to befriend, like a balm of butter. it is the heart that is blackened with solitude, a universe mistaken as an enemy's ground. 
           #adropofhumanity 

Hello my lovelies
          
          Happy Thanksgiving break to you all!
          
          I'm sorry for being MIA all this time. But was caught up with my college and activities. Thank you guys for being so patient with me. I promise to update Broken Hearts within this week only. 
          
          Love you 
          S.

a small token of kindness (8th November 2021) 
          
          the clock of russet leaves and almond wings rouses the sun with a flick of pumpkin coffee; a race with the futuristic tragedies and constellations of adulterated secrets. what lives in it, a cage. and a pair of weeping hands that struggle to shroud the prisoner with a silken petunia. 
          
          and in the nights, the moon scrambles through the fisted stars; the mesh a séance of the gemmed fascinations. what appears is but a nonchalant melancholy, an ivory girl dressing the dark with its daisy's crescent. however, what does not meet the swallowed orb is the scene under the nose; only the tip of the ice berg. 
          
          within the vacancies of the oceans is a void of the laid laws; of the buried losses and alive tongues. what is reciprocation, what is history, but a repetition of the molded lie, of a flower set in Iguazu's mouth; the one that is drowned each day, every year, under the sparrow's sea. what is present is a pulchritudinous loss, clothed as freshly plucked darkness; held in a mother-like womb. 
          
          royale roses and blood baskets are a testament of the sky's shoulders and the heart of a human a casket of moon freckles, guarded in red vessels. how does this organ then be a coast of calm? why does the rib hold it at a knife's point? 
          
          the heart seeks what defies gravity, the luminous sin from a frosted envelope. it is not dirt that settles, rather a flamingo that grazes the pebbled waters. hold it, mold it, like the sky that shapes the sun and conceals the moon. perhaps that is what the aim is after all; to break the singular mass in you and reform it into the shape of universe. 
          
          for you are just half a heart, incompletely constructed. like the sun and the stars that are half of the skies and half of you. 
           #adropofhumanity