honeywater

a small token of kindness (19th October 2021) 
          
          the sun's process of maturation and migration has always been difficult; not like the epiphanic heavens and the robust boosts of courage, but quite like the sinking of a soul and the sulking of embers. the night is petrifying; where the sun dies and takes the fire as its home. 
          
          the moon too walks down the pavement of bullets; stars shaped into wounds and scars disguised as vultures of feelings. wild tress with their dying ink, stencils with burning blankets, yesterday a blinding king, the wrath of the scorching bliss. 
          
          desire be forgotten yet the blazing will to live is enough of a reason to suffer torture, to pass down the crowded bridges. some scenes remain, the panoramic panic enslaving the fractions. the enchanted memories of the human mind, they are but clothes of numb ribs that have escaped unscathed. they belong to the mind, like the winds of ruse dressed as a longing friend. 
          
          the actions of the past never were buried, never did they meet their ends. no fire had mercy on them, no decay initiated. where then can the being of no mass be abandoned except within the skies and the oceans? 
          
          therefore, watch the sun closely and the moon even more. the sun burns with reminders and the moon cools with an unveiling crimson. the memories are but the blood and sweat of your heart; they recognise you like the dreams that frame you alive in the sky. like the bits of yourself you had to sacrifice inorder to hold onto the edge of life. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (18th October 2021) 
          
          there is an archaic beginning in the deliberate little steps of the sun, like the movement of a camel from one step to another. the depth in each mark, the carving in every little slip is a ruffled wish undefined; a sip of rich heritage left behind. 
          
          the dull bending of the sky's canvas to the inclusion of oily night is as the bone of the Himalayan breeze; coldly mild. where there are brushes of the night, there are strokes of the least seen, the less lovable. in the deceased there are dried tulips; loam dancing to its petals, the pink quartz of a breath stolen like a butterfly wing hanging to its stem. 
          
          in everything around, the forest and the sandstorms, the foam of the fresh loops around the birds of yellow; the cast of their hearts clutched in between fingers. the mute dragonflies and the lacey poetry are matted with the seeds of dates; fragility masked with melancholic sweetness. 
          
          vulnerabilities sync with the centenerian nibs of pens and tears shrink in the graceful snowballs. i deeply cerebrate, why must we feel disconnected with ourselves? the sun and the sky, the moon and the fog, are they not spectacular within themselves? or are they too forgotten ink abandoned like the veins inside our wrists? 
          
          there is beauty in the sky, there is only one of it. there is a well behind the surface that blurs the eye. the sky represents to you its stars and its storms alike to show that hurricanes and veins go side by side. it is haunted by itself and you by who you appear. 
          
          if you are left within yourself, then perhaps, like the sun's rays upon the ocean waves, you need to be kept preserved in a bottle of roses; in a mirror filled with honeydew kisses. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (17th October 2021) 
          
          the flamboyant song of the sun's gentle hues are a kiss that rot the tender feathers of the earth; superficially impenetrable. the stain remains, the event and the great effect does, but not care, not love. 
          
          it suffers in its state of loving; being beaten black and blue for affection offered without a reason. ache is an envelope of lavender; it reminds of the good that was not pronounced enough. it sinks into the flesh, and tugs at the scars, creating a home scented with hope. 
          
          it has witnessed with delight the freedom tasted by imprisoned lives; the smiles and the lilies white. the mistress of the oaks and the half awake sunrises. the dull rainbows and the sulken collarbones. the grief stricken mind and orchids of sea foam deaths. 
          
          everything has a livid mystery within; a sweet soul with an injured mouth. beauty is in the present, and once lost, it becomes brutal; a feed for the monsters of the past. 
          
          perhaps that explains the restlessness of the sun; present both in the sky and on the earth at once. if too close, intimate by touch, love fades away, flies away like depressed dust. therefore it remains distant, as far away as it can be. to prevent rusting, by staying forever. 
          
          the sun is your lost light preserved for your future darkness; a place you moulded unknowingly to support your bones when they grow devastatingly frail. 
          
          love is divine, it breaks you like the heavens between the sky. it needs must to pull you out from yourself. after which the sun remains, from afar, with its light and rays, to protect you like the conches underneath the sea.
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (16th October 2021) 
          
          when the cocoa stained pearls of dust accumulate within the shadows of the dispersed light, there is affection that is shared to a blinded bird; one that flies with hope damaged. much of childhood slips like a ride that operates for a few minutes before the seizure of time proves its end. 
          
          the sun is a candle of aromatherapy; one that ignites with a light deeply immersed in permanent fantasies. however, it suffers for days on end, where one task becomes an ocean's worth of burden. like a soft whisper its shine whimpers.
          
          the floor of the ocean is marbled with marks of fraught slashes; of those who wished to soar the skies. we all love from within a pit, a largely discriminated mass of lonely land beneath the tricky nights. the suffocation is dainty. it is a personal battle like that of the heart with the mind's plots; a painter of sorcery. 
          
          to love when the moon is shiny, is a task of the foreigners; of those who are unaware of the best. to love it when it is darker and has lost itself to the sky, is of those who are the drinkers of poison; of the world with its needles.
          
          was love ever a thing of physical reliance? why would then autumn be loved and winter be cherished? yet a little too much of the sun and hate pours out of us. an extra dash of the salt of the ocean waves and we choose to corrupt the shores.
          
          not once does it cross our mind, that the very ground we live on loves us to the point of providing us a place while we breathe and honour when we die by masking us in itself? 
          
          therefore, be enduring, be a bit like the blue in you. where there are flaws, cover them with your smile. after all, is that not a gift for your flesh to seek comfort in?
          
          if the ocean and the sky and your body have inevitable blue, perhaps it is so that you are destined to be imperfectly moulded into each other; to smile with one another, to be of the forever. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (15th October 2021) 
          
          the sun's blares are collected tears of September; the kind that struggle through the dried bricks of the dewy earth to make it to the other end. everything remains still, breath halting within the throat. the echo of the obscure souvenir clear, better as a home; distant and of a methodology unhonoured. 
          
          one desperately hopes to meet eyes with it, to watch it with such a force that the brightness of it dissipates into the proses of the towns. to attach it, hold it with the bones until the deathly white is brought to being by the vibrant yellow. 
          
          but the sun; a wanderer of curiosity, an article of virtu, slips past the hand attempting to pull it out from the water and never once let's be seen. with naked eye, with the heart undressed. one must choose a veil, a chaste form of meeting, inorder to probe a shade of it. 
          
          however what if i were to pen down that the sun merely is conscience-stricken and fights shy of meeting any eye just as the moon and the sea? the one that provides light for foggy lives and energy to our greens, dreads to meet any gaze. 
          
          hence, the mantilla of fire is adorned to keep the prying hands off. so ashamed is it that to be burnt and be burning was sought to be the better peel. 
          
          imperfection is unavoidable. where there is life, there are flaws. and where there is a heart, there is a mind. the best cannot exist with the balance of the worst. one does not stop loving the sun for the reason of the existence of its shawl of unacceptance. 
          
          therefore show it to the sun; bear your wounds and insecurities like the clouds and the rain. for it is a fact that even the wise need to be advised. and perhaps with time, it shall unveil itself to you; kill the light and become a disassembled mess. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (14th October 2021) 
          
          prevalent is the sky in its glory, high upon the stairs of the universe, mingling with the lost dynasties. it births a melodious synchronization of the fallen twigs and the beaten stars, all that choose to ultimately melt into a silent piano; one that swings into lyrics upon touch by a heart that aches with its longings. 
          
          peace be upon the tainted sky, that swells within itself to keep protected what fantasies it witnesses beneath. how many a soul has it watched cling to the bark, with screams of agony, and not be able to reach its words out and has yet remained the brightest. 
          
          many waves have embraced the shore, many have hidden the tears underneath. have you witnessed the creatures there? they have drowned in their own miseries. lanterns of glass they carry around, wound in hope that a ground shall surface soon devoid of the pieces of their dried cages. 
          
          in this circle; a vicious battle of the beginning with the end, we shall overlap. we shall shake hands with what could be home and lose it like the passing of a breath. and we will continue down upon our paths; the touch of our places tingling in our palms. 
          
          the world is filled with travellers; some that walk as you and i and the others that swim among the Virgo and the Cetus. we have settled partially upon surfaces, but every moment we exist, we are aware of our homes being nothing but air.
          
          like the sun and the moon, we die because we find no homes. then perhaps it would be best to say that it is no wonder we look up to the sky and the moon, longing for them, just as they do, hoping to find a sharer, of tears and of a joyous home. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (13th October 2021) 
          
          in eternity, where the clouds have submerged within museums of misery, perhaps shall we find a blossom of ours stuck under the piles of howling prayers. there the sun would be no less than a saucer; a large yet miniscule form of torture, blood dried in its dirt coated fingers. its lost factors oozing out tear- strained, glass-held colours of melancholy. 
          
          we carry the sun a little each day, and we roar of its greatness, of its architecture and its rays that tastes similar to death. you have viewed it in a manner soothing to your mind, and others to theirs. how many suns have we in this process made? 
          
          and how many of these shall perish once we do? you can narrate, you can allow the world a touch of your dream, but what more would they be aware of than just a snap of the rushing moment? the sun you had known in your way, shall ultimately perish with you.
          
          we carry until we become the carriers. the sun too shall mingle its rays for a last moment with some human perhaps too proud to engage with it. and just as simply, the world shall collapse with not a soul who will be aware of all the bounties; all the flowers with their inks, the rose thorn pricks, the ticklish butterflies on summer noses, drops of salt stained ocean fishes, the calloused experiments between the crevices of fingers and the tragedy of the rituals of the wooden empires.
          
          we will die inevitably, death cleans life. but while we are alive, must we not create memories unique to our eyes? keep a part of each subject in you. death was never a matter of loneliness. it has always been about keeping the right forms of every thing witnessed within you; prevented from decay and protected till infinity. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          

a small token of kindness (12th October 2021)
          
          the sun has existed for centuries, without a trace anywhere. it springs a little and hibernates within itself; its presence a petal that delicately falls to demise after an hour of existence. it cuts through the emptiness, warms the dead a bit, guides the void and sets into the womb of the horizon.
          
          the moon begins its course as a mighty surfer like damask tides that tear through the ocean to gnaw at the sky. lack of ululation and of illumination, lack of cumulation and of guidance and lack of a positive environment everywhere. yet it sparks for a while, with a colour of childhood and sinks then, into the rebellion of painted growth. 
          
          everything has its time. everything has its sin of end. when one thing starts, it pours itself down the waterfall of death. the flowers take birth in the spaces of toes and in the dirtied heart of indulgence, they seem to rot. 
          
          like the tongue of the devil and the forbidden sea, we humans have lost our hearts to our abdomens. greed has taken form in us like the wicked apple in darjeeling, our senses lost to the suave-like bodies of stained ink. 
          
          our eyes have occupied monsters within them. what we see, we must destroy with our stomachs. not every availability is to be eaten, some just are for instilling caution. cling to your claws of curiosity, for they are a flaw shaped as paradise. but to test them through every breath of innocence; are we flesh or are we then nothing but wolves in pearled form of humans? 
          
          life perhaps is mostly lost for the very reason that we choose to feed upon it when infact, it should be merely caressed with soft fingertips. 
          
          the oceans waves are only for adoration. do not mistake them to be an invitation into their privacy. you may be a human, the best of creatures, but to the ocean that has existed forever, you might only be the salt to its openness; a knife to its bleeding secrets. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          

a small token of kindness (11th October 2021)
          
          the sun we often admire is a dream of late October- that which is available to iron caged eyes and a heart drenched in coffee like brown sidewalks. is it reality or a winter kissed dream drawn bit by bit into hearts to keep them from rotting? 
          
          and the moon knows the silence of the loud clearer than the ocean's buried lies. it has not lived centuries only to be deceived by spells of the transients. even though the whispers of the dark are similar to the velvet of a breath too lost, the sun's shine always burned an octave higher. 
          
          when the forest speaks, the time like an ancient city forgets its name; its splendour and its trembles. it abandons its identity and sinks into the sand of seconds. it stays, but it is what is lost. for once, it the one who goes missing into the fields. 
          
          time only watches, observes and bears; it has no power to move away. no matter the severity, it stares blankly. it is lonely, it falls apart and cannot keep any of the seasons to itself. 
          
          and perhaps that gives it all the more reason to carry reminders in its empty socket. there is solace in dropping to the knees before destruction, but the consequences are heavy like a rainbow that has lost its wings. 
          
          let it make space, let it sit by your side and dig into your soul. let it sing to you your flaws, and associate them with the doomed decisions made by ones of the past. 
          
          only it knows secrets, those that cannot be carried even down the slipperiest of roads. if it chooses to pluck your flowers away, one by one, then let it. if it tells you the stories of the destroyed, then pay attention. 
          
          not all good things mean well, like the sun in distress. your own flowers can be poisonous for you, like the time that let's history repeat itself. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          

a small token of kindness (10th October 2021) 
          
          the sun has its own universe, one that it conceals in its branches of fame. it spits glory and brushes it around tenderly, like a burnt paper that grew to love the fire. but never puts the same to its own use; like the world that has too much ocean blue. 
          
          the moon, although dark with melody, holds a tiny saucer underneath its body, to collect its memories and hand it over to the winds. it has not much to give, but has surpassed the non living, like the dried autumn leaves dancing with the sky.
          
          the ocean waves are powerless like honey; drenched in jasmine stained dawn and bothered by the dew strings of playful silver stones. who lays underneath is but a small girl, with a heart as naive as December. she is a form of clarity that is lined by blurriness and her hair disguised as the waves that consume her.
          
          why do they protect their depth; the face of evolution, from the hands of mortals? and why have we never never been able to go beyond their black scarred gloss?
          
          it is a malady; a fabricated future destiny. one is shaken awake or perhaps slapped back to life, to return to being physically lost. it is best to be here and somewhere else too. do you trust this can be done in death? 
          
          oh to feel, to bite down the soil until the stories leak through, what a transgressing form of desire. we ask for magic, speak of its existence, but hardly move the heart from the laws to the dying cactus.
          
          magic lives in a place unreachable. it is in people who think the deepest and dive into the dark with no fear. like the sun that does not think before exploring the earth. and the moon that sinks in the farthest burrows. 
          
          to comprehend magic, one must be able to feel the deepest. the sun and the ocean need to be eaten. 
           #adropofhumanity