Dorian Gray

you're so hot

a small token of kindness (25th October 2021) 
          
          when the light strikes the earth, like the anthem of fisted floral bows, the world swing itself with the honeysuckles; a place to find a precious breath of garnet breath and an escape from the remorse of the passing tune.
          
          a hopeless mind carves into a sector of amulet-carved sun; where the crimson feet walk with the ocean's tremor. what one finds is nothing but a reminiscent reflection of the steps of the hollowed hearts; a war that had gifted salted delirium and cursed shells of optimistic odes. 
          
          what was deemed impossible by destiny's copper shined organs shall never find an acceptance like the honeyed- colossal raging ribs; a power in the chest, in the crest, like a phantomic barrier. 
          
          but has the world ever bent to rules? what are those sweet asylums to the ones who have drowned to abyss; to the Queen Anne's lace? it has summoned and bowed to night's thicketed crescents. it has pocketed the bones and preserved them in sweet alyssum. the more the earth has fled, the better it has bloomed. 
          
          the sun wanders; claiming the nights and what it holds. cauldron collapses; it is now a being of charmed control. what it cannot brace with its thirty touch, it sanctions with its stretched sobriety. the dagger draws itself against the mother- cloaked soil, spilling the shadows and the shades of the indigo ghosts before it reaches the night in the pearls. 
          
          albeit through a lustre of waves, the sun collapses within the moon's reflection; fever of a longing meet causing a platonic ripple.
          
          nothing quite is impossible. what you wish for can be achieved, whether it be catastrophic magic or fierce tempest of the confederate roses. let your veins run recklessly through the woods. many a life and many a dream have been saved by gracing death like a woodbine's peck; like the sun that closes upon death with the light of Aster. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (21st October 2021) 
          
          in the extinct field of companionship, the sun lingers closer towards its dry veins, in the intense kicks of homesickness. contaminated laws and deserted rules wrap around the resident fear; suffocation pressing down upon the disquiet throat. 
          
          where there is solitude, there is loneliness; and an escape from the poisoned apple is only but a bite of it. the sky swallows the consciousness, the screaming prevalent of the moon, of the crying of its bare existence. the well stares at the violent emotion, the enchantment of life, far from itself, into the horizon. 
          
          as children, as innocent droplets of rainfall, all they sweetly devour is the fall; the drop, the crash. the aura of the water glazed grass, the poetry of the winter dressed maiden, the sorrows of the nightingales' tale, the quivering of the sea kelps running dry. to them, like the pleasant alphabets of letters, life is only beautiful, no matter how many clouds form. 
          
          then, one ponders, what changes as we grow? all world becomes is a harbour of endless crucifixion. with that in mind, the sun has been straining itself for generations, glowing and glowing. has it not suffered the negativity? why has it remained fixed like a cemetery? 
          
          life is incredibly dark; like winter has struck for an eternity. however, does winter not have warm mugs of coffee and chestnut lollies? stretched hours and rivers of snowflake crystals? dampened cheeks and swollen tulips?
          
          there is beauty everywhere to an eye that searches. like the child that digs through the surface with fingers ageless. and the sun that peeks through the alleys of ghosted towns.
          
          have you lost yourself in the wound, gaping and huge? allow the sun, the warrior, to breathe into you soft precautions. allow it to fold the wound into a gleaming sunset, like the one it makes with the sky. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (20th October 2021) 
          
          the sun is a creature of the resurrected sea; of the winds that had their voices surrendered to the chrysanthemum wings. the jasmines of the lost dictionaries like unbelievers from the stories of the Holy books. the clear distinction of the heirs from the poignant misadventures; a thread of moist victory. 
          
          and the moon is but a maiden of the bedouins, fueled with marbled rain. it appears as it wishes, in cracked promises of blue or in snowballed dates of palms. in it, everything of life is appreciated. the spikes of deserts and the ugliness of the doves of the soil. but in the cold, in its weather, there is no renaissance. it neglects the one who suffers from the ice; their cries deaf to its crooked smile. 
          
          the night swallows the moon, like the earth bones of the survivors. the sun manages to flip within the dusky sky and retain its tenderness, its colour. roads can be hauled away like tides, and emotions can be wrung about starlight. 
          
          the world is a mesh, one that filters through every ache. if you wish to survive, burn in yourself, light the moon up for fire. the sun lives because it burns passionately, no truce allowed. to live, one must be of the dying, if not the dead. 
          
          therefore the sun sinks into your horizon dripping with vermillion shadows, carves dreams from the dead stones and travels into your mind like the greasy marmalade stuck in your throat. 
          
          gather yourself and burn. the world fears the fire and the dying breath; like the branches that cover the sky after the sun. maintain the balance, burn and glow just as the sun. and ignite your darkness with the ashes, just like moon that reflects in your blood. 
           #adropofhumanity 

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