twistedqalb

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 (28th december 2022) 
          
          hidden parks and streams like earthquakes; what has fallen, what has suffocated lustrous. burning flocks of yarned succors, thousand cuts on a black december. with darkness there is no sight, no diversity, no light; what is underneath, how much pain unseen. 
          
          spruced thunder and rain that shivers; bones of roses, salt that slivers. rainbow that crinkles and wrinkles evanescent; equinoxes that confess, odes that raucously bleed. naive dew with dragonflies of sunsets, knots consumed, blush of ashes frozen. 
          
          vivid breaths, dawn that palpitates; speckled red that glows, ocean water thickens with native noor.  a fortresses of mares and massacres; persimmons and rose quenched murderers. waist caressed with waterfalls, stories of prison; what if simple steps should be celebrated? 
          
          scarce metaphors, ignited honour; orange burns, peripheral endurance like november's. chestnut crowns, mysterious surrenders; wandering spines and vivacious respect. allow the storm to scream, to be verocious; you must remain silent, you must have it betrayed. 
           #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) 

a small token of kindness (24th November 2021) 
          
          the veteran sun holds close the magenta rage; traces of maternal spine and a shadow of the constricted girl in a woman gulped by slaughterers. raspy words and kites of innocence, demanding notes and pastel shaded envelopes; a finger slashed with extravagant remorse. the morning king wraps a shawl around the human's mind, in a fire, wherein it burns to history and earth. 
          
          upon maturation, the queen of a every knight, flickers its snowflakes over the velvet-like pride of forests and flowers, lovers and lies. many then are torn down to serenity, their skulls exposed to burning tears; the moon an acidic hue. soft parlors of stars etched upon lips of beautiful fury; muddled reflections of an anxious devil and a heart wet with faith's dewiness. 
          
          hands and fingers stuck in cold windows, in the society's concept of a prejudiced prison; wrung by the stomach and hung by the heart, flung into the air like a sea's wild swan. mouths of rain and hearts of manners, time of today and aches of tomorrow; whirled between eternity and death of every second. 
          
          realisation has dissolved into thin earth, minds now poisoned by the devil's apple. run and run while glued to the present, die and die succumbing to the gone nights in the future. vessel of brass brimming with age, bodies and souls molested by suppressed veins. 
          
          we run; we run fast with names, we run as if to catch death, as if to slaughter the days. we run as though to hold the passed breaths, the warm liquid of yesterday in our palms bare and the beats of journeys scratched into nails. we run as the sun does behind the moon,  but never once sit back against the trees of time and watch home unfold with our blood of present smiles. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (25th September 2021) 
          
          time is simply matter; a messy cluster of the multiple unions of varied zones. feather like details hang onto its existence, and its position is determined by the events that unfold like the hesitant fluttering of wings. it is the seconds that paint it special; occasionally with dust and at times with gold. 
          the sun too, shines whilst a million different combustions occur in its internal. there are events in it that seem most silly to many, but every atom that fights is aware of the battle's severity. 
          under the ocean and in its grave, there coexist life and death; competing and completing. perhaps that is the function of existence; the art of existing in the phase of non existence. 
          observe the curtain of lie in your vicinity. much of everything we do is false, it is avoidance. 
          so then, would it not be correct to say that we falsify our actions until the curtain is lifted and death greets us with a handshake?
          what can be done then; even if you were the richest and the bravest, the wisest and the kindest? 
          in this merry-go-round of life, all you need is a bit of faith in yourself. the ride goes on, the music too, but if you do not know who you are or what you are made of, the ride- despite being a source of serenity- will inflict upon you memories of devastation. 
          innumerable pieces are acidic and misfits we tell, but what if i said it is the other way around? 
          therefore i advise you, that when these pieces poke you again, do not think a thing and let them do so until they become a part of you. 
          messy is not entirely bad, because some masterpieces are born from it. 
           #adropofhumanity 

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