Art

From silent poetry to screaming voice of art
I have met people, creative from the heart.

They tried to teach structure and rhythm but who they are to decide what we are?
I have seen pioneers of colours
and words – the weapons which give scars and help the world win wars.

From Van Gogh to Franz Kafka
all the names make me want to paint stars,
Sometimes I resonate with Rupi Kaur’s wolves but my heart is trapped in Sylvia’s “The Bell Jar” .

~🧜

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Pockets full of Cosmos.

Those honey coated eyes
were the “okay.” to every “okay?”
I used to throw,
when sheets used to haunt me
In search of rhythm,
to him I used to go.

The one
named after my favourite colour
In his smile
I used to see the rainbow,
Every mountain was his own
and every stream
he used to know.

His poetry
were the narrow roads
and wide sea used to
inspire him the most,
For they said he carried galaxies
within his eyes
had pockets full of cosmos.

~🧜

Brave

Like clouds and rain
we are supposed to let go pain.
It’s said not to dwell on past
but does mind ever stop?
They command you to
walk on betrayal
then talk about hope.
I know you’re running
out of patience and
have been there myself,
I too am
tired of hearing
songs of disguised elf.
You must be brave though
breathing after blood and war,
You have left flesh
and became poetry
I am proud of you
for coming this far.

~🧜🏻‍♀

Poetry on my skin.

Proud on
shallow connections,
You thrive to earn,
All this fake affection,
Can’t be a good turn.

You ask me to fly,
But I don’t want wings,
My aim is already high,
I don’t need your things.

Your energy
revolves around the greed,
My strength
floats within trees.
Stop suggesting me to read,
I don’t want your aura,
please.

You want me to dive in sea,
I don’t care
about virtue or sin.
Oh dear!
You can’t tame me,
It’s poetry,
written on my skin.