just keep writing,
as if holes are dug
to be planted with what you can offer
without knowing if it will grow outside of chanced rain and Sun.
look at my blood flowers, because I write with a serene sharp blade that soothes. as much as cuts into the deepest parts of my soul
Me
- Basit
- Son, Mallu, Expeditionist, Whimsical Blogger, Pseudo Poet, Haiku thirst, Literaly anti-literal, Foodie, Coffee & PinkFloyd addict. floating bewilderedly through space-time continuum !
Popular Posts
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This is a routine lament. Colors are dear, these days. Yellow flowers wilt into brown silence; voices fade, there is nothing more to be said...
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frosty morning / flock of starlings / twisting in the wind.
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We live between the spaces of promises, in broken tea cups and shattered mornings. then new vows soak up spilled words until we fall again.
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Even dead fallen leaves go a long way with the wind before getting crushed.
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mad poetry,willful gravity and animal magnetism, bone-caging desire. I seek every why, while open mouthing the rain and the dead light of st...
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* To fall in love. * To laugh until it hurts your stomach. * To find mails by the thousands when you return from a vacation. * To go for a v...
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my mind, poached its yolk spilling out into a void; past mirrored hallways, grey reflections of words are chained to my tongue
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Paintbrush in water fascinates me sometimes more than colors as it's the state where imagination actually decides the destiny of the can...
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wrapping my whispers around your silence.
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Twisted tears // run jaggedly // down my face // crooking their way // into my heart//
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