Awaking From Stupor
When the enchanted
jailors of life,
siezed my soul
and those
sepals unfurling
manipulative
manuscripts
ceased to
script a twinkle
above screams,
I became a
slave to my
own silence,
chained by
granite wings of
masked butterflies,
who have been
bewitched by
the first rays of the
maleficent moon.
Kneeling as
an effigy of
failure, in front
of the Dark Emperor,
I never realised
that those
depressive
tunes of the
broken piano
have carved
a caged victim
within me~
and perhaps,
the chord of
crimson chronicles
was cut too soon.
Chastised by a
lonesome vista,
I've arched myself,
along those
lunar ruins
of misty melancholy.
But, in the
cavernous caves,
this heart of lead,
bearing guns,
has searched for
its essence and
reminisced how
it has always
been a carnival
of acrylic lanterns,
wherein flamingo
flames flicker,
scented with
peony lifelines.
Muted by an
ivory irony,
when karma
crowned me
as a renowned
culprit of my own
desperate
desolation,
I've realised
how the sun was
sabotaged within
my hazy pulsations~
for, somewhere,
I chained
the harbinger
of my own
egyptian dawn,
with eagle rays
of ravenous reigns.
Perhaps, one day,
the tryst of
torment shall
be broken,
as the destiny
will bleed
in a revolution
of truths,
midst rising of a
'Marionette of miracles'
singing in her
spiritual awakening,
and swinging
upon ruby ribbons
of a magnificent mantra,
echoing ~
"Dear Lord, bestow mercy in misery,
purity in plight,
love in lachrymose tears,
and hope in hateful sighs... "
As I'll float on colourless pages,
like the last drop of divine ink,
nevermore, clinging to grief
and stifling the spirit,
rather, enlivening the silence
that shall adhere feathers of liberty,
to my winged heartbeats.
'Timeless Trinity'
breathes in me,
harnessing healing
through textures
of poetry,
encompassing
myriad secrets,
as I search
for my sunrise
within icy halos
of the third eye.
For, seeds of
rage can never
reep rainbows
amidst a
watercolor halcyon
of fleeting faith.
"Tie my soul to a kite and
stare me soar
across the skies,
as I kiss that fiery orange star,
spreading honeysuckle furs
upon lavish lawns,
'Oh, but don't
break the string
too soon - darling, breeze!'
And there, I float like
the last fickle leaf
lost in a soothing lull,
where lethal lilacs
no longer mourn in the
misery of murdered mirth..."
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2024
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