Heart Of Ice
"Timeless trust,
trapped in Selene's pendant,
pulsates purity and faith
across cosmic threads,
when furry hues tiptoe,
upon freezing auroras
and saplings of healing,
surrender their silence
to aging darkness..."
As ebony dew
ensnares beyond
roseate rains
and drizzles like
honey in dandelion
mists, sprinkling haze,
across those
spruce tributaries of
pristine pines,
I crawl with a
cape of snow,
beneath pearly
phases of precipice,
in the satin
embrace of the
'Winter Queen'.
Playing with
weeds and thorns,
my wanderlust
amidst intuitions,
clasps hope
beyond these
fickling echoes
of misty hourglass.
During this
solstice,
I ride upon my
diamond broomstick,
surfing across
oceanic horizons,
and hiding
beneath those
creamy folds of
chiffon clouds,
that curtain
fated conclusions
of my cynical
confusions.
Destiny has
forever whirled
fortune in an
unfathomable
wheel of
mysterious
merry-go-rounds,
wherein, sterling
faith streaks
lightning, brewing
solar storms
in the cauldron
of life and I
whisper those
polar hymns
of fragranced fog,
splattered as
blue lipstick
stains along
slaty dawns.
Slaying galactic
goblins with my
sword of icicles,
I have knitted
elegant eclipses,
from the avalanche
of hydrangea ashes,
flowing across
estuaries of wine
tulips towards
those gothic vaults,
that bleed in
white chocolate
hurricanes of
hunted heartbeats.
Maybe,
I'm a forsaken prayer,
that escapes
humble lips and
melts upon
hateful hailstones,
strolling in brisks,
slumbering within
bohemian valleys,
that veil their
essence in
insightful
vanilla rays.
Or perhaps, I'm
a silent tear,
oozing from
soft crackles
within this haunted
'Heart of Ice',
throbbing with
solemn sagas
in the arctic breaths
of Himalayan lilies.
As I cradle
seas of skies
in my palms and
stretch my fingers,
dipped in golden
warmth of the
hibernated sun,
invisible to my
naive eyes,
I ponder, will
this frost-flake
evermore unfurl
as an elite ode
of dark fantasy?
Can the aching
of my infernal skin,
ever be soothed
by inhaling those
myrrh scents
of the first spring?
So, when the
'Goddess of Spirit' sighs,
in an oath knitted
upon oaks of
glacial infatuation,
my frozen nirvana quivers,
and I seek to
steal solace,
that shall baptise my
bronze conscience,
with the star-spun
aura of divinity.
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2024
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