Regrets Of The Raspberry Moon
When cyan night's
raspberry moon
is dipped in softness
of the afterglows,
I gaze at that glossy
first evening star between
creamy fingers of
my cherry palm,
which trace lunar kins -
those angelic fireflies,
twinkling and pirouetting,
like a golden blush ~
serenading in
lucid flames of
lustrous patience.
With comets
reverberating
in my wish, I stole
the milky way and
let my hopes
slide down those
creamy clusters
of cosmos.
But, I still reminisce
that velveteen
midnight in the
love-orchards,
where I laid upon those
lush petals of pixies
and quartz-daffodils
were tucked in my
orange-bronze
hair-strings,
my beloved swathed
the satin shorelines of
our saga with
conch shells of
sweet edenic scents ~
just when,
sheen shooting-stars
came twirling upon
sepia ashes
as hellfire stretched
across our desires and faith,
in the ricocheting flames
of fate's opal envy.
I presumed for
lunar stones of
lapis lazuli poesy
to be our destiny's
only shimmering saviour -
but those elegant deceits,
carved within a
raging tale of jealousy,
never let these
sanguine harps to
synchronize in
our orchestrating
euphoria.
Perhaps,
I'd engulfed the
marigold sun
and henceforth, I shall
be succumbed into
the ambrosial abyss
of sacrosanct nature,
negotiating a
nascent darkness
for my nefarious soul
and shaping a
nemesis for death's
lionhearted dawn.
I will now unsung
every amaranthine hymn of
magick - that strangled
my oxygenated lawns,
lathering them with
heart-shaped fog of
cruel carnations.
These orchid lifelines
have prepared
for an addictive waltz,
in the hieroglyphic
anxiety of these
umpteenth seconds -
playing with the last
ebony cadence within ivory keys
of my pearlescent piano~
as luscious laughters will be
turned to ravenous retreats,
- and this rhetoric life will
perform in a fallen angel's
perfumed deceit.
So, when these
periwinkle phrases
quiver and surrender
on the emerald brim of a
betraying tale-
stargazer lily petals
will adhere like
disheartened feathers
on my eclipsed tomb,
carving twisted reveries
of my absence on
twin-flames' mausoleum.
"Maybe, each wailing
dahlia's diamond dreams
are blanketed with
scentless thistles of tyranny ~
And this wingless love has breathed its
archaic silence, too soon... "
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2023
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