Sea of Roses
O n c e upon
a medieval arc,
when the coral night
was engrossed in
fuchsia epitaphs of fireflies,
your fingers,
embalmed
in the fangs of february moon,
shredded the love ~
patchworked
upon my lifeline,
as gold-lilacs slowly wilted
in a casket of wisteria vines ~
and Luna faded
in the
candlelit
cracks
of
y o u ,
my beloved...
If the sunset were
soaked in tears
and the skies
rained rubies
across maroon meadows
of melancholic maidens ~
as they plucked
peridot flowers
and let the agony
glide on pollen,
collected in a
bouquet of stars,
you would've been
the memory which
I enveloped
within rainbows
and carefully
laced with warmth,
above my
clementine constellation...
Perhaps, my conscience
deluded me into believing,
that you were ~
the catharsis for my confusion,
the cure for my clueless conscience,
the blessing beautifying my bane...
and the hydrangea haven for my hope...
I can never be
Persephone,
etching emeralds
upon burnt caramel branches,
for, you were
never my Hades ~
who promised me
the clarity of crystal cuckoos,
in the orchestrating omen
of your unfaithful underworld.
And maybe,
I became
one of those lost spirits,
sketched between
splitting symphonies of
life and lifeless ~
washed with dove-graphites,
a mere s h a d o w ,
or an illustrated hallucination
in my own nightmares.
So, whenever
the rust flakes fall,
ricocheting with snow ~
your presence
will be a glass prophecy
hanging with thorns
in the cage of my heart,
with no metaphor
to manipulate
this marionette ~
cushioned
upon raspberry relics,
for an ending,
relishing the paranoia of petals ~
detached from your dreams.
Dear satanic prince,
could you please
break this silence ~
staining our serenity
stitched in scarlet ?
Is your heart
a bloodthirsty swan
swallowing
my sun
in its fatal attraction,
or have I inhaled
a breath,
rippling in
the sea of roses ~
as the last
feuille d'amour
floats in your ocean of ardour,
ceasing
to
chase
the creases
of my soul
encased
in you?
" I shall rise
as tangerine smoke ~
flowing along paper-thin streaks,
where thistles are thawed
in the perfume of russet rings ~
and the velveteen blanket of florets
covers the chocolate chimes...
synchronizing
in the syllables
of a destiny
that was never
meant to be..."
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2025
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