Shikata ga nai
When the twinkling trust
of tamarind tides,
cascades in catastrophes
and turmeric-tinted tulips
become a treason for sun temples ~
I slowly drift like a diluted drop,
ruffled in the consciousness of Nyx,
where the nefarious nightglows
unfurl a midnight rose-glazed moon,
resting in thunders of the third eye
and our spirits are but ~
a shimmering mirage
sequined with glittering glaciers,
and refracted through
those remorse-stained rubies ~
which can decipher the language
of frozen innocence,
scaling beyond the bioluminescence
of invisible intuitions...
I have always hoped to be
a himalayan healer,
for those hailstorms
hissing in heartbeats, as ~
twirling on the telepathic tales
abstractly alliterated
by those mannequins,
moonwalking upon
reversed psychologies,
has bejeweled me in frostbites
of scorpio soliloquys,
and shivering songs of Selene ~
serenading in the sirens
of aurelian wavelets,
have evermore erased
my exhaled initials
blaming me for being
a wingless warrior....
maybe, I will keep blossoming
in those sherbet buds of shikata ga nai ~
where feral footprints follow your faith,
and star-spun fuchsias
fall in fate's freckled embrace ~
for, I no longer flicker in the tyrannies of those
teasing the tempest of my temperament,
lured by faceless predators of promises...
I'll be slumbering on the pillow of peace,
praying for pomegranate pendants
to paint a pearlescent paradise
where this Persephone can inhale
apricot aromas of aging affection...
So, when life loses its lyrics
and glorifies brutality above
the beauty in brokenness ~
I'll be my own samurai,
phrased like a featherless saviour,
shielding those benevolent butterflies
still breathing in me ~
and walking along the wonderland
of ninja's neon nocturnes
where the ninth gossamer gemstone
forevermore whispers versatile verdicts
in those jalapeno jurisdictions...
when I became nothing more than
a raspberry ribbon
smoked in tar of sunset octaves ~
the lord will be cradling my poetic tomb,
where the rustic remnants of saint sapphires
shall be splattered as music for my ears
and an eden of falling fireflies for my eyes...
" I am a dandelion dialect in your darkness,
sedated by silken silvers upon orchid sepals ~
surfing as sunshine in your sandalwood skin,
for, each estuary of esoteric embers
laces my home with soul-searching chimes,
whistling away in flavours of forgiveness... "
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2024
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