~~The Wall, The Sky and Me~~

The most intricate braid that only lives until its untied The delicate froth of coffee that still lingers on the emptied cup That one loud friend of the protagonist - blurred, muted, and scooted aside in moments that matter the most. The liked but never chosen one; the one that's too much or just not enough. The unwavering slope between the peaks and the trough. The best that's never bought.. The unsaid that's never sought.. Has to be mere luck or sheer randomness, Or a biased God who made this mess. Why else would the sun give its light to the moon  just to be loathed for its extremeness? -_-

Life is funny I'm living a life that's a dream to many.. And I dread waking up each day to the clockwork and the clowns. Faking a smile, hiding the frown. I often regret sharing thoughts, if any, And have now befriended the lump in my throat.. Let me sink in the misery, I'd rather not twirl, drift, or float. Life is so funny Countless souls stay blocked across endless apps ,  Yet I'd been longing since forever for the One Who'd sit with me comfortably in silence, But only darkness turned out to be that close companion.. In the dark there's no demon I fear, and no one can see my tears Except the stars shining on the horizon. Life is funny  I watch people make a curry or a joke, laughing at curse words in beeps.. And then go back to bed.. crying out of the loneliness, trying to put myself to sleep.  34 and unmarried, my kin think I'm a cold, heartless witch,  And I embrace this guise; their hearts and souls and prying eyes would twitch. Life is funny,  It moc...

  In the sea of a billion souls, where shadows entwine,  Echoes of laughter weave through silence divine. What if, in the silence, love slips from our grasp? Yet, in the stillness, we learn to unclasp. For beauty resides in the spaces between,  And peace remains a myth unseen.

°•~•° Some flowers, fragrant whispers in the breeze, Some tears, glistening like morning dew, Some scars and stardust woven with ease, Warm flesh and bones and a heart of stone, Mostly poetic, always dramatic, Like a queen without a tiara or throne, The recipe of a human antique. Her tan shining in moonlight's embrace, And a smile that never fades away, Drifting between Kafka’s existential dread And Macbeth’s ambition where dreams decay, Her soul roams lost behind a million facades, Within each mask, there's a story she'd never say.