Pensieve Of Memories

The chamber of Albus Dumbledore,

Never truly exhibited matter,

It transcended from an aura to another,

From an eye to the mind.

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Within the bloodstream,

Interstellar to the eye,

There rest a memo of the nights,

A canvas of mystical lies,

A pensieve of time.

The hold is called upon to breathe the sea,

A stream of possibilities and dreams,

Named the soul by some,

She fills and drains through each sleep.

The substance is not to be believed,

Not liquid, not gas, not a dream.

The soul is just, asleep,

Floating through the memories.

Albus, Severus and others live through the stone,

Wandering as the gods of unknown,

A sense that elaborates no sense,

Shall weave the universe onto the redemption of each thread.

Sketch by Vaibhav Gupta

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Together, Tonight.

We shall stay together, tonight. With living lies, fooling the time,

We shall breathe together, tonight. With weary eyes and lines that never shall rhyme.

I am the ocean, and she lives, through the skies, I am calm, She is always on her highs.

If one of us leave our town, If we ever collide,

The mind that deceives us, the root of every lie shall die.

Our kiss, suffocate them,

Our inmate jest can burn the land of the rest,

Lovers be the serene dream,

Tonight, we shall be lost as the breeze.

We shall stay together, tonight.

With weary lines that never should lie,

Nor Rhyme.

Sketch by Vaibhav Gupta

From You | For You

Somewhere down the life line,

You will meet everything that was hidden from you;

For you.

Somewhere in the obliviated lies,

You will be lost in the meadows of the time,

Your high;

My mind.

Junctions of the verge that collide with the universe,

Allegory of the words that defines the desire of this urge.

Karma, physics and allegory shall suffice,

The momentum of the stars that ruin this life.

Colours Concealed

 

Colourless green ideas sleep furiously; Colourful dark emotions are wide awake,

Innate to the rest of time;
Inanimate to the vision of the mind.
Colourless green ideas sleep furiously; Colourfully concealed is thy name,
Spread across a canvas in the dark,
Sacred as the lies, held to the core of your heart.
Colourless green ideas furiously; Colourful void that holds this game,
In the mist, beyond the bones,
Is kept, the serene bundle of death and known.
Colourless green ideas are awake,
But no words shall exist, to take the blame.

God, Temples & Interstellar

On the cliff of my conscience,

Cold in the bones, searching for a home;

The blood is turning yellow,

The skin is held under the mellow.

 

Red bricked and carved with magic,

Painted pale,

With the bell over the thrown of the maze,

A temple in front of me, and void within.

A temple I am, and interstellar canopies seeking stars and sins.

 

And then I fall off time,

Listening to squirrels hovering their vibrations onto mine,

Holding words as weight over my wings,

Falling inside out, through space, grass and singularities of the absurd wind.

 

The God in the bricks,

Is old, dead and kept.

The dimensions I bleed, hold a fresh narrow sea,

Enclosed within words, felt under the obliviated stream.

 

A Meshed Poetic Dream

A wizard in Black, a witch in Blue,

The magic of love blended with their doom.

To let this world be, the colours had to die,

For dreams have no space for blinding lights.

 

For their wands could hold the ocean,

And their words could cease the stars,

They held this dream to last,

To let the sleep mend their swollen hearts.

 

Their power so immense, their misery so pure,

When they would kiss, the moon would adore.

The ocean would pour out into the air,

And ask the mended fire to play fair.

 

The fire once born, was not a charm,

Created by the magician, held by the harm.

The blue would burn, The black would bleed,

The ocean would dry, to quench their need.

 

How cold, the flame to hold them close,

How bright, they burn, with the love in their bones,

The moon would rest, the wind would test

The fire shall still burn the holy flesh.

 

Alas, with only the fire and the night,

Dawn shall break the burning ice.

They wake up, entangled in their heads,

Two poets, one dream, to detest.

Two poets, one dream, the mesh.