A Writer’s Block

I am 20 years old right now, and I have officially lost my way.

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Her Eyes Had Eden

The doctors said they don’t know as to how there were accumulations in her retina.

Maybe they did not look at those eyes from their own, that is how you need to really know her. To be oneself to see the world as this naked sphere of roses that blush golden brown in the sun.

That is her iris, now for the surface where the world is made, the retina, one must stay still and sync in the heart beats. For you see, it is not just a biological curtain where the most beautiful things hit inverted to a mind, but it is the very contact of the world with an oblivion that resolves the stress of the existence.

As if the doctors had the time to fathom the beautiful passage to peace. They said that something is odd and they should probably remove the disturbance with a laser. Well, I clearly know that bombarding some particles over peace is what happens in this world all the time. It is harmonious, musical almost and the energy keeps it all intact.

Little kids in the pound splashing water make a universe that smiles.

Now, I am not saying that medical science is not advanced enough to appreciate a moment or respect the creation of the eye that literally made me watch the world in a better stance, it is just that, I have kissed her.

Maybe a lost poet lost his fine mind,
Playing with the strings of that lonesome time,
When those olds books started singing,
The stupid songs in my head.

 

 

Tonight

Hey wine,
Like yesterday, you were mine.
It was beautiful,
Brisk, old and forever like,
Dancing with my veins,
Singing of love.

Hey night,
Just tonight, come again,
Let’s make it alright,
Like the last line,
Scribbled in my heart,
– Your Name.

Hey Arka,
I will sing in secrets,
To unlock our doors,
Made of strings and stars,
Hanging on our hearts,
As we dance under their chandelier,
It tickles, remember?

Your dress was made of rivers,
I was the burning sun at times,
The other way around,
Warm in love,
Flying to the forever,
Let’s keep dancing,
Let’s keep living,
Keep loving,
Tonight.

Stars in her Head

Listening to the cosmos is peaceful, as I crush grass that tickles my heart, as the wind whistles, and the amora of the rivers rush through the wind. Soon, the night will come alive and I will get to be with the stars, burning forever for light. In the night the colours are often hidden or asleep.

Colours are afraid of the dark,
Stars are afraid of the colours,
With my feet on the ground,
I sing to the skies.

I stood to witness the rain carry the light of the stars to my face, you see you never know what you are looking at in the dark. In the dim falling light from my dead friends, I realised that my hair were red, faintly red, or briskly bluish red. Something of that sort.

They were burning with my dead friends to make some lights enter the atmosphere.

I closed my eyes to witness it the ocean of colours I have never seen.

If I was dreaming, I would like to dream and die from reality, to stay there forever.

Flowers at her feet

Listen to me when I can’t speak, for that is the time when I escape to a land where there is no one but me alone. And I would like you to come with me. I have not seen her and it has been around 20 days, but the aura has been dominant all through the summer waves.  I closed my eyes to find myself as her, adoring the flowers of my fainted memories.

I am alone at this place, still am, but as her and it scares me.

Where am I?

The wind answered, “In Love.”

Broken Mind Rhymes

I admire your confusions,
Like day like death,
Like sky like sin,
Like bird like breath.
How sea and silence are one,
How mountains and the mind are two,
How my heart is never of counts,
For when I find you,
Next to the veins that I tied you up with in my head,
For you to stay,
And never leave me,
I realised, it’s not all the same .
Your confusions ,
Makes me your father, brother and self at times,
And clearly, my mind,
Dont have to be right at the farme of the flux that lights the colours alive.
I mean, how wonderful ever I could certainly adore something,
But now, it seems, I have to love it all,
Every piece of my heart from the past,
Every broken notes that turned into a tear,
All of it, has to be loved ,
By a father, son and brother.
For my little one died in the game of knowing things,
And the elder one never realised that we were wrong.
Your confusions,
Lile your red dense river,
Bleeding darkness,
As I call it,
Away,
For confusions are bright .
There are knots of blood,
Not letting go of what I have known,
In your eyes,
I found myself under the clear skies,
Oh dear divine,
Why this mind, play games,
To understand this oft spoken reality,
And knots of blood.
Her hair now, they sync into the rivers of my rush,
Red and dense,
She reminds me how Rivers should be,
Says, it’s the ocean we all aim,
Little delight with tsunamis,
That cleanse,
My heart,
Her hair..
Constellations and stars..
And what have I known,
Of the stars that died,
They bleed like us,
Into the same ocean,
She say,
Her eyes,
Bright skies,
All colours,
Oh dear divine,
Evasive mistakes,
Her hair,
Colours that reminds of my days,
Calm, and secure,
Never to be known,
Now that I lay under the skies,
Naked,
And the world glares upon my scars,
Those stars,
They cry,
It rains,
But I am healing,
Little do they do,
All these wet roads,
They lead to the ocean,
I smile,
It still rains,
Glares would curse the cosmos,
Only to flow with words,
And life.
Be lost, she said,
And I have never known,
Only felt the river and her bones.

The King

A journey as the lines proceed! A must read !

Jasmin Elizabeth- Poetry-Prose-Fiction

Decadent and obtuse such as a king unwilling to change his ideologies.
The judgement he makes, clouded by his self-worth and stubborn mind; no more simplistic or laborious than something as insignificant as an orange, however cursed with a curious mind.
Is it preposterous to suggest that a leopard can not change its spots? Or is it in fact that he is just obstinate?
Envious and riddled with hunger for the things he has not earned, unpleasantries spill from his lips like a ruined wine, so thick, its dark colour resembles blood.
However, this man has not been wounded by another man, only by his own sickened delusions.
Then as his lips turn to grey, and he lets out his final cry, only then will he see that he is alone, waiting to die.

©Jasmin Elizabeth 2018

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