Cold in the wind

-
cold in the wind,
calling your name,
again and again,
like the rhymes in flames,
pain or the pleasure,
mourn or the songs,
whispering above my head,
or by the sides of my wings


oh my dear,
if you could hear
this breeze in the air,
you must fear
it will take you nowhere,
so far from here
where clouds meet the thunders,
where mountains meet the stars

Comments

  1. A Friend of a FriendMay 16, 2019 at 10:23 AM

    This makes me think of my friend Aswin,I miss him a great deal and on the other hand I want to......
    Want to squeeze the life out of him...He is great

    ReplyDelete
  2. A Friend of a FriendMay 17, 2019 at 3:52 PM

    He Is My Turtle Friend I love taking his shell and we would just talk for ever and ignore everyone around us I wasn't a fan of the name "dumbo" But I miss Aswin ������ calling me that ����

    ReplyDelete
  3. A Friend of a FriendMay 18, 2019 at 2:16 AM

    Whatever
    My mental health is a mess right now...It hurts, so I probably won't be online for a month or so but I'll always have time for your thoughts written in Poetry

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dead girl

-
Dead girl's charm, I kissed her forehead, I remembered the touch of decayed flowers of last spring, she carried all  in her bags to understand death. She tried and she understood death is not the cruellest gambler loving is the absurdity we create in the end, we destroy everything with sorrow and grief that when you can release love out of your life. And death is never a stranger it is always a part of you.
Read more

Red River

-
Water flowing under my bed red but not my blood, nor yours and I can see you on a hill middle of some melting clouds I see green meadows under your feet if I'm drowned and die before your eyes in this red river of innocent blood enjoy my death if it pleases your soul like how the death eaters celebrate while consuming all the darkness  
Read more

October Sky

-
October sky, what an awful delight, Suspicious, they might be, maybe later. The clouds of the dying daylight, They are slower than the wind, They are lighter than the colour I keep in my veins to shed later. In every shade, they are doing, Homicide fantasies without blood drops. Two persons should die every day, The sun and me, because I shed tears for them. even I try to colour them with my few blood drops like I used to color my skin before.
Read more