When you are careless and pull your finger quickly the paper cuts
it very well turns
but the heart never learns
Not to fall in love again
Yet it repeats the same mistake
again and again
and, again and again, it hurts
like a million paper cuts
written on glossy paper
cuts through the silence to tell what’s hidden in my heart
But you never even glimpse at ‘em
As I try to cut out a shape of a heart the paper cuts against my scalpel this heart would bleed later when you…
I have been wandering, my nights full of dreams
paper boats sailing across blue oceans
kites soaring the skies, flying too close to the Sun
like Icarus, some of them burning away
I have been drinking the elixir of life
my body too active to stay in one place for long
leaving footprints all over the sand
the beaches becoming starting points for adventures
I have been searching for the next adventure as soon as one ends, an anxious climber climbing a never- ending mountain, for the fear of turning into stone when my feet stop running, when my eyes…
When I play music, all I listen is your voice
A cuckoo sings, spring comes
New leaves on branches it brings
An oil painting
Against the blue backdrop of the sky.
When I dance, I feel your body against mine
Warmth of a summer night, my hair stands
Footsteps stumble, I’m drunk on your beauty
My heart beat paces
Trying to sync with yours, my love.
Broken flower vases
Torn diary pages
Burnt love letters
A thousand dreams
Rotten like vegetables I
Keep putting in refrigerator
And then forget
When I sleep, I enter a game of Hide…
Can you beat death? Can you grab the Scythe an’
push away the Reaper? Can you pull His hood o’er His head
and run away? Can you shake the boat until He falls o’er in
the Styx? Can you tickle the Reaper an’ make Him laugh?
Everyone’s ‘fraid of death, of Him, of leavin’ this world behin’.
Their dreams shattered, goals unattained, fundamentals of
what makes life uprooted from the existence. Everyone’s
‘fraid of the Reaper and His Scythe, and its strike.
What if your dream is meetin’ Him? What if you wanna feel the coldness of His Scythe? What…
Really beautiful poem, Rachel. I know how hard it is to write following such a strict rule. I have had the experience when I first started writing poetry when I wrote a poem in iambic trimeter (link below if interested, not promoting because that poem is like a million years old 😆). Such rules make it harder to write poetry but if done, gives an inherent beauty. And also that your poem tells such a nice story is even more awesome. Please keep sharing more.
I’m an oarsman, rowing my boat in the blue oceans of your eyes,
the full moon light drawing shadows on the tides rocking my boat
as I row on…. and on…. and on to reach the shores of your heart
the sandy beaches of which are painted with my love.
When everyone across the world is celebrating, I’m sad
sitting on the shore awaiting your arrival, the footprints you left
behind in the sand still afresh…. the stillness in the air still carrying
your scent like the scent that lingers long after a candle is blown out.
My eyes wander…
I have written a list of things I love in this world
Tried to be concise, tried to put in only those
That matter more than anything else to me,
That are etched on the walls of my heart’s shallows.
1. Your smile.
2. A child laughing at a stupid face I put up.
3. Early mornings.
4. Tiny pup.
5. Your hair that dances in the wind.
6. Bird’s chirping and singing in the tree bark.
8. How I feel when I kiss you, that spark.
9. Lightness after a long jog. 10. The shapes in the…