When I am Old

-

 

A day,
I would be less conscious of
Of a sojourn I wouldn't remember
When snow would please me none
Let my chimney burn with smoke
Ere kids gift me lavender berries
Let me bake a black forest.

My pastel walls would peel off soon
And meowing cats would roll off yarns
Flowy flocks would not beam
With velvety bangs I once had.

When my eyes would deny the tint it had
And dawn would break with hue less shines
Thus, I would lay
On this bed of blue bells
Grieve me not
Youthful as April I had been
Remember,
A petal withers once 
But blooms yet again.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sustainability Starts at Home

-
Image
  "Sustainability Starts at Home." Sustainability Starts at Home Small Changes, Big Impacts Plastic bags were a questionably interesting replacement for the shuttlecock kicking game when I was a kid. That was what I played with during the cold months of winter, when the growth of clovers was null for a bundle formation. I remember snitching up on some plastic bags from the kitchen– plenty of them were washed and stored in a basket, as in every typical Bhutanese household. As a kid, I was baffled as to why my mother did not spare me a single one, which I had to secretly rummage through when she was not around. At the end of a tiring play, the ragged piece of plastic would wordlessly fly away, carried by the currents of the wind. That was one day, when I learned from her, “Sustainability starts at home.” As individuals, many of us are oblivious to the ecological footprint we create. The impact of one’s lifestyle on the curve of sustainability seems obscure on a personal level– ...
Read more

The Vermillion Windowpane

-
Image
Her hair breathed the color of his love His love a bloody red Stubborn it remains On this window sill of roses Unscathed it seems of its past But she waits  Behind the vermillion window pane Feeling the traces of his finger In the dust  She waits  But she knows That a man once left for war Can only gift the color of his love And no more His love a dauntless red Perhaps,  He might return Through this vermillion window pane .
Read more

Every Man is Still a Child

-
Image
The apricity caught my breath   like his gloomy grin  That unfurls like a cotton ball  Soft to touch  But leaden with moments of  An unforgetful past   He smells the flowers along the way  Only to pluck one and say  If it was any justice he did  I say,  It's not wrong to love that way  Because even clouds do surrender  He feels this rain on his lashes  And bends down to look  At his image in the mud  He almost jumps but considers  'Lost', he says,  I say that's okay  Every man is still a child.
Read more