when the days are summer and the sky is salty, i will dance in the waves of you, gliding across the depths of your dreams. this wind is an ecstasy, an savory of creme, a unison on chocolate and latte. storms will pass through our caves, echoes howling against the walls. these days of unreality is limited but the cherish of pangs and the roars of churned happiness always cease to exis
who am I running from? fear, shadows, and darkness ear up, dry carcasses at dusk. and still it pangs the heart, to touch something worse and feel it consuming you just like cyanide on a melting crust. -arunav
there's only a photograph left. the photographer is sitting above an empty bridge, a numb face buried in small clasps that hold feelings together. and, just the like the workings of nature, tears that fall out drain monochrome. why are we so fluent in silence when words escape to reality. like drippings in summer. - arunav
sometimes the person you're trying so hard to find across oceans, seas, and deserts, is near the sky, near the ethereal reflections of self. sometimes the person you're trying to find and become, is you. -arunav
let go of emotions that hold you back, let go of thoughts that act as shackles; as a barrier to a newer self. things that drain energy, like the orb of negativity springs from unnoticed melancholies. but once freed, the soul becomes a bird with a desire to soar against the harshest winds. - arunav
how often do you look at someone and feel seasons changing, your heart dancing to a new horizon, a fluke of uncertainty and yet feels calming, the sudden speck of wild nostalgia engulfing you are the titanic of this love story be ready to sink in its woes.
satin desires paint life into inhumane hearts and wrap the wrath in arabian silk alcoves of lock ups, a purgatory of empty feelings and yet they escape like flickers of starlight through creaks and spots of aboriginal places in aberration.
Some wishes of mine conjure up the stars. I do not know what to say about them. They are melodies unknown to instruments and voices. They're specks of little dims that shower hope in the darkest days. They do not have a body, a form but only a an astute of a metaphysical soul. They're brimmed with people, past, experiences and thought. Butterflies around them are eminent because in some ways they are just like monarchs that sit on a wildflower hoping for nectar. They're an acne of love, nectar that flows through volcanoes.
and that dark place was filling me up. it was an unending apologia churning past the limits of my thoughts. the mind of mine started faltering and all hope seemed freckled with loss. but the apostles had other plans for me. my spirit was not giving up. my dreams were not just wax. my wings grew like Icarus. i was a seagull in space, drifting against time. things around me changed shape, the voices seemed distant and yet, i felt at peace comely to the horizon my eyes could take me through. it was the after-hours of a long winter mimesis.