Wanderlust,
An injected selcouth,
The logophile club is active
And the sky is holding its breath
For me,
For you,
Stay a while chèrie
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 4:59 PM UTC
The icy sheath is the artifice,
You don't notice until you slip and fall
Now isn't this nice
Once you look back and appalled
A face so docile with a giant crack
Glowing red and pulsing
Heavy bags of silver plaques
Fooled by that laughter convulsing
His foolery is your ambrosia
At last you face reality
The man you thought cherubic
Lost in his clownish sea
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 4:32 PM UTC
"The book is still perfectly readable, even with marks, stains, and blemishes.
It doesn’t take away from the art inside.
So why do you doubt your talent?
Everyone loves the breeze until it tangles their hair,
assuming that they have it", he chuckles.
"This thing we live in is like a die,
yet everyone fixes their eyes on one number
and disregards the rest.
They know the odds of a fair roll,
yet rage when it lands on what they didn’t want.
They curse the sky that birthed them
and the ground that nurtured them.
But look at all you’ve done for yourself,
and all it has done for you.
Find refuge there
and shout what a good day it is."
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 4:41 PM UTC
Love eachother or perish.
The wise man accepts the bee just as willingly as the flower
Process on product.
Love eachother or perish
The wise man challenges temptations to suit his nature
The culture is nothing
Love eachother or perish
The wise man has many flaws just as the ignorant yet embraces them
A contentment with given situations
The wise man loves all
The wise man is unafraid of death
Because he knows that love doesn't stop when it's his time
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 4:20 PM UTC
Little did we know
the heavy schoolbags we carried on our backs
would be the smallest burden in our lives.
Is this me?
Am I a schoolgirl?
The practice of not thinking seems so often now.
I wish to be that schoolgirl again,
and live out those inconveniences
with a chest of gold.
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 2:49 PM UTC
The paint-water clouds take their position
against the lighter sky.
The seasons are in discussion again.
Watch it, watch the rain renew the world.
Even the earth has stretch marks and eyebags.
The paint-water clouds open a threshold
sighs and umbrellas.
The rain slips into the city’s heartbeat,
quieting its restless pulse.
The paint-water clouds are my newest interest,
all while I wrestle with my coffee grounds,
tiny islands in a storm of silver drops.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 1:40 PM UTC
Small green fire
Swaying in the quiet sun
The seeds burst outward when cut
The fire spreads.
You have gone far away now
Dinner isn't the same without you
But this paneer is delicious
A promise of spice in a calm green world.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 1:15 PM UTC
Oh sweet fawn oh sweet fawn
Your eyes did not see
Oh sweet fawn oh sweet fawn
Your not so sweet to me
Oh dependant babe
Even your innocence exiled
Oh dependant babe
Rest child with the mind of a child
If only you can see what i see now
Maybe things would have been different
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 4:20 PM UTC
How do I describe the sheer soul emptying feeling of a heart corroded by perfection
My bags are heavy and purple how about yours?
How can I explain the lifelong uncleanliness that comes from steady progress to someone whose cheeks are full of processed words through machines of their own selective empathy and understanding
You do not understand my definition of perfection
The house is smaller now
It is the same house but more squat as if it has lost its soul
A house without a home is not worthy of being called such
I cannot stay here in filth and negativity
I am trying I swear it is your fault
Self lullabies and personal consolations
Tomorrow my bags will be filled with more tolerance
Nov 10, 2025
Nov 10, 2025 at 4:15 PM UTC
"there's an oracle in the soil" said wren
We found him the man made of clay,
His eyes full of centuries
His cracked lips ushering words sprouting when the wind leaned close.
A rooting fig tree compared to the greenery and foliage around him
The hill I used to wonder
Eartha against earth and unwavering thoughts he rests.
He spoke with riddles I was too small to carry
He spoke with profound poise
Prying the boundaries of earths patterns
Speaking more volume than the wind ever did. No tools no bones of history
Only a mouth of moss
And a mind fettered with lichen
Come, prophet of mother
Show me the worlds tantrums and virtues
For the foundation of philosophy is structured by her maternal arms
Oct 25, 2025
Oct 25, 2025 at 12:59 PM UTC