Heaven rained on me,
I breathed in the petrichor,
Bathed in the downpour.

My vision of you,
Belied if tallied with stars in the night,
Like the moon lit blue.

Don’t tell me it’s true,
When I dare say you’re my sunlight,
If asked my vision of you.

Because there are so few,
Paintings that describe you right,
Your beauty like the moon lit blue.

Won’t you tell me a clue?
How do I eternalize this precious kite?
To keep my vision of you.

If only you knew,
You leave me breathless, gone my flight,
Tamed like the moon lit blue.

I pledge my true-blue
Forever be my pride, my delight, my side,
For my vision of you,
Is authentic like the moon lit blue.

Don’t let the strong citrus scent,
Leaves you stepping back,
Come forth instead,
And welcome to the Tangerine Wonderland,
Where the orange colour stretches,
To far back,
Complimented by its fellow citrus friends,
For yellow, orange, and green,
Are the feelings,
My heart screams,
When I’m with you.

You’re much like the rain,
You can be soft or heavy,
Or kind to my drought.

Butterflies flutter,
Utters of lethal lustre,
Seeped in like sugar.

Fresh citrus drip drips,
Upon her sweet cherry cheeks,
Soaked socks by the rocks.

Black Dahlia tears,
Beckoned beneath the crimson,
Bloodbath gleamed garden.

Blinking never was a
scary thing for me,
But missing you made it be.

Traces of fragrance,
In a flowerless garden,
Once thrived with lilies.

Her wings are flailing,
Bare through the blessings of Earth,
And rains of sorrows.

I’m still stuck in time,
Petals glued in the air,
Flowers unfazed in this orchard of mine,
Butterflies are still as I stare,
I wish I could hit rewind,
What I crave to feel frozen there,
Somewhere now unkind,
My orchard now a stranger.

Your kind words whispered clear,
With your soft smile you wiped my tears,
Told me to cherish them,
To not shed it for unworthy cause,
But when I looked at you through the corner of my eyes,
As if yours were sparkling,
Teary,
From crying for me.

And from that moment onward,
I knew you lied when you said my heart was fragile,
Because yours were as delicate as Lisianthus,
And mine were a mere Daisy.

Yet your existence proves that,
Being brittle as can be is never weak.

Vestal white roses,
Shed their serrated surface,
Then tainted in red.

You’re drowning yourself,
In fear and doubt,
But too scared to sink,
So you held out one arm,
Waiting for someone to reach it,
To pull you up,
And it hurts to feel,
No touch on your cold skin.

A tragedy indeed,
Ocean of tears,
With no boat around,
Only your feet,
To keep you afloat,
A death wish,
Partially committed.

As a soul I am restless,
For every passing hour my heart cries for it to end,
That may this vessel can rest to sleep,
But my head often in thoughts,
Voicing to oneself as if there's two,
Hauling in pain such of life and living,
Reaping each serenity that lingers,
Leaving this space in me pitch black,
Only to know the definition of ultramarine,
Where everything you see left a blue,
And 'till dusk this cycle of agony,
Mounting the sleepless nights within me.

Weep my tears,
Wash my face,
Pretend,
Don't let them see;

Shut in your feelings,
Don't let it escape your lungs,
Mute your heart,
So they can't hear;

How foolish,
Tormenting myself repeatedly,
Knowing that it's wrong,
To make them believe that I am my disguise.

She was crying,
He was hurting,
Both for the same cause,
Yet they pretended like nothing happened,
And wore their lies wonderfully well,
So the other wouldn't know,
What buried 'neath their hearts,
That they thought were over,
But never fades.

The heavens were mad,
So the clouds thickened and rained,
Tearing on the earth.

Depth of the blue sea,
Is like your love’s metaphor,
One that I yearn for.

How many are they?
Lights embedded sky, you asked,
Too significant.

The eclipsed ether,
Fairly honest yet complex,
Lit by countless stars.

The Sun will falter,
Day turns dark but comes the Moon,
Light shall rise again.

Lungs soaked in anguish,
Eyes bleeding in blue,
Lips chapped too foolish,
Heart’s hurting to continue.

I feel it raining,
On a cloudless sunny day,
Flooding only me.

I’ve been too drowned in my own cries,
Too used to suffocate,
The coldness doesn’t even reach me anymore,
That I am unsure of my own feelings,
If I have any,
To say I have none would be misleading,
When the tears are still streaming,
And the nights are always long,
Where the sun never rises.

Ruined and worn,
Strangled with wild vines,
Damaged,
Yet still standing,
With hanged pictures on the walls,
Of old and new,
And a place,
For growth of life.

We valid,
Even as we age,
Through the endless pain,
We are still standing.

That same miracle,
Singing to my ears,
And there were tears,
Dripping on the shackles.

Heard it in the garden,
Somewhere on the moon,
In this quiet room,
Leaking rays of the sunlight.

Alas,
Never once I danced to it,
But my feathers were swaying,
As though grazed by the wind.

It’s not much I know,
Only a piece of paper,
For us to colour.