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saeesha Aug 2017
i try to feel
but i can't
how many times
you want me to stand by the window
and look to the sky
and wonder
how are you
how beautiful your face is
how much i loved you
how many times
you wanted me to
wrap myself in the red quilt
and wonder
how much you meant
to me
saeesha Aug 2017
As ravishing as ever, sparkling she seems
Wrapped in the most vibrant piece of silk,
Gives fire to my dreams.

Lies at the corner of my room
Distant from everything else,
Encloses an insight to the brightest of worlds.

She resembles a flower
With hues that are exquisite;
There lies, the most precious,
the glorious volume of literature
i possess.
saeesha Aug 2017
Such is the beauty of rainfall,
How it descends with a sound so dulcet,
How it transcends a feeling so euphoric
And such dazzle it exhibits
Like one, no one would dare to neglect.
But it makes me upset
How chaps romanticize rain,
They are fooled so much by the affection of their beloved
For they do not realize
The way it washes away the pain.

Little raindrops fall on my body
Fusing with my skin;
Oh, how they tell me to live
When they speak to me and tell me to
Nourish, and give life to my surroundings.

One may wonder that how
The rain makes me feel such way.
They fail to realize that the downpour
For me, is just a reflection of the ideal life
I perceive.
saeesha Aug 2017
I wander in search of a pseudonym
A name which no one can recognize
I lay on the floor feeling prim
Of all the things I despise

I wish to search for a new individuality
Something new to look forward to
I think that I have lost my quality

And there’s nothing left in me
I am short of syllables to utter
And tired of my reality
So I wander in the search of a pseudonym-
A name which no one can recognize
saeesha Aug 2017
The nights bring with it
a gloomy solace.
The stars ornament the sky
And represent the beauty of our woes.
The moon flaunts itself
As he exhibits hope in the darkest times.
The sky at dusk is a melodrama,
Mixing emotions with the color of blue
And with regret from all days past.
The fidgety mind idles in a startled hue
Resting all sentiments aghast;
Oh, do not perceive that I call the night
An epoch of the wretched.
It may just be what I heed
For this is the time,
When the strongest seek consolation,
The hustlers drowse,
And the content pray,
For the morrow.

— The End —