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The Babylonian hanging gardens is vanished
                            maybe the fairies tucked it away.
Lo the clouds swim on your dry leaves, rainfalls
                                                        hum on the way!
I still can't say your name aloud,
I've got my tongue trapped in a cirrus cloud.
I still push on and play pretend,
to the planet's eye, you never happened.
But it's times like this,
where my mind swims,
and the ripples of mementos flow
then come casually crashing at my back door.
And though I keep it sealed,
you seep in,
flooding floors,
and all at once,
I'm sinking.


Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Thinking about the girl who did more than break my heart at 14.
Svetoslav May 13
the sun is raining
penetrating through dark clouds
it summons goodness
Lilac Apr 19
Pure white dye
Cotton candies floating in sky
More moody than any teenager
More lazy than any procrastinator
More chilled than any Netflix night
More euphoric than an addict's high
Both daydreamer and  night owl
Well... its just a cloud
"We do be kinda vibin doe"
                                 - clouds
and sometimes it feels like
i have been living the same life
for a while now

but however unremarkable
a single blade of grass
pushing through the sticky april mud

and however unextraordinary
the murky river meandering
through modest midwestern hills

however bleak
the cloudy midwinter sky
shadowing frozen earth

the grass still sprouts
a thousand shades
of enduring green

the river still rushes
purposefully toward
greater estuaries

and every single cloud decorating
the daytime sky will never paint this picture
quite the same way ever again
“Flightless bird, American mouth..." She sang as she sways her curvy body in the middle of an empty room. I saw how she smiles at the thought of a man dancing along with her, I wish that was me.

The long hallways were as easy to stroll by—as I love feeling the paintings nailed on the wall, I once discerned the lovely voice I always want in my system. She was singing her favorite song again; "I was a quick wet boy diving too deep for coins..." I remember how it became my lullaby every time I could not fall asleep and I lay there, reminiscing every words, every note she is hitting, I remember how I can compare her to a painting. Where an art is a compliment by being in its unique state and at the same time, the bitterness of being complicated.

She was a painting, I could never outgrow of. She was a flightless bird, I am a side character who longs for her, who gazes at her swaying her curvy body back and forth—her lips tainted like grey clouds forming another rain. Her skin as rough as my palm sketching another art—her feet closer than the ground, neighboring with the coldness of the white marble tiles; I stood there longing for her. I stood there, raised my hand and waved through her direction.

Even when she could not see, she was my prized possession I will ne'er have.

She stopped and peaked at the door where I no longer stand and I breathed a sigh of relief—this time, it will never hurt to leave. I smiled, she will never know.

Her sweet dance in the empty room is what ruled in my head, she will never be gone out of my head.

...and now, I bleed for being lost without her. My flightless bird.
This is heavily inspired by the most legendary song there ever was, for me. 'Flightless bird, American mouth' by Iron & Wine
Edmundo Mar 26
How does the ocean paints so well ?
The inkblots of white
That populates the sky
How does a drop of water
Turns to a mirror

How can a cloud feel?
And some forest leaves, smile as emeralds
And a rose, sings love
And a sunflower, passes as a guide to a star above

How one does not appreciate a star
That is inside his eye but yet still far
How one does not appreciate the moon
That soothes the air not too soon
That caresses the expressions of the ocean
How one does not feel the sun
That is ever-present inside each and everyone
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