The river's current was supposed to be weakened by the barricade
but the bags of sand and the bricks of clay that once gave her closure,
reside years beneath her murky water.
Where do broken hearts go?
Do they get lost at sea?
Do they float?
Do they still beat?
Or do they find a home?
Perhaps it will reside with the girl
who thought her warmth could thaw he who was cold and stoned.
She couldn't, though,
because his alluring bed of rocks broke more than her bones.
Because you see, her barricade that was weakened by the river
caused her lungs to fill with that murky water.
She wasn't lost.
She didn't float.
There wasn't a heartbeat,
so there wasn't a home.
When I looked at myself in the mirror,
I couldn't help but choke.

My 1 AM thoughts, but I am not my thoughts.
haha get it, Damn like a dam?? also "damn" as in daaaammnnn that's dark. I think I am funny.

With the sea
You don't need a friend
No empty spaces
to fill with noise

The coast
And the white foam
Even for a day
Become your lovers

But the salt makes your skin itch

That wave
in Catalonia
That almost touches your toes

You don't need anything else
Or anything at all

Chrissy S 16h

The waves swashing gently on the rotten plank,
A forlorn sailor looking through the misty night;
With bare hands paddling in the icy water, expression blank,
With no land nor a steady or welcoming haven in sight.

As he was floating through the opaque haze,
His clothes covered in drops of dew and froth;
The sea transpiring into an inescapable maze,
now calm but once fierce, untamable and wroth.

He realized no soul was going to rescue him from his sotty grave,
Even if one was swimming with him he would row for himself.
For people aren't cruel, callous, cold or unwilling to waive,
They just think they are the most crucial book in lifes' shelf.

submerge their trembles
     the intoxicated stars of the night
 into the arresting allure
 of moonlit seas

    under the shimmering cloak
           primal flames of passion lovers invoke
     revel stars in moonbeams wet
   yielding liquid baroque

        crash silver waves
        on compliant sands of submission easy
        gather bliss-tinted surfs
        in starry ecstasy

         flow tranquil waters
        in the envelope of dawn's golden fill
           glow in embrace of gratitude
         souls two in fulfill

I miss you more
Than Icarus missed his feathers
Because without you here with me
I feel as though I am falling
Down toward the sea

The waves whispered into my ears

Lyrical notes of songs unknown

Which mingled with the whisky fumes

To feed my senses on those tunes.

When the seaside lass held my gaze

The waves whispered into my ears

'Bout how the breeze played with her hair
And how the moon couldn't help but stare.

While whisky saved its magic spell

For stories, only time would tell

The waves whispered into my ears

To warn me that love could bring tears.

The playful breeze still brought her scent
Albeit the sun shower made her dance
Enchanted by my April muse

The waves whispered into my ears.

Prashant Shaurya ©

All Rights Reserved

there's a little starfish gem
hanging from my crystal Moti dish
You brushed it as you entered the room
and even though I told it
whispered no
it twisted farther down
with each calm glance I gave you
Lightness I hadn't known I lacked
suddenly filled my countenance
Know this, brothers
Sweetness towards a lady
like a charm

I made the word Moti as romantic derivative of the word Emotion. Moti also happens to mean "pearl" in Hindi and Urdu.

The sea is made of milk and made of honey
I float under the surface without sound
My skin is made of clay and paper money
The seabed has a mattress soft as cloud


Mighty waves traverse across
The realm of time and space
They Leave behind some faint imprints
While horizon slowly shrinks.

   2. Observance

The boatman gives a vicious call
And the nets are put in place
If tides take a winsome turn
He would fill up his plates.

    3. Discovery

The sunset lass builds sand castles
While sea breeze soothes her tender skin
Enchanted by her gentle smile
I write about my April muse.

Prashant Shaurya ©

All rights reserved.
Next page