Under the crimson surface, lie delight memories.
Alluring, admirable, calmer than fulfilled desire.
The dark night binding memorable site.
Satire is the game of destiny, love is still the destination.
The black motions and white notions, grey is just illusion.
Expressions are beyond pretend when you have the real, soul being confused.
Mind is always a predator, heart is a heavenly prey.
Memorising memory inflaming the thoughts, emotions can never be burnt.


©wheneyesnarrate

To love from the depth
of heart, one needed to
remove hate from the
hearth of heart.


©wheneyesnarrate

My metaphors moisten by the sprinkles of your venin. Instead of that, they spill ambrosia in your abode.
The numbness in my words are the loudest screams on the silver pages of your grimy and torn diary.
The flower of euphoria blossomed in your garden, piercing my skin with intense thorns & my heart screeches.


©wheneyesnarrate

Her soul born with the armour of never withdrawing trials amidst of all those smirking strugglers.
Her soul fallen for the nightmares instead of dreams to carve it for the destination without any illusion to care.
Her soul adored the dearth in the era of scarcity without any drop of calming water with thirst of ocean.
Her soul craved for the presence by burning all the essence to eliminate the fear of losing the beloved ones.
Her soul broke herself infinite times to protect her from any interim sensation of falsehood trying to fake.
Her soul feared to lost in the dense mist of failures cause it remain without any beholder to feel it again.

©wheneyesnarrate