Your sarcasm sour as lemon,
With an hidden sugary smirk,
A song for my heart,
Both enough for a lemonade.
Next you give me creamy smile,
Blush red as cherry on your dimpled cheeks,
A struggle for me to maintain constant heartbeats,
Both enough for a cherry ice cream.
Here Chhota Bheem at your service,
Laddoos for me,
And you prefer-
Lemonade or ice cream?
I’m in Antarctica...
Coldness and snow from Antarctica sans penguins says whassup
Yup, seems like sudden winter ate present summer in one gulp
So Ice cubes and spheres knocks my head telling me lol
My shiver is like electric currents generated from a waterfall
I’ll strangle my sister if she again pours water on me to wake me up
Modifications Of Leaf
I see myself as a leaf,
Too high temperature, I wither,
Or too low temperature, I crumble,
Too many annoying bugs, I'm dead,
No support or water,
Then that's my end,
I’ve learnt fears don’t help for survival,
Changes is what is needed,
If I want myself to be acceptable.
Hard times for me the leaf,
From insects and flower plucking people,
From overwhelming fate and unsatisfied parents,
Times might turn,
If I turn into a spine,
Defence work I will do,
Like cactus and opuntia I will be,
Sometimes hurt the ones who touch me,
With this new life as a weapon,
That I have become.
Or maybe I could be a tendril,
Like grapes and peas,
A hold for me to curl,
Something for me to lean on,
As I’ll be more weaker than now,
I’ll gain sympathy and be a charity case,
It won’t be too bad I hope,
Since obviously the velocity of pain will decrease,
And hurt hurling at me will be less,
When all sees my hopelessness.
If I’m still unsatisfied,
I might turn over a new leaf,
Change into something,
Which obviously hasn’t a look of leaf,
Like a pitcher plant I could be,
Or a venus fly trap may be,
A Total change in character,
Like a murderer, a thief,
It’s just a facade to survive this life,
But I'd still the same troubled leaf.
Source Of Magic
From wrinkled old hands of grandma,
Pots of magic she prepares,
In her every food,
Did you know?
Ever felt that sense,
Of magic tickling your heart,
When you curl your fingers,
On a baby’s tiny hands.
You already have done magic,
On a blank paper,
To create lost worlds with words,
When only your pen & imagination links.
Your speck of hope,
Is a manifestation of magic,
That doesn’t let you down,
Even with the demanding dark thoughts.
Pain can vanish away,
Only with mother’s magical touch,
Or even with nature’s,
One cooling breeze.
In abundance it flows like a river,
Only difference is,
Rivers from its headwaters,
And magic from Love...
My light treasure seven other beauty as me,
But I’m not as beautiful as them,
I’m bland and blank,
And in my light state,
My tresures doesn’t lend me anything,
They sometimes come with sun and rain,
Forming a big colourful ring,
But enough praise of them,
Someone please notice my pain,
And tell me my name!
A Sigh Turned Into A Song
I remember I had forced my father for a flute,
I didn’t tell him the reason,
I wanted it,
Only ’cause you played it too,
Worshipping you is out of the way,
I loved you before,
I wanted to feel what you felt,
When you blew into that magical hollow wood,
Encasing everyone with your esssence,
As you shushed everything to ease,
Which I did,
My breaths turned to songs,
Even my sighs created a tune,
From those tiny holes of my flute,
I came across,
Between the dusty bookshelves I had kept,
My flute which I used to play,
Browny yellow shades,
Pink bands at the end and middle,
Same as I’d seen it last,
I still love you,
Because I felt that content bliss,
When I brought the flute to my lips,
It turned into a song,
And it made me think of you...