A cold mouth of air,
streaming down the rivers up till my painted toes.
I see a circled pair romancing behind the surface of the sky.
A cold distilled breaths.
Pure. Fixating, like a rubber band.
Far away from this orange sunset.
I hear umbrellas holding a hand of a detached one.
They support and smile. Simple.
Slowly, steadily like a geranium blooming after ages of scuffed earth.
Hums heard in the quietness of the diaphragm.
Subtle potions of looped lips,
speaking a language of gods.
Serene and mysterious.
poets standing on the ebb of satisfaction. Halt.
There, you, halt.
NaPoWriMo-4
We halt, in the end. Yup.
So emotional yar 🙂
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Far away from this orange sunset.
I hear umbrellas holding a hand of a detached one.
so beautiful, one cant help but halt at such verse
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It’s good to halt and breathe. Always.
Thank you!!
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Poets and satisfaction….made me ask myself are poets ever satisfied? I like this poem , and much of what you write.
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Thank you for your insights.
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Beautiful
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This is so beautifully executed
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Thank you Shantanu.
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My absolute pleasure
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Poets standing on the ebb of satisfaction… sounds about right. Great line!
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Yes, I felt that too.
Thankyou for reading.
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You are welcome.
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Halt..the silent pause, the essential break in the temerity. Beautiful words as always.
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