Quietly, the wind comes,
transforming into a pointed dagger of a muse.
The murdered landscape of colors bleeding,
trying to ingest the muse.
A quarrel between violet homes
defeated and uprooted.
Unfurling stitches of dead mouths.
Colors deformed. Bright neons
& curled blues.
A white sky now turned red, opaque.
This space, an empty eye.
Nothing is forever.
What about your muse?
Such delicacy.
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Thank you, Amartya.
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Pleasure reading
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Subhanallah! This is quite profound. Stay blessed
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Thank you Muntazir!
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My pleasure
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This has a somber tone to it and a dark feel… It’s brutally raw, yet not quite emotive. It’s a perfect blend of both worlds. Nice work, Devika.
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Yes, these days I am trying to work on other perspectives, trying to liberate myself from something.
Thank you tre for your beautiful soulful words.
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You’re most welcome. And, I understand.
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The question at the end is like a knock in the back of my head. A beautiful read, as always.
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I often wonder will our muse be alive always?
Thank you for the read , Nam!
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Beautiful
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Thank you so much!
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My pleasure always
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Reblogged this on Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.
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Thank you.
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Beautiful words, filled with lovely images and questions.
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Thankyou beautiful.
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it’s always my pleasure! x
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So beautiful.
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Thank you.
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You’re welcome. 🙂
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Ah, lovely!
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Thank you.
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Awesome
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This leaves me with a very profound question, what if our muse dies? You have handled it very intelligently,
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This was beautiful. The question leaves us wanting more.
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Thank you.
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