i peel off my orange skin,
there is a black spot
like the dust of an ebb.
in the soils, i see mundane butterflies
can beauty be insipid?
so what about the moon?
i know, you will say it has the insane spot.
so, why do people sprinkle beauty?
if beauty can be foul.
©My Valiant Soul
P.S- MY NEW ONLINE PUBLISHED WORK CAN BE CHECKED HERE.
Thanks to the Editor!
The epitome of peach shaped markings,
Defining the extended fields of valour and hope,
Drooling in my walnut bones,
Mingling in my solitary ebb,
Lies inside a place where my mother
Wakes me up from a cascading nightmare.
To the jubilant staircase of rainbow meadows,
To catch an intrepid molecule of a butterfly
Then to drink a cup of valour,
As I see a place like this
Rupturing, beaming.
Flickering amidst the stars in the sky.
I match the hollows of my empty watered eyes
with the upcoming
flowers,
The dandelion dreams
shall not die
instead will
have coruscating thorns
in the symphony of a sweet puddle
to become the powerful lantern
of all times.
