π±ππππππ ππππ
βVoices spoke softly
For a loud exchange
Silence touched gently
For soothing a flame
The crow
The pigeon
The sparrow
The parrot
The peacock
The hen
Play
Feet flew
Footprints drew
Daze of sun
Floral warehouse
Relapse of wounds
With cooing heal
Dandelion tall
Voided rest
Flirt heaps
Silvery sweat
All around,
unchained
dance without Brain!β
-masuma
πππππΊπ» πΏπΌππ²
The breeze of let-go falls
Warm in high spirited shades of
Red yellow orange purple and brown
I gather you all
Now Curled in autumn rose
Standing pretty tall
I offer myself
The glow
Of timeless love
As
I am so cute after all!π
-α΄α΄κ±α΄α΄α΄
βStraight I wheel
In a deep thought
Sourcing metaphors to sing
Feeling youβ
penned aΒ sweet poem haiku style
P.S: love french sensuality missing….you! where are you…
Backache bleak
heartache couldnt reveal
what eyebrows couldnt believe
your clear voice thrashed
a placard that read “it never was you”
the blood pumps out the helpless lie
the feet gets chained, swings out
what was within,
it flew into sheets of ice
cold cracking break
melted into nothingness
go where, no address
Backache bleak
heartache couldnt reveal
what eyebrows couldnt believe
your clear voice thrashed
a placard that read “it never was you”
a free rise from the chase
to re-exist through moons of lullaby
a long way to climb
so the heavens will have you before
those steps have been fast and
far ahead
maybe a jet can be a better try
Backache bleak
heartache couldnt reveal
what eyebrows couldnt believe
your clear voice thrashed
a placard that read “it never was you”
– Masuma
P.S: extremely painful feeling.
Clouds how you flirt
You made us want all the dirt
We made a bulb of soft glow
That smeared the cries of sorrow
The rain that strongly came
It dropped me into a saint
the static saw you in wander
Keeping away the close thunder
It digged and revealed all my doubts
And it appeared I did not suit your mouth
So I took the plane to my fathers
And felt they need me as their silvers
I chalked you would not claim
Me or my silly name
You still had to feel the cold
And paint it with things that sold
I had to leave, so you could bloom
Without a word, without a broom
It does still rest within my soul
The urges that were left untold
– β€οΈasuma
Swabhaw - where you Feel WORDS 