The Noose

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cloistered jars of pickles and sweets

ferment in fury behind the doors ajar,

festooning you with an impulse to peep

the froth and fumes of constricted love

 

strenuous breaths with sneeze and cough

scent of flowers congests your nostrils,

mouth-breathing the glory of the days gone

you question my mournful mouldering

 

as if nothing happened…

 

©Written Frames, 2018

Freedom in love makes you fall in love with chains and shackles of it, willingly!

 

 

Obsessed

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Not a single breath of you
I breathed in, is alive inside
Being so close to you was toxic

Toxic

Toxic

Toxic

I am poisonous
I am putrefying
Beware of my broken thorns
You touch it, you may die
Don’t push me away yet
Leave me where I belong

Domesticated,

Helpless like a fish,

A fish
Bought and brought up
In gaze of glass
Released into the wild
Baffled at big waters
Of storms and splashes
Hard to swim or dive
Learnt to float
But this fear of freedom
Where shall I hide?

There is a globe inside the glass
Skin shackled to the jar
Let it rot
Where it belongs
Here beside you
With your gaze stuck at the glass pot;
O you look at me
Observe me
See me through agonized
I will smile with blood brimming my eyes
For I am watched
If not loved and prized

© Written Frames, 2017

 

 

and how time flies…. 🙂 🙂

The fish always learn to shed off the skin of habit and break the glass to freedom and new opportunities…..

What is next to come? Only tomorrow will tell …..

 

Let us travel . . . .

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Written Frames

Travelling facilitates an influx of emotions and thoughts which were always there within, however, in a suspended state and now they tend to bloom. Do we get to know ourselves- what genre we belong to unless we explore different kinds of people and personalities around us?

Sitting in my seat as the wind runs through my hair, it seduces my conscience and I fall back into dreams and faded visions. I think of things I ignored, I dream of places I have never been to and I find myself in the state I always need to be in- carelessly at peace and with flying freedom of thought. May this journey never stop, let me embrace what I am for a little longer. Let me travel again and push my struggling thought through the window of dreams to the reality. But would its freedom be welcomed in the society of defined…

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An Accident

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She was an accident

Which he met with, coincidentally

The day both were feeling unloved

While sun sets its crease,

Near the horizon it flutters in cold breeze.

She was dark, he was light,

She was bruised, he was in plight,

Both were victims of each other

For love was the puppeteer,

Overruled them against the odds

Fate and freedom were never so kind

To bind the bond together.

 

© Written Frames, 2017

Coincidence