tapestryofmetaphors

[tapestryofmetaphors]

"I’d be the ink whose waves flow to love you"

An excerpt from "Forever is you".

[tapestryofmetaphors]

"But I'd rupture my bones to keep loving you."

An excerpt from "My World".

[tapestryofmetaphors]

"What does she loves the most?"

She is married to the rain, as if that's her long distance romance and every time it shows up she let it soak away all the scars of her past. A tapestry of blood flows through the wounds of her heart, yet it shimmers light impending serenity. She grows with each frame of the movie she loves, the jhumka she wears dances to her chaos and lingers to her ear like a blooming flower in autumn that she quenches it with her love, but do you know what she loves the most? "She loves Coffee"

[tapestryofmetaphors]

"She creates heaven on Earth"

Her eyes wide open, captivates life and weave stories about her sorcery. The ink of existence flows through the skin and bones of her fingers, as if everything she touches has their own story. "Maano jese uski haaton ki lakire, gujarte hue jamana koh bhi raah dikhati hai"

[tapestryofmetaphors]

"She loves Coffee"

"She loves coffee" as if a sip would screech her soul alive as the dawn. The stain of coffee gets painted between her lips, like a canvas through which she speak about art and life. The tantalizing waves of her hair like a midsummer ocean. Where drown the thoughts of her heavenly sonnets. Her stories filled with the language of gods and her language filled with the crown of metaphors. With every symphony of her voice it blooms spring between my ears. "Uski baatein jese, chale jane ko bhi wapas bula leti hai."

[tapestryofmetaphors]

Shiuli bloomed at your feet, Like tender reincarnation of the heaven.

And excerpt from "The October that never completed".

[tapestryofmetaphors]

I yell with poetry, And my metaphors curse my grave.

An excerpt from "The man that spoke truth about lies".

[tapestryofmetaphors]

Her language full of poetry, And my poetry's full of her.

An excerpt from "The Most beautiful things of my life".

[tapestryofmetaphors]

Her language full of poetry,

And my poetry's full of her.

An excerpt from "The most beautiful things of my life".

[tapestryofmetaphors]

In the apocalypse of my reality, She was a dream I'd live for.

[tapestryofmetaphors]

A Garden of Grief-

I have been told to let go, but how can I let go of every bit of me? You are that one piece that completes me, and if someday I let go of it and saw how intricately my pieces hang in despair and age in loneliness to fall apart into zillions of pieces and make my existence dull and unmeaningful, it would be a crime for my fingertips, who are a womb to your metaphors. You have stitched my wounds with the beacon of your words, and if I am comforted by your silence, those stitches shall echo through the entirety of my graves In the end, someday, if you are intoxicated by your sins, remember that my garden still speaks of the virtue you hold, even if it is my "Garden of Grief.".

[tapestryofmetaphors]

Anesthesia for an insomniac-

I yell at my shadow for being so close to you than me; you have possessed him, and now that the letters between us are falling short of meaning, my shadow loses his breath and oppresses my existence to be with you. I feel alien in the same land where we talked about the embellishment of our fate, where we felt that in our silence we trusted, and now everything is disappearing without even a proper funeral. I have the world to share with you, but I left behind my carcass to recite poetry to your ears in the woods of your melancholy.

[tapestryofmetaphors]

Unpleasant Mornings-

Where do I start? Where my consciousness is bewildered and light seldom through the ruptured skin of mine and the eloquent monstrous shadows that frighten me with insomnia, My blanket feels short of the cold in the meadows, where I once said, "I am grateful that I exist in the same land as you do." Each day unfolds like a demented puzzle, pieces unhinged and ill-placed and taunting me with my hopes to comprehend it someday to pacify the curse of my unfulfilled love. My soul is a tempestuous sea; the tossed waves scare me. For you, I am a sculpture of sand in which you have planted a seed of your favorite flower.

[tapestryofmetaphors]

My lost pieces-

I found myself in you because I do believe in you. We humans have very intricate behaviors, and one of them may be having faith in things, spirituality, or even people. We put our faith in things and don't even realize that it will ever be possible or not. But regardless of anything, in the end, we still believe or put our faith in. You are my thoughts now; you are all that tiny memory in my mind that makes me feel grateful that I exist; you are the only dream that makes me sleep through the entirety of the longest night.

[tapestryofmetaphors]

I love reading about you-

You may say I've never read your darkest chapter, but honestly, I haven't seen someone as embellished as you. Sometimes the language of those darkest chapters makes us lose our way to the bright side again. Ultimately, you deserve a single chapter that will make you believe in yourself again. You have a tender heart, and the innocence that rumbles through your fingertips when you talk needs to be handled with care. Though my language falls short of whatever I convey, you can witness everything from the roots of my words, and even if the clock doesn't care about us, I am here for you because now I am a part of you.

[tapestryofmetaphors]

Among all good things you have been one of them-

My lips turn red every time I read your name. The world looks more gracious in your eyes as if I could stare at them for eternity. My eyes get filled with all the things my heart weaves to tell you. The melody of your laughter will be the most crucial thing for me to exist in the same constellation as you. In our silence, I hear your breath, piquant like waves, in whose depths lies the meaning of my life. Your scars feel like my own now, and it does give me hope that we share the same fate. But I cannot let you age in grief with those scars. I wish I could replenish those scars with a tapestry of mine and let nothing make you hurt again.

[tapestryofmetaphors]

My favorite lanes-

Have you ever wondered if a person can even make another fall in love with roads? Now my feet remember every lane that leads to you; they don't remember the first time I walked and fell, but they do remember the night when they wanted to stay for a longer time just because they walked along the heavens. Those dead leaves seemed to be more happy, and that stray dog that became a part of your evenings even knows how tender your heart is. The lights were dim in front of you, and every time your shadow was cast over the road, you could not imagine how their hardness melted by your shadow's phantom touch.