The Pulse of A Petal

I dissolve in the potpourri
A green leaf amidst dead petal
Lost men flock the streetcar
And only I fight for the aisle
Knowing far too well that the bespectacled windows
Shall turn some blind in a while
For the tapestry towns
Stitched with dancing lights
Is not for them to claim
Who lick the darkness between two tungsten tongues
And know no aftertaste to blame
But the raindrop feet on cobbled streets
Paper skin behind display glass
Torn faces through the Venetian Blinds
A world watered in a vase
Are all akin
To a bargained win
For those with mundane affair
Of humble hands with seawater veins
Wading waves of deep despair
But I of charlatan choice
Of parched lips moisturised with the mud
I know far too well of flowerpots
And the fate of dreaming bud
So I dissolve in the potpourri
A green leaf amidst dead petal
Growing gardens beneath empty graves
Waiting for the dust to settle

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

5 thoughts on “The Pulse of A Petal”

    1. Thank you, Pragya for the simultaneously wonderful and heartbreaking comment. Been sorely missing your constant encouragement. I am glad that you find my writings meaningful and hope to be as mesmerized by yours tooπŸ™

      Liked by 1 person

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