DROPS OF THOUGHTS | AESTHETIC LINES

Few drops of unattended thoughts,
travel all the way from the clouds of imagination,
not entertaining,
but pertaining to something within,
falls on dry hearts.

The clock on the lost wall

Right there,
on the wall of lost time,
sitting is a clock.
Looking through the eyes of time,
everything and everywhere.

There isn’t solace,
but a sadness that keeps getting deeper with time.
If you know and look into it,
you will find it hard to understand.

The petrichor,
the dusky smell of wooden trench,
used long back to make its body.
The rare collection of colors put into it.

Wind in its own acoustic comes to make him feel the lost time,
like a golden memory which cherishes us to laugh and cry at the same time.
It does seem like how the bread of memory pilled with lost time taste.
Maybe there is no other beauty glow like the time.
It keeps the beauty of dusk and dawn,
the sun and moon, the dark and the day, the world and I.

One-line Poetry

“Heart whispers through the voices lost in silent winds of solace.”

“Never heard the Whispers of flowers, the stones remained stones.”

“In the lost tranquility, i still breath of unanimous trails towards peace.”

“Writing on leaves, the drops of fog, some poems of life, about smiling and blossoming, love in the eyes.”

“Written on her face, stories of her heart, can’t be heard but understood.”