The Aisle of Valyria

Footsteps, echo on the cobbled pathway, As his eyes, graze the environs. Tens of buddy groups flit past him, like the hands of time, As his heart palpitates, for it mourns. The pensive gusts of wind, sweep dust onto his path, As the sojourning him, is treated by his friends by ignorance. Jealousy chars down his conscience, As two kitties chase each other, in a playing trance. The reverie of the hand-crafted envelope, penned with love, Come down haunting from the dungeons of memory. Torn with distaste, burnt with ill-concern, ignored by her, The dissipated ashes sting to melt down, the stoned heart’s armoury. Tears brim the edges of his eyes, begging to ease out. Pushing them back into the caverns of his soul, his face reflects a meek smile. Little do the onlookers and passers-by comprehend, The storm that rages within him often, not once in a while. Social media, shows buddies, in photographs, freezed during hangouts. The answer to non-inclus...

The chasms of love which encircle a Juliet’s swoons, and a Romeo’s longings, Dispel their magic better than wizardry, annihilating the very ‘me’, in an instant. The Garden of Eden personified in time and reality, floats in my day-dreams even, The red petals of Parisian roses and the gondolas of Venice seem utterly pleasant. The moony face of m’lady, is what I would love myself to be transfixed at. How, shall it become, I wonder, when those auburn curls, are crowned by a hat atop? The rare cerulean pearls which adorn beneath those flashy jet-black eyelashes, Often transverse a look, that make the ripples underneath cease down and stop. The fragrance of her hair, scatters purifying, the many dark dingy secrets I chose to protect. Little it does though, in me, to calm the torrential recesses of the maimed soul. Her eyes connect with mine, as my heart fails to accommodate the unending joy. I realise, I do not possess the requisite steps, to jive in tune with her...

The cool gale of the monsoon anew, pours through the wooden bars lining the ochre wall, stirring nerves. Breathing life into the forlorn face, and weary physique, it, as a dear welcome guest, serves. Excitement floods the chambers of heart and the shallow recesses of mind, as the defiant persona is enthralled by the music. The music, to the tunes of which the blue-throat dances, Stabs the wars, with a lustful trance so psychic. Overjoyed, I rush out of my little hay cottage,surmising the green, Of the vast countryside, now so lively with vigour. The drizzle casts a mirage,like haze, onto which, Is reflected a dear face, whose memory strikes every minute and every hour. The soft, dry grass, serves as an alluring pathway, As my feet rush me to that place, the shelter of which I crave. Not far from here, a couple of dozen furlongs away, Is a beautiful, cobbled bridge, with a brook beneath, now so brave. The light drizzle, eyes to metamorphosize in...