G @monsoonwrites - Tumblr Blog

I will keep planting sunflowers in my soul, so when you arrive you’ll know I was always growing love, growing toward you and growing for you

A word with you is love,

like a gentle breeze brushing my hair and linger like a tender touch

A word about you is poetry,

each letter grows wings the moment it carries you,your name and anything and everything about you

And I remain as a paper heart,

longing only for the ink of your voice, to breathe life and meaning into me.

The voice of your eyes drinks me slowly.Every glance from you is a word,a conversation in silence I never want to forget,it lingers on my skin like a sweet kiss without touch.I live like a poem left in your breath,long for the next line you will write through your eyes

Of his views and my thoughts

I breathe and choke on the colour of pomegranate red of my blood.My throat is a tomb, its walls are sealed and shut by the weight of a thousand sorrows,every time I try giving voice to each word it turns out to be a cold hard stone within it.My pen is not just a thing,it's a terrible creature of bones and teeth that drinks my blood from a wound I have learned to open to serve the anguish.I have no other choice but to provide,to give,to surrender,to pour my heart even if it protests.The page before me is not a white canvas of bed to sleep but my own burial ground to conceal.With every scratch and scribble,my pen's teeth murders the page,tearing the surface until it stains with my blood.

Every line it carves is not a grave of grief for what was,but a fresh scar on what remains.The poem is not just a gentle act of creation,but a brutally beautiful birth.For a poem to be born,a page has to be died.

And I am not a poet,I am just a midwife to my heart that gives birth to the children of my poems.

When I look into the mirror, I don't find a woman.I find a stranger's shadow painted in melancholic skin.Her eyes are puddles where grief melts.Her lips are locked door with the lost key.There's a courtroom between us,I was accused and condemned for being survived when so much within me has already died.I am both defendant and witness, and the verdict is a silence that suffocates.

My reflection sits in the middle of this bridge where one edge is what I was never allowed to become while the other is what I am trying to become.

Of reflections and ruins,Hues of despair

We met in a line of a poem, and since then I cannot unwrite you. Already you have become unerasable, the letters refuse to go backwards. They move me closer to you word by word There's no other way, We must meet again and again in every next line until I stop writing poems G

Perhaps my memory is not keeping you alive. It is only you who keeps my memory alive. Without you,what would it nurture? Without you,what would it carry ? You are the orchid my memory waters everyday with my thought By writing to you,I am pouring my rain of love for you. And in the endless garden of words,you bloom eternal in the fragrance of my heart ~ G © monsoon.writes

I safekeep all the essence of your presence in the vintage box called my heart

So why won't it be heavy for you to carry?

I gave you my heart,you said my heart is too heavy to carry around everywhere you go So you left it to let it walk alone in the middle of nowhere You are right it's too heavy, Because I have some half written poems hanging on the layers of my veins Searching verses of your love in between the pages of my life But all I have is pieces of my scattered soul on the margins Glued with your unanswered replies And letters with dried roses and leftovers Some poems carry my tear stains While others are sunshine flavored happiness from your fake phrases I safekeep all the essence of your presence in the vintage box called my heart So why won't it be heavy for you to carry?

The melancholic mindset of unrecognized rupture goes back and surrender only to Poetry - A place I call it as home

That's why I write love,to sadness

Every time hope whispers,despair screams Inhaling blames,I shred layers of my heart Because to bear is,to preserve the dignity of my parents But echoes of mockery disturbs the decided dreams While declined wishes of writing poetry mourn for its own abandonment from my own heart So ache keeps on aching The melancholic mindset of unrecognized rupture goes back and surrender only to Poetry - A place I call it as home That's why I write love,to sadness So that it can be felt,heard,cared to let go and breathe So that I can breathe.

In the silence of night Night that leans against my chest Chest that remembers the weight of your absence Absence that twists time into sleepless loops Loops where I wander, seeking the warmth of your voice Voice that lingers as the flavour of a remembered kiss Kisses carrying summers, winters, rains, and springs we have yet to live Live every poem I have written, and the ones still waiting to be born for you, on you, about you You, and thoughts of you, wrap around me relentlessly and beautiful Beautiful because it is the only truth my heart has ever known Known in the way rivers know the pull of the sea Sea that carries every fragment of my longing toward you You who turn the weight of waiting into a sacred offering Offering I place, word by trembling word, at the quiet altar of our love.

Oh,it’s a strange sort of arithmetic,darling !

The more of you I carry, the less of me there seems to be, and somehow it’s the happiest subtraction I’ve ever known and a sweet loss I would always be ready and happy to lose,for it is the only loss that feels like gaining the world

G,Fragments from my book I am writing for a man whom I haven't even met yet

Painting : Yes or No by John William Godward

I’ll place my painful scars into your palms, hoping you’ll build shelter, not fire. I’ll place my panic attacks into your palms, hoping you’ll carry a blanket, not a knife. I’ll place my insecurities into your palms, hoping you’ll cradle them, not crush them. I hope you choose to hold, not harm. I hope you choose to soothe, not shatter. I hope you choose to stay,not leave.

You're a sweet memory I haven't lived yet

She is a sorrow dressed in graceful silence,a paused prayer and a cry frozen in worship.

Why do I Write ?

Whenever I try to speak, my words shiver beneath a scarf of fear. I always have words stuck on my tongue. To reach out, every letter has to hopscotch on the ribcage of my lungs. At once, my heart starts racing. I have to remind myself to breathe, which results in swallowing the sentences. So I write.

Why do I Write ?

Because I love to serve my thoughts on a platter of paper, with an aroma of emotions. My secret ingredient is feeling, and I sprinkle my soul-filled words gently like confetti. So I write.

Why do I write ?

For paper is the only place where I find solace. When I bleed the moments onto the sheet, it is the only time my throbbing heart never skips a beat. So I write.

Why do I Write ?

Most nights, I wake up to the darkness invading my mind chasing shadows till the end to meet memories enthroned inside my soul. So whenever I write, it makes us unite. We cage those penned moments in an envelope, with dried roses kept and sealed with love carrying pieces of my heart embedded within.So I write.

Why do I write ?

When my unspoken words of pain cry for help, I sit with my voices and bandage them pen as healer. I slowly, carefully touch them, place them on the paper, and wrap them as a poem. So I write.

Why do I Write ?

On the stage of life, I have stories to narrate but in front of a neglecting audience. So I write.

Why do I Write ?

I have always craved a patient listener. Later, I found one in the pile of papers. I keep writing until I can breathe again without hurting myself.

I breathe poetry but only when you're the metaphor

Until you arrive, I will keep my museum-heart like a love letter inked in devotion, sealed with longing, tucked away from the world, but always yours. I’ll adorn the walls with rose-laced blushes, and hang my prayers like fragile portraits, When you walk in, even the silence will bloom at the sound of your breath. You won’t be a visitor here, my love you will be the soul for whom this entire museum was built. Each room preserved in tenderness, each hallway echoes your name in joy, and every layer of this love kept safe and sacred not for anyone else,but for you alone

~ I am a museum of love preserved for him

Picture : Pinterest

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