Welcome to the fragile world made up using just 26 letters and live pictures arranged and rearranged again and again to form tales and imaginings which, if you let them, will dazzle your senses, haunt your imagination and move you to the very depths of your soul.
This is one try at a sensuous note. Hope it pleases you all, and reminds you of soothing moments in your life.
Her breath lingered of moon dust and restrained voices. His echoed of years of earth, wait and turmoil. They both felt like flame, the kind that set houses and forests on fire.
Their lips moved on a dance of passion and desire. As their silent lips serenaded each other in a mixed brew of self-restraint and uncaged feelings, they only thought of their pasts, and not of whose mouth connected to their own.
He heard his ex's cold gestures, like torture drilling into his heart. Personable promises rolled out off her sugar lips but the undertones carried unconditional silence and sourness. So, he continued drowning his fears and desires in the addicting drink of her lips.
She saw her flesh heat, and sharp questions digging themselves into the web of her mind. Years of deceit, should or should not - they fought but finally her heart paved way. Their supple lips whisp…
Go far away, ye forsaken hours,
Nor do I need thy cares, o world,
Sun and season, set me free,
I have frolic love in my midst,
and that's enough for the whilst.
All over and around in my voyage,
Have I countered a hundred maidens
But ye, on knowing, I rest my feet.
Charming to folks, bathed in moon,
yet thou are robed with eternal grace.
Weaving tales, thine eyes enchant me
And voice, fairer than countless fairies,
My heart arrests at thy furtive glances.
I speak true, that from thereafter,
I have become ye, in thought and soul.
Streets were his love. He loved to roam around, observe people, sit by the tea joints and listen to people ranting. He didn't meddle in anybody's affairs.
That day, he was walking on the street, when he suddenly saw a little girl and a boy - probably siblings - play around. They were talking about a recent story their grandma had told them. He tried to listen to their voices - young and full of grandeur.
"My dad likes to ride like a hero. No one can drive faster," the boy said. The girl continued, "When we go back home, we need to talk to our mom. She never replies back." "Idiot, mom lives in a photo, I don't know if she'd ever talk. We should tell her what granny said. Maybe then, she will talk back," the boy said.
He was listening to them intently. His attention was disturbed by a big crash. A trailer was parked just next to where the kids were playing on the road. A car was speeding down the road - the driver was probably off-balanced - he…
Silent dreams and a sea of fireflies,
tread beneath the aubergine skies,
Silhouette cast from elder trees
they shroud the charcoal streams,
Saffron cuts into the hills abreast
like ignited tides of passioned crime,
Showering paths with glee, and hope
and rays of possibility that's the dawn.