I'm starting to think life is black and white
I want it, or I don't
It's good for me, or it's not
It is, or it just isn't
Hope will glimmer here and there, casting light and shadow everywhere, blurring all harsh lines, leaving space for vibrant optimism. Warm hues of gold will glimmer through cloaks of cool air, stirring within me bouts of yearning to glow and revel in my own bioluminescence. But this candle has been out for some time now
And so I've lost my way
Because all I know is that I am grey
And grey belongs elsewhere
About the Creator
Anupallavi Sinha
Poetry
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Aqua-cosmos
I looked up at the sky, and instead found myself gaping at the bottom of an ocean. Mesmerized by the spectacle above me, I bore witness to the most magnificent perspectives, from the undersides of grand coral polyp colonies, to the bellies of the most bizarre, prehistoric marine giants. I longed to glide alongside these nautical creatures, to become one with the entity that adorns most of the Earth’s surface.. to aeronautically drift so effortlessly that I would forget that I am submerged in water. I realized that my fate was entirely dependent on the integrity of this thin, crystalline sheet of glass hovering above me. Like a stubborn ego, it persists as the only barrier between myself and the colossal aqua-cosmos. And then it occurred to me: this infinite, oceanic haven was always present. With time, enduring through cycles of struggle and growth, I have been chipping away at this iceberg of insecurity -to the point at which it is now fully transparent, to the point that I can recognize that it is keeping me from further life-changing manifestations. Suddenly, I truly understand the depths of equanimity and vulnerability. I feel the water in my cells vibrating at the same frequency as the water in the floating ocean above me. Finally tuning into the sweet euphony of shattering glass, I welcome this nautical world of unwavering devotion and consciousness to fall down and swallow me whole.
By Anupallavi Sinha3 years ago in Poets
Tortured Soul
The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler6 days ago in Fiction
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