Heliophile Heaven.

Maybe some songs,some friendships aren't meant to be understood completely.Maybe all one can do is grow into them.
Burst into the full bloom  of life,sitting under a Eucalyptus tree,comfortable in deep silence,so sun kissed the few words that did tumble out,ever so naturally.
The leaves being raked ,a scattered constellation being wiped to a clean slate,like a night fading.
The petrichor smell and the cool breath of the Earth,so breezy.
Scattered and blown are white,furry seeds,like the magic of one's first snowfall.Demanding to be looked at,to be inspire awe.
And  here in this corner dwells my childhood,and there in that backyard jungle live my daydreams.
Nestled in these lanes we walk,and the flowers that bloom only at springtime,cherry-blossom like,is a story of how we grew up.and where.and how.and all a reminiscent flash of nostalgia.

All one can do,perhaps,is hold on to the undying glory of feeling,savour it till the last crumbs,like plum cake.

When "someday" turned into this day.

In an ordinary looking yellow house,lived a little girl.

She was around five,I believe,and bright as a cherub.

She lives beside the school that taught me everything,

next to an equally ordinary postoffice.

But what changed,what took away her identity that could have been-

Beautifully complete before it became so,

was an event no one knew of,no one spoke of.

A terrible,extraordinary act that ruined her childhood,at the least.

No one chose to believe her,what did she know,silly child.

Silly little girl,indeed,for letting her innocence trust people,look to them for help.The same adults to whom the monster belonged,the one who took it all away,left her all the pain-a legacy to last forever.

So that one major event got pushed to a corner as insignificant,but it stayed,

Forever,scarring her,every bit and every day.

Until one day,she found the love,the only power which can heal wounds deep.

And she let go,she let go slowly,finally.

Still she lives in that yellow house,a life ordinary,as tonight she turns fifteen.And know what? She wins,in every moment she wins against the darkness,the monsters inside her head.She smiles way too bright now to let out the light from her life again.

PERKS.OMFG.<3

Playdough ambitions.

Blinding colour,psychedelic pain.

Running again in scruffy shorts,reaching out our grubby hands.

The crocheted delicacy of childishness.

Sprawled all over the sunbaked terraces,

washed up in our own ignorace

,or was it mere innocence.

The playground politics,or the very lack of it,thereof.

Curled up in the  cracks of our craniums,

just fading freckles.
Grew up playing house together,

now grow worthy building houses of our own.

 

Over that old,crumbling bridge.

"Feel the Earth beneath your feet" she says,"The radiating heat of her presence,against our bare feet."
"And lined with dirt and pigeon shit." I add,matter-of-factly.
On a particularly hot day in October,we stood,isignificant beings under the the magnificent stone structure towering over us,in ways only four hundred year old monuments can.Skyscrapers could never compare.
 There's something about religious places,we all agree.A sense of serenity,the tranquil vastness of it all-the silence that dwells in the bustle of the pilgrims,maybe.
It's the oldest part of the city,and once glamorous structures cluster us,yellowing like much loved old books.To this day,we identify them as eptiomes of beauty and immortal grace,the same way one would with Marylin Monroe or Audrey Hepburn.
Just the idea of them,so ravishing,too overwhelming to be real.Unreal,unfolding before our eyes,even.
There are other things,that have we awe-inspired and spellbound,like a 100 year old cuckoo clock that still functions perfectly.The flawless marble sculpture of a woman,under a veil made of stone.A veil,almost fluid and silky and melodious as her poise.
And the statue that embodies two bodies dwelling in one soul,poignant.To discover all these treasures forgotten in corners,far-off,is to rediscover ourselves,children with reconnected roots,new identities.
And what's scorched feet and blistered soles,for a day lent from History.