In the melancholy of greys,
Some scars broken from pricking pines,
Lies framed in timelines,

As the frost of bitten snow marks, it's featured on edges of hearts,
Sometimes makes void of blues, mood swings longing to touch gaiety, but they unfold me sand shores of yore,

They scatter the sanity of minds like the invisible feel of winds and am fallen like an autumn dried leaf laying in the dust blown to the direction of the unknown gusts,

Pledging from the mind games a hope ripples change to new directions,
Faults in stars or flaws defined me shames, nobody can be an epitome of perfection but then too they play dramatically the name games,
The nine enneagrams are worshipped to tame but why are schedules being a uniquely underestimated,

Whipped apart holding onto fresh of advent, blaming sometimes emotions turmoil and others days on ruthless people,
Why do I need to do the hollow dance?
When caring isn't in extinct in dictionaries of stone-hearted love,

So leave me in the scattered form of bits, shallow maybe to feels of the reel, but maybe time will heal the wounds of past and murmurs of heart will be submerged to dark closets, till then pitfalls now recognize the ambushes and tolerance won't lead to acceptance, not today but someday the liberation will be soulfully mine.
© Soni Mirchandani