Mitta Xinindlu's Blog: Mitta Xinindlu's scrap book - Posts Tagged "creative-writing"

I have long sensed that you're an edge of a sword.
In halve you managed to pierce me with taps and words.
Today those words have turned into a session of stabbing.
You cut me deep with your point, my spine is flapping.

Who knew that you'd burn into an anatomy of a dagger?
To you both the blade and the pommel are the same in danger.
Even the peen block is equally harmful too.
And the guard and the grip form an army of tools.

So, I fall bleeding from your thrust;
Oh! With my body full of bruises and cuts.
But only the soil has an interest to lick these wounds
For my blood giveth commitment and feeds it life in full.

How can a battle of love turn into an unending war?
Bow, allow my wailing to cease your cause.
Why torture me whereas even fallen leaves nurture my sores
And the ground quenches its thirst through my peeled pores?

Woe to your love.
It touches my trauma with soiled gloves.

They say paradise is only in heaven
But they haven't seen your face like I have.
They haven't been greeted by your smile
and embraced by your words.
Your eyes light up like golden streets of Jerusalem.
Eyebrows so thick, resembling the full head of Samson's strength.
Lips so tender like soles of the disciple's feet
whose steps followed the King.
Chin so strong like the 300 men of Israel who fought armies of armies
and won the good battle over kings.
I have seen paradise in your face.

Your ears are so upright
like the walls of Jericho;
whose standing was against no men,
living or dead.
Whose strength the Higher Being could be the only one to challenge.
Jaws strong like the shields of Shaka Zulu's men
who fought and won battles
that left blood dripping on blood.
I have seen paradise in your face.

Your forehead is so elementary
like the American soldiers who fought in Iraq;
whose dedication to their country was no child's play.
Who left their families
and sacrificed their youth.
The lines of your forehead, perfectly drawn
like the rivers of Jordan;
all drawing to the red sea
in which men of Egypt perished.
Your beard is planted like lawns of Eden
where peace and life were gathered in full.
I have seen paradise in your face.

Your cheekbones are perfectly high and well built
like the stone built to mark the death of Rachel,
wife to Jacob of Israel.
Your cheeks are correctly angled
like the temple that king Solomon built,
which took him 13 years to complete.

Your eye sockets are full of life.
So wise like King Solomon himself,
who chose wisdom over all riches of the earth.
Your perfect hairline
reflects the number of years you have loved me
like a bible story told year after year indeed.
They say paradise is only in heaven;
I have seen paradise in your face.

Perhaps the reason that your soul is laid
naked and raw waiting for praise
from my heart,
birthed wings that touched
and led my mind
down the path of laughter and smiles.

A path where reason
is in every season.
A lath where I lay my soul naked
for your mind to wander for decades,
and to maunder in breathing and breeding seasons.
Where our souls and hearts are sharing
a covenant of blood shedding.

A place where silence is the preset
that allows actions to be assumed perfect.
A face where our eyes clap for our sacred love
while the sun professes our thoughts's cave;
and the moon confesses to our heartbeats;
and the music echoes in our love sheets.

Perhaps your presence is a sentence
to my vocabulary of no pretence.
to the words I've been attempting at many a time
in wait for your soul to merge with mine.
Where birds flap their wings with joyful sighs,
celebrating the meeting of our minds.
Where the stars collate to write our story,
which in words, alone, I couldn't tell boldly.

I cannot deny the work of the Universe
in creating a meeting point in our verses.
Where minds of the same nature
recognised that they're matured.
Allowing out smiles to be the sun
and pain becomes shunned.

Look at love!
Look at how love has danced
to merge two souls who were once
scattered and shattered
into pieces and ashes