amia

Bring me the moon, she said. He brought her the- layman's moon. Is it under this moon people like us dream? She asked. do we really need something above us to dream? He asked back. But isn't that aesthetic? She retracted. Our mind creates aesthetics It's all up there. What if all these stars, moon and Us belong to someone's mind? Poof!

Amidst your tramples I stand at contrast with- the one who embrace me with his green. You don't see us-- because you no longer carry affection in your heart for us. Remember the days; You, with your tiny hands touched my green and me Your eyes greeting us with amazement. Your eyes are dead now, No longer has love in them. Its all the hullabaloos and colourless tales that now resides but, without Love.

Dearest, Melancholy is my kind of bliss Don't be fooled by the image Melancholy isn't darkness' friend It resides in the brightest of smiles and warmest of hearts. And, don't you dare define it by your mediocrity. As I said, dearest Melancholy is my bliss You find them at your lowest I find them at my best. Your's and my definition of melancholy is at two poles And we are two continents!

Roots towards the sky they do grow at two ends don't you see? Seldom you try to see things in another angle. See the world upward down with sky as your canvas the brightness which will blind you, the darkness which would ease your sight all begins from their. but, Seldom you try to see things in another Angle!

Wasn't this the way- to immortality? the boat was tricked by the weeds.(or rather he tricked them) the visible green path they forged,finally trapped (or rather, he trapped) the one who never fell for the weeds down the waters. He came, but in search of the love of his life lost many years back, to the same green monsters. No one knew, but he tricked the weeds!

Miles to go before I sleep he said, everyday without the lightest knowledge of whom Frost was. Milestones defined his journey, en route he helped fellow travelers who often abandoned him midway. He is the sufi of the less travelled path, one which Frost confronted midway and wrote nothing!

Darling, I reside in shades, the one which reside in light, the one which those in light least care to glance. No! I didn't create them! Shades are created in the absence of light. Absence ! Forced one. You see. Who wants their light to be taken away? who likes to reside in shades, darling? tell me?! Unless, those like me who have got used to the hidden rainbows of the eternal shades.

Dearest Gatsby, she reach out to, this red light every night. The concrete trees with their colour-blind leaves depress her love-lorn heart. She has, but this one red light, which blinks once in a while with the life granted by the colourless water.