It's A Bellisima

By Swati Joshi

Swimming grains of fragments all over the tired sea,

built a ship destined to touch the wrecking bed.

Did the dreams convalesce into nightmares of a flag?

Memories, times , half retained half forgotten

Half distorted into the life prism shining red.

Starts conjugation with heads, planned futures

unplanned patches of colors dipped in dust.

Lest, it all has fallen back into flustered just.

Potential, they call caliber, filling till brim.

Modesty touching ground, is it a win?

Righteous, it is to be thought and to be well spent

In work and the hours of all the wrestle.

But is the truth what all is clear or is it

an order of Dike, a soul meta-transfer?

Hindered wishes, walls of defense .

Pious, altered, heavenly , unbothered

silk eyes to flake the beauty of Athens.

Soft, upper hands of blessings, flowers lavender

a turn of settings, confrontation on hold

Realization of being near to the fault as the truth gapes.

You bring shame to nihilism, have the girth of

Poirot, feels of a tap, a break , an intolerance.

Acceptance of your beliefs make me yours truly

Found and lost while the desires count

With an unconscious of Freud.

Flat steps , height high, sound of stepping up

never heard light, seems to know

much of an intuition, care of a pallor

a rejuvenation; goblets of no losses.

Fire of a printed paper.

Pinpoint approach  of filling a biography.

Soundproof glasses can’t give peeping presence.

Smile too perfect, work too logistic

Sleep in a while , while I watch

If you can really?

Meeting demands, is it altruism or

Feasted upon? Look right and move your shadows.

The sculptures you carved are already worn off.

Knowledge you imparted seems to torn you and me both

Guess you are disappointed but I am not.

Streaks of cinnamon, notorious to your feet

I have just peeked from the windows and 

You are losing your skin

Your hands are restless and head is disoriented.

You aren’t anxious, it is pain of separating.   

By Swati Joshi