Asraa Bhollazayi | Poetry

red ::  it's a day for yearning and again for living, to beat a drum against the thrum of your own heart and set alight the plains, forevermore a drop of salvation in a world full of empty husks; it paints an empty canvas full of belonging and redemption, it snares a tusk on the evenings of adventure - a precarious red when the skies take flight and the universe is in sight

orange ::  nostalgia seeps into your bones, sepia sunlight and evenings made apart from this realm, no sound of reason against the thrum of a crank radio as your eyes flutter shut, the heat of a summer sun doing wonders for the ink stains your heart unfolds, each year a passing feat for those forevers you hold close 

yellow ::  little fairy, tell me - do you know what tomorrow means? do you know of the wonders you shine in your eyes? do the days take hold or is it your wings that fly high? your aura is saccharine, a glistening web of dandelions held so dear - incandescent in the light of day, you woo me; tell me what it is you've whispered into the air to make an eternity feel as bright as the sun

green :: i'm awestruck and forlorn all in one, some wretched reverie held close and locked up yet stitched onto my sleeves for all to see. i'm some walking mirage of fairytales and legends, some semblance of faces frozen in time, green envy enraptured soft and warm, cold statue faces and sweet sin of daydreams - one for me and one for you, i'm forever lost in a maze of possibilities, an endless haze of the wars we've won 

blue :: your skin is soft and warm against the light of the stars, eyes shining like the night was made for dreaming and not for flying, cold fingertips against the beat of a pulse and a stamp on the heat of days past; blue is what I call melancholy when its sweet and velvet on my tongue, when it melts into a blinding ecstasy and the heavens above blur into a cacophony of hushed eternities 

indigo :: it speaks of the deepest sea, the coldest night, soft hues and longing so true - it sits heavy on your tongue, stains a precarious umber in the right light, holds up a candle against the might of the wounded and makes them look it in the eyes - do you see what I have seen? do you know what I am? 

violet :: the dreamland is neither vicious nor kind, it screams a separate kind of melody into the ears and hearts, set blindly like the sin of rage dressed head to toe in debonair - dip you headfirst into the sea and make anything of the tapestries - what do you see? bruises are the constellations of the damned and - madness isn't just sadness dressed head to toe in the victories of severed hands?