They call my love as a stubborn scar,
A wardrobe of photographs and roses.
A milky spot on the silver of moon,
An orb of sharp paper cuts and frozen dew.

They call my love as a stubborn scar;
A summer of longing,
An autumn of swimming in the ocean,
And staying afloat and shedding skin like air
A winter of anticipation for warmth.

Sometimes I slip across the steering ship of my  volatile journey.
I chose to take the helm of my life –
As a wheel to a vintage carriage
A horse to a traveller
A scintillating arrow to bow.


Prompts by @living_through_lines & @myscreamingtwenties hosted on IG.

By Shreya Sharma

I read poems. Sometimes I write poems. And when I am doing nothing, I am sipping coffee.


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