welcome ;)
Sometimes I wonder if I am the weaver of words, Crafting each verse with care and skill, like a arras of birds. Or perhaps I'm a translator of the universe's song, Piecing together syllables like stars to where they belong. Amongst the cosmic whispers and the universe's murmurings, As a translator of its essence, I find my soul's yearnings.
©Kendra Pokhrel
you are all that, and that's all me. you're all those, and those are all me.
what I am, I'm to myself, what you are, are to you, where I exist, I exist there, but what I am, am I to you?
©Kendra Pokhrel
fact or a flaw, truth or a lie,
a turned down word, a rejected account, or a tale being denied, on just every count.
spoke of heat, spoke with heat, denial and resentment, a mind on heat.
an attempted play, a day of pact, darker days, and a deal compact.
days turn to nights, and nights; midnight, worrying soul, and dimming light.
and the night is over, and the sun has risen, and a new day, rising over the horizon.
days turn to weeks, and weeks to month, the soul laments the day, in silent, shadow leaves the hunt.
©Kendra Pokhrel
it's a story, one about the warm days, when the world was in chaos, but my heart in allays.
a word was exchanged, a song delivered, a lyric when composed, then a soul shivered.
a travelling mind, a homed heart, the tone was soft, but the lyrics tart.
the days have passed, and the weathers changed, daylight turned to twilight, and the cold unchained.
©Kendra Pokhrel
A story;
this is a story, a story about me, a story about we, a story about who i'm meant to be, this is my story...
this is the story, the story of a bird free, wings across the sky, one hopping tree to tree, this is the story...
the one of who I am, of where I am, and where I should be, this is a story, this is my story.
©Kendra Pokhrel
beauty:
beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, but how beautiful they must have been to see beauty in that chaos.
©Kendra Pokhrel
am I alive, or am I dead, am I real, or am I woven, do I exist on my own, or to this world, am I cloven?
is it my life, is it a dream, am I awake, am I asleep, is it the height of life, or depth of fancy so deep?
©Kendra Pokhrel
Silken Hair
The river courses through, unbidden and unseen, its waves like silken strands—quietly beautiful, never asking for admiration.
©Kendra Pokhrel
intimacy
Sex isn't an act, it's a feeling.
A feeling of being with her, a feeling of together an emotion of bond that tether. Intimacy in between a couple sweethearts, as if fabricated albeit the divinity's arts.
A pledge persistent to be held, an ardor potent for me to yield. complicated sentiments of voyeur, motives me by your amour.
©Kendra Pokhrel
hopes in lies
I will rise up the sea of diffid, so you too unwrap your blankets of reticence, I will fly to the skies of demural, can you accept my soul; take off your abeyance?
I will welcome your passion, so you would drench in my lust, I am to depart from my lies, so be it your deception I can trust.
My body, a peaceful sanctuary, you'd be my zen, me; a poem, an art, and you, the pen.
Inked with blood, smudged a flaw, a prowess broken, yet a creation of awe.
your world painted, a universe of lies, everything woven with falsity, in the deceit, my hope allies.
©Kendra Pokhrel