A thousand paper cranes

aren’t we all.just paper cranes.our paper wings.our paper veins.our paper necks.our paper skies.folding petty.paper lies. no. not flesh and bone.not smiles and screams.aren’t we all.just paper dreams? It took me the last 51 days to fold my first 1000 paper cranes. According to Japanese tradition, folding 1,000 paper cranes gives a person a chance to…

Dead storms.

The storm is all dead, Instantaneously gone, Shattered by the winds: Broken glass in lucid hands, capturing sun rays alone. ~ for storms will come, and storms will go, but you will make the sun shine bright on yourself with the very things that your storms will break…

Night break pt.II

The twisted woods enveloped,In lifeless gray haze,The night ever so motionless,An indomitable maze, Woody naked branches,And their distorted canopies,Dark flowers bleeding down,On leafless, dying trees. The forest floor rustling,Under chilling, voiceless screams,So realistically fictitious,Like sombre lucid dreams. Weirdly humid,But every breath so icy cold,Frostbite on our cotton cheeks,And fear manifold. The feeling of being watched,From…

How Eternal?

I brood over the fact,Eternity to be precise,If eternity accompanies,In life and demise. Death doesn’t wait for any,Nor the infant in the womb,How long can eternity stand itself,In its eternal tomb. If it exists it always does,The most precious all around,Timelessness might be radiating wisdom,Waiting to be found. If eternity doesn’t stick to time,How long…

The stream

A broken heart,Bleeds tears.But it’s thoseUnder her eyes,That fascinate meThe most.How they crashOnto her skinFrom the oceanOf her eyes.Raindrops,From the stormsWithin her.How they glistenLike a streamIn the fall.Only a stream:Is full of water.Her tears:Full of words.Words:That weave poetry,As they trickle.Down her chin.Into the etchings,Of my palms. © Shanyu Bihani 2020 This is a follow-up poem…