Poetry Weaves Itself

kavyadsouza7

I lay still. And poetry weaves itself around me.

Myriad shapes. Cacophonous dreams. Resonating silences. A web they form. I am soon engulfed by a warp. My numb fingers touch the luminescent strands of imagination and rays benign begin to penetrate through me.

I was on this side and eternity on another.

Entwined in dyed threads, dappling in reality and prodding realization, lines colored begin to ink my mind.

I lay still. And poetry had weaved itself around me.

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Crop Top – Thrifted

Denims – Marks & Spencer

Bag – StalkBuyLove

Heels – Last Worn Here

Flat Cap – Vintage

Photography – Anish Nair

Till the next post,

Kavya

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