|a woman from the land of wildflowers. Instagram @KohlBrownEyesOfficial|
You can never learn completely about love if you haven't met the love that's dwelling inside you.
Just like you cannot meet the ocean if you keep ignoring the water.
Art cannot be made without a muse. No matter whether you paint, write or compose music, muse is the essence. Only a right muse can involve you in an experience of mystic self transcendence.
To me, muse always meant that never fading ray of light that can guide you home from the depths of the ocean and from the darkest corner of a forest, from the tangles of your thoughts and from the chaos of your emotions.
When you have become estranged even from your self, she unites you with your quiddity. When you want refuge in empty desolation, she retreats you with the joy in your being. When silence starts to take over you, she brings back the charm of sound.
She sits unmoved in your heart, drape...
Many came and went, and I know many more will. Some made me feel like the moon, ever luminous and briliant, but they sang songs only about my blemishes and imperfections. Some made me think am the sun, bright and life giving, but grumbled that I'm too warm to be embraced. Some said am as pure and sacred as the river Ganges, wherein they can wash away all their sins, but refused to stay in my depths claiming that my floor smells of people's peccadilloes and wrongdoings. Some even called me Goddess, a woman who is an embodiment of great beauty and the object of worship and prayers, but then, a temple can never become a home. And so on. While some raved about my simplicity and profundity, others...
In all the seasons of my life, and yours, you taught me the wisest of lessons.
In the hours of ignorance, you made me understand that our flowers and fruits are never for ourselves to taste, instead they belong equally to all the species and in our ego, we should never withhold them.
During the days of fall, you enlightened me with the fact that to blossom at our best, once in awhile we need to wither and rest so that we can grow back fully with a new spirit and more energies.
You showed me that the sky is no different. We're colossal. Our branches belong to the wideness of the sky above as much as our roots to the depths of the earth below.
At best, you nested me in your womb and bro...
From your flesh to your bones,
You're an absolute magic,
And have touched me in a
Way like never before.
I feel like a new born light.
If you'd ask me what impact
Your presence has made in my life,
I'd say that I feel as special
As the moon who's whole life is
Spent with bright stars around.
But, my love, you're my real life moon.
You've lightened my dark life so uniquely
That now my days and nights are
Equally perfect; I spend my days dreaming
About you and my nights, by writing you.
You're gorgeous, and the most beautiful
Thing about your beauty is how your
Laughter liberated me from desolation.
It has filled the rooms of my heart.
Love dwells in me every second of this
Subtle is the path of love.
There one loses one's self into the other's.
Therein one plunges into the deeps to never return back to the shallows, and the light is casted over, a glow, seen only through a naked heart.
There's mutual offering and saving. They fall and rise together, and each day, there's a new spirit of union midst all the chaos and bliss.
Have you ever thought about what makes you want to express? To someone who's sleeping, it doesn't matter if the stars are shining or not. But you, the person wanting to express, can feel both the absence and the presence of stars in the night sky above which means that you aren't sleeping. You're awake. You're awake to your heart, your feelings and your emotions; you aren't indifferent to them. You feel the details and the depths. You feel the happiness and the pain. You believe in embracing both the dark and the light of the life rather than sitting ignorant to their existence like a coward, like someone deaf, dumb and numb. You feel like a bird in the sky, flying to reach the destination an...
How can I reach you?
How can I free you?
How can I hold you?
How can I call you mine?
How can I cultivate my
love in your life?
"O lover, show me the way."
Where is the need of words, when the heart has found it's perfect poetry? Where is the need for eyes to read more books, when they have met their perfect pair? When the light has now wrapped your body in it's layers, why to fear the arrival of darkness? Don't look back again and again. When the bird in you has taken the flight to the bright sky above the high mountains, why you need to look down to the blue lakes? Your thirst is quenched now. When the love itself dwells inside you, why you need to worry about the gates? Listen, don't long for the union now, because you're the temple, and he, whom you worship with all of you, has united himself with you.
Before I depart from life,
I want to bow down before
the beauty you're and say:
"You and I are one!"
You're the earth to my feet,
the sound to my ears,
the sight to my eyes,
and the taste to my tongue.
You're the water to my thirst,
the wings to the sky,
the light to my darkness,
and the path to the home.
You're the response to my prayers,
and the fullness of my life.
You've brought love to my existence,
and the gratitude in my breaths.
Beloved, without you neither my
sun sets nor my moon rises,
nor I land into the day
nor I wake up from the night.
Art when really understood is province of everything. In everything alive, there lies the art. It is simply inside thing needed to be felt, and nothing outside, nothing beyond the senses, nothing extra.
Art is the language in which we humans and even the nature is speaking, expressing, touching and changing since the millions of years. It was there then, it is here now, and it will be there even after the destruction of our planet earth. In fact, destruction itself is an art. Art is the formation of constellation, falling and burning up of meteorids, pattern of horizon's changing colors, breaking of waves on the shore, fluttering of butterflies around the garden, falling of rain on the leav...
Have you ever seen someone so closely that you could see the last layer of their skin? Or in a way that they could feel the color of your eyes mixing with their own and creating a world which you both needed so badly to see, maybe together? And then, you realised how their each pore of the reality holds so much of dreams that they're not less than any unimaginable beauty. A beauty that within embosom innocence, contentment, and warmth along with the modest needs and maybe a numerous secrets, dying and thriving each day with a desperate desire of coming out on the surface and inhaling the air. Have you?
Have you ever seen someone so closely to feel that they keep a life within themselves and ...
Wild is the thing with waves
that soars in the soul
and rise and falls all the time
on the wide shore of the heart.
It dances to the music of the moon
It manifests your intuition and dreams
It fuels the fire in your womb
It holds the sparkle in your eyes.
It's the warrior and the healer
dwelling in the depths of your valley
and it's not easy to behold the waves
that demands you your power, faith and courage.
Oh! How should I express that secret feeling?
Oh! How should I say what it is like and what
it is not?
What metaphors should I write to give shape
to it's meaning?
Should I say it looks like the color of the
horizon when the sun travels down to kiss it?
Or that it feels like drowning in the depths of
That no! It's not like the one you feel
Nor the kind that gives you false pleasures
It makes the inner and outer world go one,
The body gets one with the senses,
and the senses with the feelings.
Nothing then remains unrevealed,
Nothing then remains hidden.
You rise and fall with it's flow,
You float in between it's folds.
If to you, beauty is about
the body and the skin,
the voice and the eyes,
the flesh and the seen-
I'm sorry boy! I'm not
of your kind.
There lies a lot difference
between how you and
I conceive. To me it's about
the mind and the feel,
the words and the vision,
the breath and the meaning-
it is about the pure being.
It's something that is
seen within the soul,
and beyond the
frame and the forms.
Around him my thoughts swirl
About him I write poems
For it's he who brings beauty
For him I see in every sight
For him I rise every morning
Like the sun over the dark night
For him I weave my words
all the day
Like the warbler that stitches
To make him immortal beyond
The time and space
To promulgate his name till
The end of the universe
Around him my thoughts swirl
About him I write poems
Love me with kisses and peonies,
with fingers softly performing love on piano,
with pale pages of unvoiced words,
with your eyes that are best of lust, and
with a life immense in passion and emotion.
When my heartbeats sound of a stranger,
When the sun refuses to light my path,
When the moon leaves me alone in the dark,
And when the stars fail to guide me to home,
I want you to hold my hand and bring me back.
I passed through some changes.
I experienced menarche.
The earth of my chest sprouted breasts and hips widened like a young sea.
My hormones raged like ocean waves and mood like pendulum, started to oscillate.
But it all felt beautiful.
A new feeling, a new experience.
It felt like a bud on her journey to become the flower.
I started opening my petals.
I started secreting nectar.
I started smelling like a good old wine.
Oh! In between I also attracted some butterflies and bees.
And that is how I became a woman from a girl.
Over the time, I wrote poems about the beauty of the stars and wildflowers, oceans and the moon, and sometimes even human beings. They inspired and they encouraged words; they became my muse until the day I dared to stand in front of the mirror with my inner eyes open. I lifted the veil between the mirror and the reality, composed of society's false and ugly definitions of being beautiful. I felt the beauty of my body, of the marks that show I worked for becoming who I wanted to, and of the scars that prove I have actually lived for all these twenty four years. The brown eyed girl in front of me with dark circles below her eyes and freckles on her face, with less gap between her thighs and e...
You thought of me as
any other expensive
flower that you can
buy to either decorate
your walls or the vase,
or can just smell and touch
to please your senses,
or can press in between
the pages of your diary.
I'm but a wildflower, and
I neither belong to
you or your objects.
I belong to the earth
and the sky, the rain and
the storm, the freedom
and the warrior-
I'm a wildflower.
I used to look for
different muse to write,
and then, admirers for
But now, I wish only
for you to beghast the
poet in me and your
eyes to read.
Why don't you just listen to your heart? Why don't you
live finally? Do you really need society's approval for
living your life the way you want? Do you really need it's
bones to support you? You've got your own. I know you
can make it, you can make it on your own.
Why don't you start being you? Just open your little
wings. They're strong. You know, this life is full of open
skies and fresh air. Do you really want to live in this
dark cage? Do you really want to bury your dreams?
Don't you want to taste freedom and clouds? Don't you
want to circle in the wide sky and sing your songs?
I only want you to know that you and your sky belong
to each other. It need your voice as much as...
Take away these insecurities from my mind,
and all the make up off my face.
also, all the useless things I
do to look perfect;
judge my beauty while I stand afraid,
see the imperfection I'm,
like you'd see
the one you love.
"I am a poet, you're my muse.
I want to perceive you in a way
no one has ever before, and that is why
I feel punished when I cannot write, or
when I fail to draw new imagination
of moonlight outlining your breasts.",
his letter read.
one of these nights
I'll become more than
the words you write
your best poems with,
the flowers on the table and
the paintings on the walls
that decorate your house,
the many things on your mind
that keep you awake, and
the talks you do with
yourself about your freedom,
your dreams and your memories.
I'll become more than
words, objects and thoughts.
I'll become your stars,
moon and night sky-
your own universe!
I'll become your escape,
I'll become your abode.
For once, allow someone
to be who they are.
Don't try to destroy them
with your expectations
and watch them turning
into absolute gorgeous.
Love is a wildflower.
It grows everywhere.
It beautifies every place.
It lasts (much) longer than
all those fancy flowers
at the florists.
It is the nature's way
of spreading beauty.
I don't want to be
a mere fantasy in your mind
when you touch yourself.
I want to be the
reality in between your thighs
when you shiver in the moonlight.