The dusk begins once the buoyant, idyllic hours of the morning are over,
As a whirlpool of apprehension devours us whole for the morrow.
The aurora begins once the saudade, pensive hours of the night get their final closure,
No more ghastly delusions where we’re wallowing in our sorrow.
The beam of light paves its way to fill our hearts with joy again,
The long, solemn pages of grief in our stories are signing off.
Our barren hearts once running pungent due to consistent pumps of pain
Are sturdy and wholesome as the dewy petrichor evokes the elation we once lost to the devil’s scoff.
The slow, scalding periods of anguish,
The anguish that we forced ourselves to abide by and not speak about,
Shall die as our zest takes charge and do so great a deed, as to make it relinquish,
The smiles we show feel finally real and our timid mouths finally scream and shout.
This feeling that obscures our bountiful memories of affliction and horror,
We savor till it reaches every bit of us and we know we could dedicate thousands of written pages to it.
As the invisible butterflies and fairies swirl around us, giving us warmth, we look in the mirror,
And see the reflection we always aimed of seeing- contentment and peace at it’s finest. Our smiles real and our eyes lit.
~ Riddhi Chakraborty
Notes: This one is rather old.
Swan's Labyrinth 