(Image from here)
I was lost in the bookstore,
The air in; perfumed with vellichor,
Shelves sprinkled with pixie dust,
My mind engulfed with wordy lust,
Joy mending my delicate, broken core.
One more new word- Vellichor. And here is the definition:
n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.
P.S- Written for Weekly Limerick Challenge: Week 8
P.P.S- Rupali; Yes girl, I stole your idea. After all, steal like an artist ( Me? Artist? Nah!)
Low- Moored clouds of pristine white,
Gilding the welkin, veiling the sunlight.
I dawdle, through the blotted lane,
The zephyr; playing with my mane,
Floating through haze, sprayed over bright.
As I gaze at the nebulous glow,
My eyes filled with rheum and low.
A thousand memories woofing in my mind,
Bitter, sweet and bittersweet ones in grind,
Thoughts condensing in the mist and flow.
P.S- Written in response to Weekly Limerick Challenge: Week 4
He draws me into an ever so passionate canoodle,
My heart scribbling a sweet and lovey-dovey doodle.
His quintessential body on display,
In my ear, he says,
” Our love is immortal, like sparkle of stellar oodles”
P.S- Written for Weekly Limerick Challenge: Week 2
P.P.S – I know this poem is insensate. Thank you for bearing with this poem, more accurately, blending of some random words in a senseless way. 🙂