Stories of the star-crossed,
Fated and tied together by threads,
Walking different directions
But walking towards each other instead,
Stories of fate, I wonder,
When so much else has been true,
If the stars have written for me,
I’d look for my own story too.
I’d write them all myself,
In words exaggerated,
Written in rosy ink,
Talking of blues and reds,
Stories I wonder anyone would read,
For they don’t believe in the stars,
And I don’t know if I do, either,
So it’s left incomplete instead.
Stories of mysterious dreams,
A road that will lead me nowhere,
So I follow the stars and the sea,
And I find myself right back here,
Reading stories of fated love
That turned into something dark,
Fighting for something that’s dead,
Because stubborn is what we are.
Stories of twin flame hearts,
Burning brighter and engulfing
To ashes and to smoke,
Until there’s no more left of me;
Stories of the sun falling for the moon,
When the moon is in love with the tides,
And the tides are in love with the shore,
The shore in love with the sky.
Stories that etch themselves,
Deeper as you go in,
Stories I wish I could write,
But I wouldn’t know where to begin.
~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.
When I began writing this poem, I didn’t know how it would go. It’s honestly just one of those things that write themselves when you’re not in the right headspace for trying your hardest. I hope you like reading this.
The Shubhster. Xx