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Zumi

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I trace the petals of dry petunia flowers that lay silently on the ground, narrating a story that was left unsaid. Those dry flowers embellish the ground with their golden dryness and speak volumes of despair and bliss they've been through. They tell of a story unknown, the one I'm narrating. There's a joy in withering away and lying lifeless, examining the world with a wanderer's eyes and a hodophile's heart. In every lifeless petal, lies a story. A story of their life- the one they lived in colors and happiness. Now, their withered petals are like a bonsai for a broken soul, for they speak of a time they're meant to be too. There's a joy in death, a plethora of perpetual silence. There's a greater joy to live after death in someone's poignant poem. #paidstory #petunia #life #death #zumiwrites #musingsbyzumi #zumisheth #yqbaba ... 1/18

I trace the petals of dry petunia flowers that lay silently on the ground, narrating a story that was left unsaid. Those dry flowers embellish the ground with their golden dryness and speak volumes of despair and bliss they've been through. They tell of a story unknown, the one I'm narrating. There's a joy in withering away and lying lifeless, examining the world with a wanderer's eyes and a hodophile's heart. In every lifeless petal, lies a story. A story of their life- the one they lived in colors and happiness. Now, their withered petals are like a bonsai for a broken soul, for they speak of a time they're meant to be too. There's a joy in death, a plethora of perpetual silence. There's a greater joy to live after death in someone's poignant poem. #paidstory #petunia #life #death #zumiwrites #musingsbyzumi #zumisheth #yqbaba ... 1/18

Zumi

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*Of Anagapesis and Laconic Love* Those poems shine in dern- The darkness of my own fears, A sciamachy rides me, as I sit To write another laconic poem, With my black ink of grief, on The pages of a withered petal Of red rose which was our love. Laconic love. Anagapesis. Period. //Caption *Of Anagapesis and Laconic Love* Why do I feel like a poem incomplete, left to rust, by the agents of time and love and oblivion? Why d

*Of Anagapesis and Laconic Love* Those poems shine in dern- The darkness of my own fears, A sciamachy rides me, as I sit To write another laconic poem, With my black ink of grief, on The pages of a withered petal Of red rose which was our love. Laconic love. Anagapesis. Period. //Caption *Of Anagapesis and Laconic Love* Why do I feel like a poem incomplete, left to rust, by the agents of time and love and oblivion? Why d