Mélanger

Stella handed the door as the dimension turned dark. She rushed through the stairs, grasping the candle holder on the left, jolted breaths, bared feet, grabbing to find the egress, unexpectedly with a black gown. She sensed the unheard as she was in cordolium. It was after her reflection, dark and dusky, red blazers, horrendous sights. All went off. The stairs stretched endlessly beneath her feet. Stella sniffed unpleasant breaths around. She named the Maudlin a thousand times. She had a dogma that he appeared when she whispered his name. But she was unaware of emptiness in empty barrels, sometimes the beliefs banish the inner battles, and sometimes the moral lies in deep struggle. We were blurred and rightly buried in the tower of trash. We thought we had a strong grip over however the planning was altogether unexpected. As same as the moon betrayed the ocean. Yet, it was very hard to be the last star in the galaxy that endured, it was one in all rare. She was inept in seeing the white curtains as they seemed to have terrible obscurity in the dimension. She extremely snuffled and shivered.

Abruptly, Stella’s breaths became shallow, her body trembled that moment and she reckoned the stairs vacated round and round. There was no end. The candle's light extinguished in a blink. The vultures wandered and circled above. She named Maudlin again nevertheless went in vain over. She tallied there was no one. The ghostly reflection was an atrocious image — blew out the dark wings and swiftly chased her. Closer to her feet and soft breathes. She felt the smog all near her ears.

Abruptly an echo resounded low and eerie:

“You messed up, now I again.”

Stella froze, flabbergasted. She fell into a stream of thoughts, as the darkness gloomed the string of words. Secondly spelled

“You stretched so far, now I again.”

Then candles fired back and a realization washed over her. She thought.

“Messed up and stretched, aha! Messed up and stretched”.

Stella knew she wasn`t a moaning Minnie and never dropped like flies. She was offhand. Replied mellifluously

“I am above this, neither lacklustre nor a lament, I am an enchanted jovial and worth genial that incited the breaths”.

Mind rings. All is you who knew, the cut, cracks, and curls

—clock ticks.

In the next moment, Stella was shifted and all of sudden positioned on the balcony, where the sun sprinkles luster, the air whispers love, and dove colors. The dimension was raised with lavenders and daffodils. She found the gown shifted to white. Maudlin clutched blueberries. She breathed softly as being praised. She knew all the veins away and there was no noxiousness. Stella was livid a laudable and lustrous nearby. She heard a knell.

On the edge of her awareness, jazz played, and a bright blush reflection emerged and muffled

“You enshrined, now I again”.

Stella chewed the verse and let the word sink in, absorbing the meaning. Secondly, reflection murmured,

“You, a paragon; now I assembled again”.

Stella knots tightly rather than apenas. Answered, “The power was ever inside the breaths, so I never lost into it, I clutched and rekindled”. She overheard a peal.

-Clock ticks

Stella blinked and suddenly found on her bed: A flash lit her observance, the place where the angels of hell and heaven relish the innocence attacks and smacks. She had ventured into a dimension where reality and mystery interwove.

Every encounter, she understood now; is a part of a mysterious world – mirrors the realm of reality. Reflections demonstrate the untimely phase. Some horrify and others pacify. All encapsulate the spirit that neatens the spectacles that are horrendous to the soul and implants the magical embryones that shade and shower the grace. Just keep the cuts under wraps. The more you have, the more you become sturdier and more prevailing. It wings the unstoppable power to radiant.

End………………………………………

AUTHOR

Tajalla Qureshi - a literary enchantress who weaves embroideries of thoughts and passions with the delicacy of a leading artist in the realm of words. She is a gifted wordsmith from Pakistan.

She is the visionary Co-Founder and Co-Editor of The Wordsmith Magazine, where words are woven into magic. Her pen swings across the globe, leaving a trail of mesmerizing poems and columns that captivate readers worldwide. She is a multi-talented creative force who wears many fedoras with elegance and flair. She is an engaging graphic designer and illustrator. She is named as Miss 20th Century Poetry at the University of Chenab, Gujrat.

On the other hand, her writings including poetry, and Creative Articles have been glorified in more than 40 international and national anthologies, magazines, many e-papers, and websites in Pakistan, America, Germany, Canada, Africa, the United Kingdom, and India. She was highlighted as the top-ranked author in many poetic presentations and competitions at international forums with certificates. 

Tajalla is a master in writing research papers and her research papers have been published in prestigious international journals. Her published poem, My Phoenix, was organized for the final term exam for literature students at the University of Lahore, Gujrat.

In addition, she has artistically read her poetry at the Pakistani Young Writer`s Conference held at Mandi Bahauddin and presented her paper at Kinnard College for Women Lahore. Like a shooting star, her literary presence blazes across the sky, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts and minds of all who encounter her work.