Categories
Prompt poetry

Beloved spring – Poem

It was just yesterday
That I wrote a poem
to the early spring.
Blooming flowers in my garden
soothe my heavy heart,
every bud glowing green;
Spring is a work of art.

The hollow earth
beneath my feet
is now as lively as a new born,
Sometimes I feel I romanticise
spring too much
but, I am not willing to unlearn.

It’s April now.
It’s sowing in the hills
and plains don’t know
what to feel about that,
Maybe because the world
isn’t over the beauty of winter
yet.

In return, spring gave me
early rains
Humid winds came knocking
on my window,
Altostratus clouds are hovering  over
and the spring wrote, “to be continued…”

I have lost my train of thoughts.
It feels like my ‘self’ moved on
but my shadow is still there,
In the snow
And everywhere.

Categories
short poem

Wonders

Don’t just hear,
listen
what one word
whisper to other,
Here, all the words are
adjacent yet far
how they managed to exist,
I wonder.

Also, Instagram

Categories
poetry

You and poems

Distance between words
is our home.

I hang my words on the
red thread around your neck
and everytime I look at you
it reminds me of the fact
that my poems and you are one,
Talking about chills
I never met anyone like you, none.

Your smile reminds me of the sky
under which we first met,
and the summer breeze
take me back to the mix tape
you left on my table,
Yes , I’m not over it yet.

The only thing I feel anymore
is you and poems,
My skin is poems and you.

~🧜

Categories
poetry

Art

From silent poetry to screaming voice of art
I have met people, creative from the heart.

They tried to teach structure and rhythm but who they are to decide what we are?
I have seen pioneers of colours
and words – the weapons which give scars and help the world win wars.

From Van Gogh to Franz Kafka
all the names make me want to paint stars,
Sometimes I resonate with Rupi Kaur’s wolves but my heart is trapped in Sylvia’s “The Bell Jar” .

~🧜

Also Instagram

Categories
poetry

Pockets full of Cosmos.

Those honey coated eyes
were the “okay.” to every “okay?”
I used to throw,
when sheets used to haunt me
In search of rhythm,
to him I used to go.

The one
named after my favourite colour
In his smile
I used to see the rainbow,
Every mountain was his own
and every stream
he used to know.

His poetry
were the narrow roads
and wide sea used to
inspire him the most,
For they said he carried galaxies
within his eyes
had pockets full of cosmos.

~🧜