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  • antheia_ 4w

    Seething SUMMER soughed in the mellow OCTOBER breeze afore melting in the embrace of the nippy DECEMBER only to rouse like the renascent SPRING.


  • antheia_ 12w

    #imageryc2 #laugh

    ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴᴛʜ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ

    ��istfuls of snowdrops
    from her eighteenth winter
    melted when grief
    ����������ed a scornful;
    scalding her like cinders
    of a former lover..
    September bore
    redolence of his sillage
    spilled on an amorous
    ��ℴ��ℯ ��ℯ����ℯ�� that refused
    to wear off...clinging
    to her skin, mellowy
    akin the autumnal ��ℴ��ℯ��
    soft as a dreamy october



    *Fistfuls of snowdrops, cinders of a former lover belongs to @thetasteofmypen

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    ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴᴛʜ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ

  • antheia_ 13w


    ℬ������ℯ�� & ��ℴ��ℊℴ����ℯ��..

    ������ ������ ���������� ������ �������������� ���� ���� ��������..
    some get l o s t in the
    silhouettes of the night
    & some get s e p u l c h r e d neath
    the gold dust of time.
    Some t a k e shape as
    reminiscent souvenirs
    whilst some c r a s h against
    those melancholic waves, austere.
    A few s u s p i r e on broken breaths
    and parched lips.

    A couple of them b i d e as softly folded silk
    tucked inside her rustic armoire.
    Yet a piece or two oft p e e l off
    as fractured pieces of broken syllabary.
    Some are s h o v e d down that musty drawer
    for they exist as poems no more
    but as a catalogue of grave mistakes.
    While a dozen half baked l i n g e r
    atwix those pale parchments.
    But one... her treasured one slowly
    e v a n e s c e d as wisps of mist;
    still aromal of her long lost love...


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    ℬℯ & ℴℊℴℯ..

  • antheia_ 13w


    Aᴍʙᴇʀ ���������� & Sᴡᴇᴇᴛ ��������������������

    ��lowly.. the residues of melancholy ebbed
    when flecked light streamed
    through a crown of sage leaves
    allaying the scourge of ����������������.
    Hope waltzed to the
    cadence of the marigolds
    as amber winds untwined
    her golden ����������������..

    /Comes DAWN humming
    an aubade of sweet beginnings./


    *Amber winds & sweet beginnings, cadence of the marigolds, residue of melancholy credited to @thetasteofmypen

    **'Flecked light streamed through a crown of sage leaves' credited to Libby Jenner.

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    Aᴍʙᴇʀ & Sᴡᴇᴇᴛ

  • antheia_ 13w


    ������������������������ ʜᴀᴘᴘɪɴᴇss

    Is there any veracity in the axiom that 'pain births an artist'? Is it true that suffering is a requisite for a writer to bleed on paper to liberate all his bottled up emotions? Is dolour a desideratum for a painter to limn his precious art on the blank canvas?

    Joy & sorrow are the alternating dyads of a congruous totality. Pain & pleasure, the obverse & reverse of the same coin called ��������. Then why some august & authoritative dogmas regard 'happiness ' vapid? Joy is eyed as corny.. why? And grief is revered..despondency is deemed a sophistication!? Why is it oft conjectured that an artist is nourished by his scars?

    Angst fuels creativity; this maxim is true to an extent but then why only angst? Bliss too can provide an impetus to the creativity of an artist. Or any other fervid emotion for that matter can educe the latent or rather the already smouldering ingenuity of an artist.

    Art is the reflection of reality. Reality that is coarse & unpoetical. Reality that happens to be founded on the rhythmically altering moieties of brightness & darkness, nuances & brazeness.

    For an artist to create an oeuvre, the subtle & strong twain emotions needs to be felt intensely. Gloom & joy is nowt but the mere mirror images of each other, harmonically juxtaposing to give the ultimate dramatic effect to an artist's opus!
    Conclusively, demystifying happiness as the �������������������� to pain.



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  • antheia_ 14w


    Summer hums melodies & winter monodies
    Spring chimes & autumn rhymes
    Proses rush whilst verses gush
    Twirling notions ride on swirling emotions
    Words twill on the magical quill..
    That's our very own Mɪʀᴀϙᴜɪʟʟ.



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    ℊℯ ℊℯ

  • antheia_ 14w


    Dᴀᴡɴ..�������� ��ℴℯ�� ���� ����ℯ���� ������ℯ?

    Preceded by the mirky gloam,
    dozen bitter dejections and a thousand fetid secrets; what is the ������ℊ��������ℯ of dawn?

    D ᴀ ᴡ ɴ smells like the zingy ������������ breeze,
    a subtle mix of spry �������������������� blooms &
    simmering ������ℯ�������� hopes with just a hint of ������������������.



    *Fragrance of dwan ~IGPCommunity
    **Citrus breeze ~Libby Jenner

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    Dᴀᴡɴ.. ℴℯ ℯ ℯ?

  • antheia_ 14w


    ᴘᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʏ & ɪᴛs ᴍʏʀᴀɪᴅ ᴅᴇғɪɴɪᴛɪᴏɴs

    ��overty is the heart rending cry of a ���������������� toddler trying to rouse his dead mother whilst suckling on her empty bosom near the deserted railway crossing.

    Poverty is the silent tears trickling down the �������� rimmed eyes of a maiden at the ������������ sold for just a piffling.

    Poverty is the thurm emanating from those weary footsteps of the widowed ��ℯ�������� running from pillar to post to claim for her late husband's bereavement support.

    Poverty is the taste of solitariness the old ��ℴ�������� is forced to consume when he is shunted out of his own abode into an old age home by his own progeny.

    Poverty is the forced smile upon the quivering lips of that genial poor ������ who returned home to his cancer stricken mother after being rejected for half a dozen jobs.

    ᴘᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʏ is nothing but just the ���������� of humanity left dwelling inside the thriving �������� ��������������.



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    ᴘᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʏ & ɪᴛs ᴍʏʀᴀɪᴅ ᴅᴇғɪɴɪᴛɪᴏɴs

  • antheia_ 17w

    #firstperson #contagiousc

    A ᴅɪʟᴀᴘɪᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʀɪᴄᴋᴇᴛʏ ᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ..

    ��'m an abandoned building with few birds visiting me at sunset. Sometimes kids enter through the front door to search for a lost cricket ball and other times melancholia visits me cloaked in drab overalls.

    I'm home to some bush crickets, their buzz being the only sound that resonates in my now deserted premises after eventide befalls. I'm home sometimes to a vagrant mendicant too who seeks shelter in my ruinous remains away from the bustling crowd of the megalopolis. My decrepit walls covered with funereal moss at times spring to life with the dormant but reverberating echoes of the bygones when I used to stand as a grandiose sprawling heritage '�������� ��������' of '������������ ������������' in the erstwhile Bengal Province.

    The pristine white ground of the magnificent ���������� �������� surrounded by arches & commanding columns but now covered with layers of dust and muck used to come alive everytime a new bride used to set foot in my majestic realm with her �������� adorned feet & ���������������� ����������...the crimson of my floors in the bedrooms matching the blush of her cheeks.

    During �������������� ����������, every year the womenfolk of the '�������� ��������' used to assemble to celebrate the spring festival on flower decorated swing hung on the brawny branches of the lone Banyan tree in my courtyard with the red & yellow of their ���������������� reflecting to be an embodiment of contagious sparkling �������� hopes.

    Gush of memories oftentimes exude from the perforations in my now derelict ceiling along with the rain whenever those wistful grey clouds hover & open up atop my dour prosaic edifice. Now I'm just a remnant of my former glory, a dilapidated ̶r̶̶o̶̶b̶̶u̶̶s̶̶t̶ rickety entity savouring the pungency of solitude since a decade whilst occasionally tasting the acerbic grief, riffling the musty pages of lucid poesies of my resplendent history, humming hushed melodies and appreciating the sangria sundowns & scarlet sunrises with the whirr of the gentle breeze & mellow sunshine in between..waning, waiting for my ultimate D E M I S E.



    P. S~ 'Hushed Melodies' credited to @_chemicalhearts__

    Sabha Ghar~ Auditorium/Hall.

    Benarosi~A Banarasi (pronounced Benarosi in Bengali) sari/saree is a sari made in Varanasi/Benares,an ancient city of India. These saris are among the finest saris in India and are known for their gold and silver brocade or zari, fine silk and opulent embroidery.

    Alta~Alta is a red dye that is applied to the hands and feet of women, mainly in the Indian subcontinent. It has great significance in Bengali culture.

    Jamdani~ Jamdani (saree) is a hand loom woven fabric made of cotton, which was historically referred to as muslin. The Jamdani weaving tradition is of Bengali origin, traditionally woven around Dhaka, Bangladesh.

    Basant Utsav~ Spring festival.

    Neuf~ New(french)

    *'Boro Bari of Thakur Moshai' literally translates to 'big bungalow of Mr. Thakur'.

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    A ᴅɪʟᴀᴘɪᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʀɪᴄᴋᴇᴛʏ ᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ..

  • antheia_ 20w

    #rebirth #goldc #septolet


    *The words 'floral firmament' belongs to Libby Jenner.

    **Renascence ~another term for Renaissance.

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