"Artemis" only exists within these poems. She was written by them. (Will reply to your lovely comments soon)

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  • artemiswrites 14h

    A Haiku nested
    in my heart and sang at my
    pen's inky command

  • artemiswrites 1d

    Postcards of Hope to the Sky

    Dearest Sky,
    I'm sending you a bunch of words
    as blue as a bouquet of freshly blossomed
    bluebells to remind you of what you are
    made of, for I know, that you've been feeling
    monsoonal and dark lately,
    now that October has arrived
    You feel like you'll no longer laugh
    in the colour of dawn again
    but you will, soon enough,
    when winter goes away and spring lights
    up your face again.

  • artemiswrites 2d

    You remember when you
    were a Bird of Paradise
    that the sky took pride in
    calling her own,
    as you look at all
    of your feathers that
    voices from a dark corner
    of your mind
    plucked from your
    sunrise wings
    and scattered all around you
    but you've slowly started
    fighting back
    in war cries of sun, colour and sky
    and you know
    that soon, once again
    You will fly.

  • artemiswrites 3d

    This Poem is a Woman

    This Poem is a Woman
    whose voice they tried to suppress
    using Patriarchal Jargon
    and failed;
    They told this poem that She couldn't
    use so-called
    Masculine metaphors of
    Mountains and Strong Oaks
    and she proved them wrong
    by becoming a Poem as
    Grand and Majestic as Oak trees and Mountains

    This Poem is a Woman
    who is raw art, too beautiful for
    art galleries and notebook lines
    They called crumpled paper
    and smudged lines
    because her Art was of a brand
    hitherto unknown,
    Her Art intimidated them

    This Poem is a Woman
    who is more rainstorm
    than gentle flower...
    She is more petrichor and lightning
    than the fragrance of jasmine.

  • artemiswrites 4d

    October evenings are the
    colour of a dozen rainstorms
    coalesced into beautiful wallpapers
    for the sky to wear
    when the Sun refuses to share His
    warmth with her.

  • artemiswrites 5d

    The rain is falling
    softly, like a Ghazal sung
    by the blue heavens

  • artemiswrites 1w

    What is black?
    It is the shroud of dead suns.

  • artemiswrites 1w

    Some poems are broken hearts lit on fire;
    A forest of memories burning down in flames
    and others are Monsoons and little storms,
    They douse the fire with the softest of rains.

  • artemiswrites 1w

    The young river flows
    over Gorges and Valleys
    expertly, with neither sputter nor break
    like a poem
    authored by highly experienced hands

  • artemiswrites 1w

    I make a fishing line out of a
    few joyous words
    and tether it to the marooned island
    of your heart,
    to make you forget the sad ocean that
    surrounds it.