7 posts
  • zeee_zephyrs 62w

    #zeeCollection #zeee_fav
    #heritage #wod #pod
    @writersnetwork thanks a lot for the repost wn❤❤
    #WNrepost_Z (28.5.21)

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    The Heritage Which Knows No Boundary

    When it comes to Indian heritage
    Taj Mahal or Ajanta Caves is always
    on tip of the tongue
    next maybe the two epics
    but there's more to this subcontinent.
    We have a rich culture, everyone knows
    but only few can go beyond prestigious monuments
    and fewer beyond folk dances.
    Something whose limit is till infinity,
    where culture takes a new form
    with every next kilometre,
    is what makes it a rich diversity.
    May it be Bharatanatyam,
    or Manipuri
    or lavani, bihu, ghoomar
    these aren't just hand movements
    but are stories of our culture
    embellished with a colourful attire.
    From the line drawings of Mithila art
    to Puri's Jagannath Temple
    from the dancing girl of Mohenjodaro to Tanjore Art
    the number of tourists are evident
    for their stories
    or half story and half mystery,
    becoming famous worldwide.
    From namaskara
    to swastik
    and to keeping guests equivalent to God
    is what our traditions teach.
    common to most religions,
    adheres to the religious etiquette
    and is the harbinger
    of one of the oldest traditions.
    So, this is a heritage
    with plethora of shades
    which conflate various cultures,
    where bucolic streets
    bring us closer to our traditions,
    whose tales are beautiful with mysteries,
    which violate scientific laws
    and creates its own definition
    'cause it's India my dear
    whose freedom and heritage
    can't be defined within the boundaries of words.

  • zeee_zephyrs 72w

    A World Without Books

    A world without books
    reminds me of my school trip
    to a nearby cave
    where we were shown cave paintings
    that took me back to the ancient epoch
    of our ancestors
    with no paper or ink
    but artwork,
    when stones were the pen
    and rock caves the paper
    with no letters or alphabets
    but symbols and pictorials.
    I read in my history book
    about the bronze age,
    the era of
    clay tablets and papyrus
    on which the characters were imprinted
    with sharp stylus.
    do you know
    were made from animal membranes
    and manuscripts were written on palm leaves.

    Oh wait!
    Do you remember gurukuls
    of the vedic age,
    when the teacher and the disciples
    lived under the same roof
    and had a sacred relation.
    At those times
    books existed in memories
    and texts and vedas
    were learnt word by word through listening.

    So, a world without books
    is of rock paintings,
    of conveying through illustrations,
    of painting the emotions
    and learning through oral recitation.


  • zeee_zephyrs 78w

    Februa- Latin word meaning to cleanse.

    @fromwitchpen Thank you for always encouraging.♡
    @inked_selenophile Thank you for all the love.♡

    #personify #zeee_ka_feb #zeeCollection #zeee_fav
    Thank you so much WN(5)❤ #WNrepost_Z

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    If I were February

    If I were February
    I would februa
    the brume of winter
    And knock on the windows
    Of the residence of spring
    To make it wake.

    If I were February
    I would amass
    the spring scents
    To leave them near the daffodils
    And make them savvy
    of the spring's advent.

    And if I were February
    I would wait
    For the fourteenth day,
    And would propose
    The spring
    To be my valentine.

  • zeee_zephyrs 80w

    #star #januaryjewels #zeee_fav

    Thank you WN (4)❤�� #WNrepost_Z

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    Faint tinges of pink, red, orange and yellow, make eye-catching graphics in the blue bed of white cloud pillows bestowing felicity to the eyes and reach the horizon. The Sun, the morning star, furnishes a heavenly tenderness in the hours of aureate sky.

    The vista of the Sun at dawn and dusk are homogeneous, with the similar sight of yellow, orange hues but the distinctness lies when the rising conceals the darkness and the other conceals itself down the night.


  • zeee_zephyrs 82w

    T-H-E D-I-A-R-Y L-E-A-F

    From breathing
    Aromatic fragrances of roses
    To inhaling
    Hate-filled letters,
    From being plucked with flowers
    To present as a proposal
    To fitting myself
    betwixt the spaces of silently weeping paragraphs
    From being the accessory
    beneath jubiliant blossoms
    To adorning
    the crushed, faded petals.

    In contrast to others of my kind
    Grewing green and then yellow
    To get detached
    But not to be decayed in soil
    Rather reading
    The withered pages
    Dressed with broken pieces of heart.
    Unable to die, but only fade
    Suffocating between pages
    Carrying the word imprints on me,
    Hearing the lullaby of memories.

    #storyofaleaf #zeeCollection #januaryjewels

    Are you serious�� This was so unexpected! I just scribbled this��
    Thanks @writersnetwork for the 3rd repost! #WNrepost_Z
    @fromwitchpen you are my lucky charm!❤

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  • zeee_zephyrs 85w

    In the garden of flowers flowering on mud, my eyes fell on the one which portrayed itself uniquely. No, it didn't grow on mud nor it required water, because It was budding on the soil of emotions and and was watered by words.

    The flower was a poet, a forlorn flower with a distinct identity. Everyone praised its external beauty, appreciated the construct of its petals, leaves and stem. But none spotted the agony it concealed.

    Its petals are colourful. One petal is red, symbolising heart, a broken one and with that broken heart it wrote the best definitions of love. Other painted yellow signifying fear, fear of loss, which grew when a beloved left, with which he erected the definitions of a loved one. Next a white petal, representing innocence, which availed the all and sundry to accomplish their positions.
    But from the rear side it was wearing black, connoting death, death of love, death of feelings, death of trust and innocence leading to the rise of sentiments within.

    Still the flower is joyfully floating on the zephyr, dancing with admirably lustrous wings of butterflies, singing with the birds and at the dark hour slept under the feeble rays of moonlight. This was happening because with the demise of his feelings, it turned void, refilling it with the nature's love.

    /Voids are filled with darkness, better replace it/

    #writingcontest #creativearena
    #flower #poet #zeelong #decemberdiariess
    @writersnetwork @mirakee#WNrepost_Z
    Thanks a lot WN for the 2nd repost.❤��

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  • zeee_zephyrs 88w

    In the afternoon of the autumn
    I sat gazing through the window panel
    At the yellow faded leaf,
    The almost dead withered,
    Hanging on fragile brown branch,
    Lightly floating, sliding on the lap of air
    Enjoying the gelid weather.
    It was the last one left
    The two others fell off a day before
    Leaving the last one
    Enjoying its solitary.
    Its veins were visible
    Notifying, its fell off is at hand.
    Me who blames my loneliness
    was stimulated
    By this little consequence.

    The lost reminiscences
    Of once my special someone
    Left me probing
    In those unperformed faults,
    Analysing what diverged our path.
    But in this process
    I forgot my present
    Lost in the past,
    Unintentionally harmed my future
    Yes, memories were woven
    To hold on forever
    But the strings entangled to each other
    And can't be refurbished.
    I threw those knots
    To not entangle my present in them.

    //The mere act of nature
    Enforced a change in me
    To leave lose to past
    And adore my loneliness//

    First time tried #concrete ( I hope you are getting the structure, it's a leaf)
    #zeelong #WNrepost_Z
    @writersnetwork @mirakee
    Thanks a lot WN(my first repost)❤����

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    . In
    lonely state the
    bygone dead memories
    become alive. The feelings
    inexplicable, once pulchritudinous
    moments have become the cicatrix,
    turning to the souvenir of our heartbreaks
    and we were blended to become callous.
    But instead of hurting the past wounds
    in present, we have to cherish the colorful
    days of now. Brooding at the lost gone days
    of past, we inadvertently keep on loosing
    the present jiffies. Past gets caged in us
    & we are the prisoners of future, only
    a time for ourselves is present to
    to be joyous. If it gets lost
    in the entangled knots
    of thrown memories
    the whole affairs
    of losing will
    again pave