Today, I read poems people wrote about their grandmother. Even though I didn't see mine or witness her love, I know what her touch felt like. What I heard of her was how much she loved and cared for me. My grandmother thought me how to sleep with my eyes open. Wide open to look inward and feel the weight of my heart. In her eyes stood magical galaxies. In her heart sat a revolution of beauty and talent. Sitting under the baobab tree that served as kitchen, Grandma would wake before the first cock's crow to burn dry woods. Everyone is still asleep. The day just begin to yawn in dusky Dawn. Grounding pepper on a flat stone to make our local dish. My grandma first taught me how to endure the peppery fish. Smoke filling the morning till it touches the sky, Grandma would lay me on her sweaty back which served as my first bed. I clocked one and she passed. Well, that was destiny. All left with me is imaginary memories and a wishful smile. For I never knew my grandmother but I felt her love.
Her hands are twisted in voices unheard. Her lips are adored with words, unspoken. Her curves are perfectly shaped, unnoticed. She is shy for being noticed.
Her hair is painted to the back. On her neck is a bead gifted to her by her grandmother on her first breathe. On her waste are crystal adornment on her first broken teeth. She is shy for being noticed.
Plumpy and natural. She chuckles to her lifestyle so feral. She's music knitted in raw gold. She's shy to be noticed but secretly bold.
Her hands are twisted in voices, unheard. Her lips are adored with words, unspoken. Her curves are perfectly shaped, unnoticed. She is shy for being noticed.
Her hair is plaited in weaves and splashes, to the back. On her neck is an ancestry bead gifted to her by her grandmother, on her first breathe. On her waste are crystal adornment of love, on her first broken teeth. She is shy for being noticed.
Plumpy and natural. She chuckles to her lifestyle, so feral. She's music knitted in raw gold. She's shy to be noticed but secretly bold.
हमने आपकी रचनाएँ पढ़ी, वह सभी अद्वितिय हैं। हम आपको अपनी नई पुस्तक में सहयोग देने के लिए आमंत्रित करना चाहते हैं। पुस्तक आपके नाम के साथ प्रकाशित होगी साथ उसकी प्रतियां भी आपको दी जाएंगी। आपको सम्मानित करते हुए स्वर्ण पदक भी दिया जाएगा।
अधिक जानकारी के लिए संपर्क करें।
धन्यवाद Insta - kanis.hkasharma420 Mail - email@example.com
"A note to paper" A saying goes like "a person can be a home" Certainly yet I not felt a_person being my home Surely quite enough there was a thing, i say Home; not thy prettiest of all, Fragile and dusty
Wreaked and stuff elsewhere in the corner She's a little geek and has a little shy fever Yet Guess! what she loves, speaking in silent! Of million letters in your head stuffed in tight
She likes it all, all of the way I was "being" She says alittle mess was I "you're feeble darling" Left.. me..to say"you're a geek with wonders" She'd been Treasuring all the broken memories.
Which i was to throw it away,away from my soul Like;of though which pricks in keeping memorial Wasn't i to trash it!?"Ought not ,keep treasuring" Said she.Why though!?"you'll be stonger darling"
She builds a different world for I"The Better one" Into which we both fit perfectly from the old one "I" A queen within her; A royal crown of my own Self royal gesture was "I"pondering of my own
With her It was a much justific different intuition I have had all over! Peace streaming down Once again within her.. if felt nice to be alive Little "shy fever paper" made me feel like home _Chithuyia pfoze