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  • heartylight_20 10w

    The world isn't aware of all your problems. Even if they are known to some of your problems, they turn away. It's you who needs to be your own courage. Love yourself. Trust yourself. Don't expect from others. Limit your expectations to yourself.

    #selflove #reflection @writersnetwork @mirakeeworld

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    I see her smiling through the mirror,
    Her lips patterning in crescent shape
    Just like the crescent moon;
    Not deep but placate;
    Not limpid but consummate.

    I gaze deeply into her eyes,
    Too far to reach into her anima.
    She is just happy, happy with herself.
    Such is the vibrancy,
    For me, it's brimmed with enigma.

    She's still smiling through the mirror,
    Gazing coequally into my eyes,
    Looking closely at her reflection.
    Our eyes twinkling in unison.
    Our hearts breathing in equal beats.

    Not only our physique cum,but our psyche too.
    For, together we have passed many darker nights.
    Though the world betrayed, she stayed.
    Jointly we broke through the darkest paths
    And into glossy epoch the dusk died.

  • heartylight_20 40w

    Dance of Assam

    Stretching across the mighty brahmaputra
    The assorted land of Assam lies,
    Diversified is its dances, still with a garland
    Of unity, everyone jointly it ties.

    There is the spring season
    Mellifluous with the warble of cuckoo,
    Melodious with the rustling of leaves,
    And brightens up with the joyful dance of bihu.

    Also famous for its numerous religious hymns,
    The land is also known for its satrya dance
    The dancers girdle and twirl gladly,
    In cadence of the dulcet instruments.

    The state also harbours different tribes,
    Who trip and sway with jocund vibes;
    Those wounded with feelings of frustrations,
    These dances can bring them back to their ecstatic lives.

  • heartylight_20 53w

    My Address

    My address has never changed
    It's always been the same;
    Anterior of the open field
    With the trees surrounding the house
    And the flowers swaying
    To the tunes of the winds.
    And the birds tweets
    Strucking anyone with vivacity,
    And driving one to rouse.

    Yes! Nothing much has changed;
    Just the open field has now
    Gotten the name of park
    With some fancy articles
    Built inside it.
    The city whose parts were embroidered
    In pure green-coloured costumes,
    Have now been occupied
    By unchaste colourful buildings.
    But my address is still the same;
    It has never changed.

    Now the flowers no more dances in joy,
    For the wind can't find
    Any free space to blow.
    The chirping of the birds
    Are now replaced by the
    Trumpets and horns of vehicles
    Which would also compell anyone to rouse
    Thus my address did never change,
    But the externals around my house did.


  • heartylight_20 56w

    She is Indeed a Tree

    Don't break her down
    She is not a tree.
    Don't pluck her hair,
    Those are not really folium.
    Ohh! Please don't even try to smell her,
    She isn't a redolent flora.
    Don't lay upon her,
    She is not that wood-made furniture,
    That can withstand your body.

    But see!
    How angellicaly she blossoms
    Like a flower.
    How swiftly her hair sways
    To the tunes of the wind,
    Resembling the leaves.
    How delicate she is
    Like a newly rising sapling.

    But no!
    A bizarre monster peeled off her togs;
    A peckish one had bitten her whole
    And sucked her fruity skin
    Extracting out the reddish sap.
    Wasn't this enough that
    The other one spilled
    Chemicals on her.
    It was certainly not to heal her
    But for their own appeasement.
    She lied there so helplessly.
    Unlike a tree she yelled for help,
    But it was an empty field
    And all the sides seemed to be
    Painted in black.

    But indeed.
    Yes she was indeed a tree.
    A tree that would bear a seed within it
    To give rise to another young plant.
    She had strong hands, legs and fingers,
    As the hallmarks of branches and twigs
    Which have been partially broken
    By the famished freaks.
    The tree has now lost its original glint.
    Those behemoth mammoths had exploited
    Her flowers, leaves and all the luscious parts,
    Leaving her as a nude wood
    Standing in the mid of an empty space.

  • heartylight_20 56w

    The River

    The river comes from the watershed.
    Flows along its original route.
    It sings a fizzling song
    To everyone it charms to soothe.

    Passing through copious hamlets,
    Riving into myriad streams.
    Those streams collide with plenteous gravels and rocks
    Both sides of the shore they rinse.

    It then drives through the slippery ridges
    It's rippling sonant is really a charming lullaby,
    As such it appeases many lives.
    So to experience such a panorama is my fantasy.

  • heartylight_20 57w

    Masks of the Hypocrites

    The modern world is a dome of hipocrites,
    Each wearing a bogus face mask.
    In order to fulfill their obsessions,
    They can perform any sort of task.

    Today the people are not exactly
    How we presume them when we meet,
    Inside them is a malicious man
    Ready to commit at any time a deceit.

    When I go to flashback
    Around me were some authentic persons.
    But the hipocritic society has changed changed them
    Altogether, dispelling their elation.

    May the days come back
    When people genuinely adored one another,
    May the hipocricy of the world terminate,
    So that everywhere genuineness of love shower.

  • heartylight_20 57w

    There was a tinge of sadness in her voice,
    Her loud yet sweet voice has turned low.
    The red bindi in her forehead,
    Which used to shine like
    The dusk and dawn sun,
    Has set now.
    Her eyes, which used to blink
    Like the twinkling stars
    Has been obscured by tiny drops of rain.
    Her face was an epitome of pure elixir
    Alike the glowing full moon.
    But now that authentic face
    Has turned inscrutable.
    Maybe it has reached
    The phase of a new moon.
    She, who had a proclivity
    For colourful dresses,
    Is now clad in a plenary white saree.
    She was as sturdy as
    A strong deep-rooted tree,
    But the storm was even stronger,
    That transmuted her abridged appurtenances.


    #sadness @writersnetwork

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    //Life Of A Widow//

    They want to paint her in white cotton-like clouds but she is a dark thick cloud, seeking an obstruction to collapse and pour down to earth


  • heartylight_20 57w

    Men are supreme
    Obsess for masses
    Is it why they are dim?

  • heartylight_20 57w

    Without You

    Lonely days, sleepless nights,
    Inevitably you remain in my sight.

    I miss the old you,
    Your light-hearted dogmas vilified me;
    Your dolorous words lambasted me;
    Your sudden mutation camouflaged me;
    I can see no more passable way for our journey.

    You came to my life as a zephyr,
    Filled my life with affluent bounties,
    But your departure was a hurricane,
    That brought my life to an ephemeral cease.

    The trust I had in you is all gone;
    Now with my acute apperception I have learnt to move on...


  • heartylight_20 58w

    Nature to
    Resurge a calm
    Charismatic and prehistoric cosmos