himanshi_sharma

strong girl coz a strong woman raised me | John keats insta - inkedheart_writes | 21

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  • himanshi_sharma 1w

    #obituary #goodbye #wod @writersnetwork @mirakee
    #mirakee #writersnetwork.
    -------------------------------------����������������----------------

    Tuesday, April 6th , 2021 .

    // There should have been an obituary for the word "goodbye " itself . //
    It is a picky eater .
    ' Good ' is the piece of a cake fully enjoyed already.
    while ' bye ' remains the uneaten bread beneath it's cream spoiling silence in the kitchen.

    The schematics of " Goodbyes " live like a birthmark in my brain. Never trusting time due to what it delivers.
    Clothes have outgrown me many times over ,
    but the sadness of goodbyes never does.
    One size,
    fits all.

    Goodbye is simply one word,
    yet I'm so afraid of it.
    It's no vocal cord villain
    but evidence suggests a one word ' farewell '
    can serve innocent ears unjust death sentences.

    Endings are inevitable and sometimes quite necessary .
    And I'm not suggesting we should never say it .
    But our parting words need not necessarily be regrettable . They should be like -
    I'm not ready for this or I can't do this anymore or
    I'll miss you or that time is not right etc.
    Goodbye is sweet sorrow - one hollow word that makes your heart hurt .

    But I've learned to live with this word so well.
    I know how to suffer with a smile, dreading the beating of my heart.
    Its still unfair right?
    I don't want to take these deep breathes ,
    while I masquerade as the member of the living dead . Never Outgrowing the desire of happy endings,
    Of endings without goodbyes.

    ©himanshi_sharma

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    Tuesday, April 6th , 2021 .

    // There should have been an obituary for the word "goodbye " itself . //

    It is a picky eater .
    ' Good ' is the piece of a cake fully enjoyed already.
    while ' bye ' remains the uneaten bread beneath it's cream spoiling silence in the kitchen.

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 1w

    #wod #writersnetwork #mirakee #pod #writersbay #whc #oxymoron #paradox
    ____________________������������__________________


    Ever wonder why ,
    The skies weep from above?
    To,
    Pour the spirits made by universe
    to embrace and heal your soul.
    To,
    become the pen that blossoms the ink
    spreading across every page of your life.
    While the rain fills your heart with love,
    words escape
    and adore your scars .

    Now all you see is the paradox in happiness.
    But do you remember
    your younger self - feeling happy
    without knowing what happiness really even was ,
    keep a hold on that smile .

    The winds which blow on high swirling
    around you veiled serenity and
    each hour you grow,
    you beat death in life.
    You are marvellous and the whole
    universe up there is waiting to delight in you.

    So do the best you can in life ,
    Even when it equals strife
    For this world will keep you spinning
    And till the score card is plain ,
    death is winning.

    Pulsate with life,
    and grow till you touch the end of the sky .
    Let the rage of now go soon
    No oxymoron
    No doubting here ,
    Love your soul.

    ©himanshi_sharma

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    The winds which blow on high swirling
    around you veiled serenity and
    each hour you grow,
    you beat death in life.
    You are marvellous and the whole
    universe up there is waiting to delight in you.

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 2w

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #stranger #pod #letter

    After all, there's so much art in loving someone ��☘
    _______________________________________________________

    Dear stranger,

    My mind is white , almost like a blank canvas waiting for one to paint such art on it. I wonder if it's you ? When I was young, I used wonder if I'm the only one who See's art in everything.

    IT'S All ART :
    the way the sun sets so that the moon can shine ,
    the sea greeting the shore no matter how many times he is pushed away. Our dreams that show us the way out of our maze. Leaves that blush at the sight of the autumn.
    Our imagination oscillates between " ART " and "LOVE "
    and we keep wondering what love really feels like.
    Tell me , Mr stranger,
    How will you describe it?

    The ART will smile on the trembled voice of love like a earl grey tea and the LOVE will crack a laugh like the spine of a book .
    And when love speaks to us ,
    the art breathes hope and flower petals into our lungs and our broken hearts doesn't feel like broken anymore.

    I don't know if I'd love better if I'm somewhat less of a writer because poets painted love to be more like a painful verse for people to know about it.
    I don't know if autumn is as beautiful as Keats wrote it ,
    Or that love can happen with a slightest change in the wind as Wordsworth describes it .
    I don't know a lot of stuff .
    But dear stranger,
    Will you take some time off of your daily routine and like to read more about it?
    Soulfully yours
    - �������� �������������� ����������������

    ©Himanshi_sharma

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    Dear stranger,

    The ART will smile on the trembled voice of love like a earl grey tea and the LOVE will crack a laugh like the spine of a book .

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 4w

    #wod #pod #writersnetwork #writersbay #mirakee #heartc #ephemeral #love

    Am I crazy to really want a love like this? ��
    ________________________________________________________
    This world is made just of defining moments
    scraps and shattered reflections
    of you and me.

    // Precious innocent love
    skipping rocks
    on cobblestone roads
    Vulnerable untarnished pure
    no residue of earthly hate. //

    As the beautiful aurora ruled over time
    Our love wore silks of scarlet, red and blue linen
    that painted across the mountains & skies.
    Drink it up, this sip of life.
    deeper and deeper ,
    the sip of this ephemeral love.

    // Let the sun set for the moon
    Just like a beautiful
    flower that lives for only a day.
    Before disappearing ,
    blown away by the
    wisps of the wind .
    Yet let the magic of love remain
    in the sky forever. //

    As the natives tell of legends untold
    within the midnight of dark and cold .
    Let our hearts dance around that crackled bonfire ,
    beating in sync on a tranquil symphony suffused
    with rhapsodic zeniths ,
    For everlasting time .

    ©himanshi_sharma

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    Let the sun set for
    the moon ,
    Let the magic of love remain
    in the sky.

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 5w

    #wod #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork #bflowerc #rain
    #writersbay #may #lily

    ______________________________________________________

    My soul is a poetic dawn ,
    with falling soliloquies
    waiting for the first drop of
    summer rain ,
    to spell the truths
    that are need to be heard,
    or else the silence will make them deniable.

    May born - I find my home inside of
    lilies.
    Did I ever tell you that the scent
    of the rain ,
    on a street overhauled with dust and
    hot wind is more beautiful than
    the rain itself.
    May have it all.

    Dive right into the depths of this poem
    as you please
    and send me letters written in ink
    of hope,
    tell me you met wizards and angel's
    tell me you walk past the universe of pink moons.

    I'll leave hints of love
    hidden in the Shakespeare's sonnet.
    Go on rewrite them ,
    stretched them across the sky.
    It will feel like dew drops on your skin .
    Let the metaphors sink in
    and create new hopes .

    ©himanshi_sharma

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    May born - I find my home inside of
    lilies.
    Did I ever tell you that the scent
    of the rain ,
    on a street overhauled with dust and
    hot wind is more beautiful than
    the rain itself.
    May have it all.

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 6w

    "I envy those who don't let their feelings
    control them. "
    Cause emotions bring out the 'best'
    and 'worst' of me.
    I envy people who feel nothing.
    They are the most powerful unlike me.
    Sometimes I'm too much of a believer
    and sometimes I don't feel like
    believing on anything .

    I sleep with daydreams under my pillow
    and wake up with nightmares
    in the morning.

    My mouth is a carry bag to paradoxes
    of slogans on self love ,
    that spray tan on my cinched reflections
    stuffed into coffin like corsets
    that nimble on my ribcages , slowly
    unfurling my heart and lungs from its facade ,
    till - I pump red , but not really.
    I breathe , but not really .
    I live , but not really.

    We curl ourselves in sugar coated lies ,
    We speak as if we are the one's
    writing our destiny's .
    But do we ?
    I've never known what peace really feels like.
    So i'll wait for that day when ,
    like a roaring chorus of thunder
    eventually,
    the peace will come to me and so will
    flashes of bliss.

    ©himanshi_sharma

    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    #writersbay #mirakee #pod #sugarcoated #thoughts

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    My mouth is a carry bag to paradoxes
    of slogans on self love ,
    that spray tan on my cinched reflections
    stuffed into coffin like corsets
    that nimble on my ribcages , slowly
    unfurling my heart and lungs from its facade ,
    till - I pump red , but not really.
    I breathe , but not really .
    I live , but not really.

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 22w

    If I were rain,
    I would sprinkle some droplets onto
    earth's nose and
    let the autumn wipe it softly
    with his thumb.

    If I were the words ,
    you would drag them closer
    and weave a poetry.

    // Its fascinating how a string of
    carefully chosen letters often
    magically binds together to form an
    intimate connection with the reader. //

    In the evening an unknown fear gives me a bite
    like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard.

    If I were the sun ,
    you would stand under my rays
    to revive your frozen heart.

    If I were the love,
    I would scribble poetry only in free verse
    seeking you in every line.

    I will love at dusk
    let me embrace your soul warmly.

    ©����������������_������������ ✨



    ___________________________________________________

    Pc _ me

    #writersbay #rainc #writersnetwork #mirakee #pod #wod

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    If I were rain,
    I would sprinkle some droplets onto
    earth's nose and
    let the autumn wipe it softly
    with his thumb.

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 25w

    #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork #abstractc #wod #rwu

    ________________________________________________

    Suppose I'm telling you a celestial story
    in the poems I write everyday.
    _breathe in , breathe out_

    The oxygen you breathe daily
    of an old rusted book mixed with
    half baked sunlight,
    still boiling with rosemary on a low
    flamed gas stove. It utters
    thousand of voices simultaneously.
    Some sweet memories
    some dark truths.
    And you prepare it like a refreshing
    morning coffee ,
    thinking and pondering
    about the person you insanely love.

    Sunshine taste's like that first coffee
    you had back in the december morning.
    Sunshine taste like the hope,
    the hope which you often see
    in the whiskey bottles ,
    eagerly drinking to stop the ache
    you feel with in your hearts .

    // Sunshine melts into stardust
    when moonlight starts to cover the sky. //

    I heard moon whispering the
    words so solemnly deep-toned as
    happiness .
    Those frontiers where the sky is the
    unlimited limit of
    all our hopes give meaning to all
    our lives.

    That moonlight smells like lavender
    every time you find yourself
    surrounded with love .
    Every time when love fails
    it is forced to give us the peace and
    clean up our mess .
    The moonlight holds the hope
    that with each new dawn
    we have a new start .
    And hope inspired humans for centuries
    to aspire and dream.

    It's funny how foolishly we
    artists dare to
    replicate god's celestial art ,
    Isn't it?

    ©himanshi_sharma

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    // Sunshine melts into stardust
    when moonlight starts to cover the sky. //

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 26w

    #genuine_readers #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork #rwu #ceesreposts #stars #yaminireads #yaish_ #tanzread #shaliya @odysseus @ak_anjali_daydreamzz @timeblossom @thesunshineloves @love_whispererr

    _____________________________________________________


    // It was written in the stars
    that we poets
    will be the love this world needs. //

    My soul has been through many
    rebirths lately ,
    While engaging with the universe
    in dialogues to grow
    in tall trees of wisdom and understanding.

    I borrow love
    from the
    waves , who silently
    retrieve their love from the
    shore,
    every time they return.

    // poets are the formation of baby galaxies
    in the cosmic drama of
    God's creation lying beyond
    comprehension of mankind . //

    During the darkness of the night,
    when we keep our loneliness
    in the palms of sky,
    Even the dying autumn leaves
    starting to stitch
    poetry
    on the morbid lips of
    unborn tomorrow's for -
    ���������� ������������ ���������������� ����
    ����������������'�� ������������ ������ ��������
    ���������� ���� �������� ������
    while its blue translucence
    calmly seep into the
    poet's heart .

    ©himanshi_sharma

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    // It was written in the stars
    that we poets
    will be the love this world needs. //

    ©himanshi_sharma

  • himanshi_sharma 28w

    #bookc #wod #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork #rwu #writersbay #yaminireads #yaish_ #aryan22 #shaliya @odysseus @love_whispererr @timeblossom #eye @writersbay @fireblast_

    So the line is - " I have been used to consider poetry as the food of �������� " - ����. ���������� from ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴊᴜᴅɪᴄᴇ
    _______________________________________________________

    // �������� ������������ ���� ������ ������ ���� ����
    �������� ,
    �� ���� ������ �������� �������� �� ���� ����������������
    ���������� ������ �� �������� �������� ��������
    �������� �������� ��������. //

    When it seems impossible to visit the
    sanctuary ,
    I create a little of my own with open doors
    leading to the rooms of my heart, mind ,
    body and soul.
    Poetry creates a beautiful shrine for
    my emotions to be worshipped there
    and be read in a holy library.

    // ��������'�� ������ ������ ������
    �������������� ,
    ���� ���������� ������ ���������� ������
    �������������� ������ �������� ������ ������ �������� �������� ������
    ������ ������ ���� ������ �������� ������ ������
    ���������� �������������� ����������������, ������������������������ . //

    Remember the love remains in the sky ,
    Not a single cloud,
    Nor storm can take the sky away from you .
    That sky is your soul ,
    different and pure.
    And love is the embodiment of constellations
    etched beautifully on your soul.

    // �� �������� �������� �������� ���� ���������������� ������������
    ���� ������ �������� ���� ��������. //

    In the scorching gaze of sunlight ,
    poetry cast shadows
    large enough
    strong enough to swallow the
    heart's whole , giving shelter
    to the ripped souls .
    I am a dark poem
    my verses are a bunch of alliterations -
    stringing my heartbreaks in the
    black beads around my neck as a
    victory sign.

    ©himanshi_sharma

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    ©himanshi_sharma