re_ms36

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  • re_ms36 4w

    Dancing are the thoughts in mind,
    when on the paper sleeps,
    In the disguise of words;
    Brings dawn to the eyes
    Of the one who reads
    Floating in more heads
    Along with the music
    that heals the wounds
    Of the dark autumn nights.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 4w

    Out of love, a poet pours
    his most loved things into
    his poetries; hence,
    I pour Pain, it overflows
    from my words and
    i breathe in peace.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 9w

    Actually wrote this poem inspired by the charm of a real Star, i see every night in the sky. (No other metaphoric meaning)

    #object #wod @writersnetwork @miraquill

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    / The Only Star that Visits Me Every Night /

    is luminuous. It shines upon me
    when most active is my mode of dark.
    I never hope for it to come.
    But when after a nightmare,
    I wake up, the only presence i feel,
    the only hopeful sight my eyes receive;
    is of that bright star, shining more bright,
    Perhaps, just for me!

    is forlorn. It wanders in the sky of
    clouds; to discover the company of same
    stars.Once it reaches the roof of my house,
    I just stare in awe. Its stiff position leaves
    me thinking, what it might be waiting for?!
    I stay silent while sharing my poetries
    silently with it and it seems to be
    understanding it all. In turn, i hear
    the beautiful music coming from it.

    is enigmatic. It is silent yet it speaks
    of beauty and mystery. Its twinkles
    collaborates with the blinking of my
    eyes. Its presence, though being afar,
    soothes my eyes. It sings me to sleep
    with the lullabies of its poetries,
    which seems, had been waiting
    for decades to give solace to
    some restless hearts like of mine.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 10w

    Flowers wither, wither and fall,yet
    the essence brings spring to hearts.
    If blossom is beautiful,
    then gorgeous is withered.
    Rejoicing the joy of fall,
    they regret the bondage of bloom.
    While falling, the air of life, they inhale.
    Yet after falling,another spring, they await.

    I can travel on the paper, the
    same way i travel through life.
    While landing the quill of experiences
    in the monotonous rhythm of metaphors,
    I hear the words calling, breaking, breathing;
    Crying with the exaggerated ecstatic phrases.
    I discover the places on the blank white,
    And paint them in the canvas of colourful blues.
    Travelling through the pages of incomplete verses,
    I wander yet never get lost. More like myself, it feels.

    One day if everything stops,
    The life and the death,
    Does the ink carved through the curves
    of my words abandon the place of its abode?
    Along with the withered skin of mine;
    Would the pages wither too?
    But upon which ground would the
    words engraved there fall ?
    In the land of happiness or of sorrow?
    In both, maybe!. Again Awaiting Another Spring.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 11w

    Clouds and Eyes!

    The clouds had chummed up with the gloomy skies
    A silence,i felt, screaming deep inside of me.
    With a blank mind, i kept staring at the ether.
    The way sky had embraced the heavy clouds,
    I managed to get a hope of holding my heavy heart.
    The weather changed colours from yellow to blues,
    And i felt the whole new season evolving inside me.
    I couldn't gather the words to write,though i wanted to.
    So my eyes treasured the sight forever in my heart.
    The thundering itself rumbled with perplexion ,
    after the lightening flickered its glints upon the
    woebegone clouds, jolted by the melancholia.
    The freezed winds started dancing with a fast pace,
    touching my soul with a zephyr of seraphic hues.
    In the meantime, the pleasant petrichor emanated
    from the sombre soils, producing an aura of serendipity.
    The Trees laughed on the arrival of their water of thirst.
    And the green grass danced with glee with the breezes.
    I looked at the crestfallen clouds;now,euphoric and light,
    After crying out the burden of theirs towards the land.
    The land aspired for that burden of others;
    And the need of clouds was just to throw it out.
    Witnessing the scene,i empathized with the clouds.
    I let the burden of my heart absquatulate too.
    My hands consoled the rains pouring through the eyes,
    And then began to write with it, the subfusc poesies,
    Waiting to be read in the singing diaries,
    Where withered pages live on the melody of rhymes.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 11w

    #sail @miraquill @writersnetwork

    Thankyou for the repost❤�� @writersnetwork
    Thankyou for EC❤�� @miraquill
    POD!!! Much obliged, team! ������

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    I sail in the boat of poetries to leave the marks of my sinking existence.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 12w

    Among all the ways of sobbing;
    the most trending, laughter has become.
    While smiles keep tantalizing for happiness; at them,
    I laugh because the dead things shouldn't be desired.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 12w

    In the dark shrouds of moonlit nights,
    the sufferings of mine,gift me a bunch of
    Poesies to weave the pulchritude
    of decaying hearts amidst the
    blossom of moist land of eyes,
    tired of withering in the harsh sunlight.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 12w

    The arrival of jubilant April, fresh and warm,
    brought life to the abyss of cold winter.
    The hyacinths started to bloom in colours
    as many as pink, rose, white and blue
    along with vibrant tulips and jetfire daffodils.
    Aroma of cherry blossoms and the scent of Sakura,
    not a sight for lifetime but of the happy Spring;
    how magnificent the view, how happy the hearts!
    On the soundtrack of buzzing bees and
    the songs of chirping birds,the flowers
    bloom and dance even more with glee;
    Synchronizing with the fragrances
    they behold; under the embrace of
    cheerful breezes disclosing the
    threads of revival of life and
    the blooming Spring of Love.
    ©re_ms36

  • re_ms36 13w

    Endings are not always as peaceful as sunsets
    Sometimes they are mere a replica of peace.
    Where the sky seems adorned with colours,
    Know that blood has a colour too.
    What lies beyond the horizon,
    Might be darkness too!
    You think it's over and yet
    In an ordinary midnight,
    the elegies are hummed
    for the dead beginnings
    in a way that is silent,
    But leads to a constant cycle of
    miserable Unended Endings!
    ©re_ms36