WOW - WONDER OUT OF WRITING!��❤️ Sanchitha Shankar On a break ��

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  • santor_674 2w

    //As the sun drowns past the cliff , the trees rumble in glee ; though agony of the sun's departure relishes in them - the new season of blossoms arrives as we walk around the trees when you leap to hold my hand//

    Now that our feet went numb; now that our hands don't tangle anymore and now that my curls don't itch your nose anymore ; I observed those trees yet another day growing feeble as the hailstorm wavers adversely, but still it's not the hailstorm but something profound that wounded them with no heal.

    As you lay upon the tree's bark , it could feel your warmth same as me who could feel the warmth as your heart throbs rhythmically; yet here we yearn for you though the coldness of your absence drown us wet.

    Blues of my tears wrap over the soul confiding its path to your gleaming eyes. As I lay mortal , the poor tree still stands upright which lay oblivious to your immortal memories.

    //Hold my hand once dear , so that death gallops my soul from your evil bloody hands//


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    Immortal Memories


  • santor_674 2w

    Glory that her eyes behold ; sailing with triumph were her lashes,
    Her orbs that gleam in blue ; with her lips drowning with the hues of scarlet.

    Her ears that beams in white ; her nose ring that scatters off bright. Her cheeks that lay soft and sleek for her mother relishes them with kisses of the dusk.

    Her curls bound to be wavy, caresses her pinkish white face ,
    Strong does her heart stands , though gales of myths scorn her appearance.

    Never is her soul restless , as she flutters with feathers in pair akin to an angel - nourishing and nurturing those needy and rugged palms.


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    "She" - defines infinity

    // For she was the lady, sailing across the tides higher and higher as she plunges down//

  • santor_674 10w

    Stormy gales whistling over the weary night ; pale hands of mine hauling over the guitar sacked in the dusty attic, I sidle over my rooftop for the night at extant was serene and sleek , I inhale the remnants of my discorded tunes that lay broken deep inside the silent memories of her, as I hum the tune the whispers of her chaotic thoughts sunk into the strings of my guitar , strumming out the sweet song that we sang together.

    For the night wears out leisurely , the winds grow cold , my hands feel numb, as I turn back to find nothing a vivid yet soft blanket curls upon my hands, sniffing it I could feel it's scent a bit familiar. I peered down to glimpse the same blue orbs, the dark red lips , was it her with the same exquisite gown of azure twinning with the lonely night with luminous starry spheres?

    As I get down , we stand close to each other, blossoms of the white flowers wither off caressing our silhouettes. Our eyes lock for we set back nowhere but under the white Dogwood where we met or precisely stumbled at each other for the first time.

    As she settles over my chest , the burnt forests of my rage melts as ice , the heart which inhaled the fire , melts soon as she settles over my chest, for her curls tickled we giggled.

    Whilst our souls inhale each of our unspoken words delegating it to the eyes which says it all, for now we embrace each other , and the white flowers withering off quench it's thirst of love with the tears we shed over our coupled hands.


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    I AND HER❤️


  • santor_674 11w

    What if silence was a poet?

    Catastrophic was the dawn , for no one knows how many billion years had passed since its(silence) birth, in utter bewilderment lay the other poets for silence was their poetic verse but never a self made poet.

    It would lay its verses amidst the loneliness rendering about for its whispers of warmth faint in chaos, which is then perceived by no one but a poor seamstress caressing her ill child, silence drenching itself in the pale hues of her tears.

    It penetrates to each looms of the poetry, whilst its absence lay nothing but its presence scribes out a blizzard with gales of whispers lurking serenely.

    Silence leaves a note - A poet is never camouflaged as an ember in a blaze, he though drops down into the flame raging with grief yet a sweet curve.


    WB - Repost 3

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    What if silence..

    What if silence had a beloved one?

    If silence had loved someone it would love the coupled hands of a mother and her dead son's corpse who had engraved himself in a death bed for he had starved a long war night , while he now tastes the savour of his mother earth. Silence grasps hold of the conversation in depth in the weary eyes of the mother and son.

    What if silence had an enemy?

    If though silence had an enemy it would be darkness - for they say dark is the time when people remain silent leaving the poor with helplessness, though dark is never silent - holding up the hymn of cuddling stars, whistling breeze and the sweet giggles of the newborn while the light guides nowhere but to baffle.

  • santor_674 12w

    Swinging and swirling around were the kids, leaping in joy , it stands still showering the bloomed blossoms , fading and paling were it's leaves and the children in glee flutter around as bee. Though it grew weary , it continues to cast it's shade for the exhausted - behind those tinge of shade, lies a tale of a tree, stabbed at the back.

    Fondling with the earth, a strong bond it erected, lies a mystery of what bids their bond for years, until the tree gets uprooted , the earth holds it tight and latched within itself.

    On a fine sunshine gay, leaves cuddling in delight, lost its adornments was the tree, it still stands firm though a few drops of tears quenched the earth's thirst a bit.

    As years passed, earth fell in despair for its beloved suppose to near death , seeing the lumberjack with his sharp tools , the earth fears and shuts it's pair of eyes, while the tree , now weak and fable , it smiles ghastly .

    Lying as pieces , the tree rests on the lap of the earth, the kids circling around - caress it's bark , while their tears wash away it's bleeding. It soul wandering beside them, shield them from the scorching sun as always.

    The bond of love revealed by the tree even after its death , was admired by sun , for it had concealed itself lapping over a pleasant climate for the tree to sleep in peace.


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    A sapling grew as a tree, befriends with the boggy soil and the zephyr swishing away, as the birds chirp and nestle beneath it's shade , wrinkles someday - as it bark bleeds , the earth uproots the tree , for it to rest at last , after living the deathly sense of life.

    As the stars glisten in night , it sparks the grief of the tree, while looking at his own shadow , it disappears into the darkness, the tree looks up and perceives the gesture of the moon concealing amidst the hovering clouds.

  • santor_674 13w

    The sky fears for the ground, ' cause residing there , we subdue with death some day , for the naive sky not really realises of how endearing is death , whose savour when felt with a bitter pain , linger the sweetest and eternal rest of all time.

    //For it fear lies in the alley to the ground , as it drifts to a pile of tombstones, buried and embellished with withered flowers all over , mourns and cries it hears , with a tremble gesture it drifts back to where it lies boundlessly//

    The sky fears for the dark night, though it lies amidst those ecstatic spheres, but the lady weeps in grief, that the sky captures her whispers, revealing itself to be sinful for it had galloped all those cries. Poor sky , beholding thousands of memories , it still named itself as " Sinful".

    // The sky was like a music , rumbling the jingles of those tears , whirling in grace were the constellations, while the world turned itself as a ballerina , scooping and leaping in grace//


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    The Sinful Melody

    The sky holds a sinful melody often resonating the beauty- that each of the tears behold of!

    The sun drops its hues of saffron and scarlet over the sky who had turned pale of grasping the warm tears!

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  • santor_674 13w

    I wore you like a mellifluous notes of the melody resonating the chime of your silent presence, whispering the broken rhymes, you adorn me as a gown of song with the lyrics weaved in amateur.

    I wore you like a "nothing " , though you had innumerable starry spheres to clasp between your palm and dress me like a poetry of yours, inspite of that, I didn't wear them as my alluring attires , ' cause I knew you were a sailor of the undying sea , in search of a better poetry .

    And when I die, your poetries would embellish my death as the happiest one , for the moon would shine more brightly than it could.


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    Sailing over a twisty yet soothing sea of music , reckoning it's beauty as the yacht winds up , as in disguise of a tide , the clef ( musical symbol) whirls in pride , for it had craved a wonder named -"music" when drenched itself in the azure pool of rhythm.

    Music journeys through the deep lane of the dead corpses of the soul, making them dive into those rhythms , hauling their grief , they vanish them to find nowhere.

    A poet once drifted with the tides of the sea of music , liberates the caged soul , that was smiling in vain, until it had the poet's hand and the music's lap to rest and relax.

  • santor_674 14w

    Relentless were her eyes , beholding innumerable tales of " misconceptions" - soul and her mind rivaling against each other, even though aware of the fact , that neither would win nor they would lose , for it were the misconceptions of her eyes - compatible to both..

    Fumes of her candle , surging the wicked demon along with bruises and cuts all over, sensing the absence of the virtuous , it crawls back inside her, though she had a misconception about the death of her demon , whom she had thought to be resting under the tombstone, for whom she had bid farewell with a bouquet of thorny shrubs , piercing over her palm..

    For she lit the candles with the rise of the good, while now.. blowing them off , she silences herself in the whispers and moans of dark..

    For she blames - "Time" to distort her life, neither she resides in his fantasizing poetries, neither does she fits the void of reality. Her misconception about time that it had not healed her bruises , but resonated her the spell of pain beyond death! Dear Time, you were one of the misconceptions of her eyes , though you are seen as a devil with beauty , yet you still cast as an angel with a stink and a bitter savour . Though you lend morals, you are a mere piece of lie and grief is what is mislead !

    Drenching down with such misconceptions, she lands in an aesthetic sphere of the ocean , clasping a lantern amidst those huge pinnacles , she smiles and perceives about you - Mr. Time, for how you brought her to the worst just to perceive her goodness!


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    // For time is not a healer , while it is a perceptor - hauling us towards changes , to help us to relish the essence of them for we are incessantly abounded by them with abundance))

  • santor_674 14w

    Healing those wrinkled scars of the preceding year, kisses it a note of death , for it fabricates iterum paces of the successive year, the Jan( January) with a subtle stroke of zephyr leaves back the preceding year to the vast sky , abounding it's existence of a starry sphere forever..

    For the birth of Jan remarks of a garnet- scarlet in hue symbolising the verses of Constancy. Though the end of the the month has nothing to thrive, the start proclaims to be outstanding with innumerable deeds..

    It renders to be the unending hope and a n(ever)- lasting pack of resolutions, it's birth celebrated with the sweet flavoured loaf with a tinge of glee casted with the sparkling eyes of hope , embellishing the beauty of the whole year..

    Swishes away as a wind were it's days, with the nights resonating the carols of the Falcons ( birds) , cuddling with the blustery wind of joy..

    // As the wrinkled year winds up, the brisk and iterum breeze of the new day of the foremost month whistles and whispers the phrase of -''START"//


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    January : The dawn of a year!

    And now the year steps out its first walk, all it crosses through was iterum, sailing hither and thither , the year leaves back the trodden black imprints of the lane , the so called - January!

  • santor_674 15w

    Good bye to the past , which had stitched a cloak of grief though winter has months to arrive , it conceals the hues of gay , numb and cold were the days to pass..

    Good bye to the past , for it had stabbed her hands with the splintered pieces of his memories , while she reckons to hold them forever..

    Good bye to the past, that had smirked with delight for having her poems splashed with shades of blue..

    And at the end of the day , she proclaims - Good bye to the past , for you shall not step up again, for now a new year had been born, while 2020 , which grew old,may rest until it's time for a re - birth of another such devastating year!


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    Buh - Bye 2020!

    //At the end , all you held back is a bouquet of flowers, bidding farewell for those memoirs grudging you, out of which , weaves out a sphere of hope to have a life to move on rather than laying yourself in a bed of death//