santor_674

WOW - WONDER OUT OF WRITING!��❤️ Sanchitha Shankar

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  • santor_674 7w

    /Life is all about varied flavours , tender must be your lingua to relish them all for a tasteless tongue is as worth as a stolid heart lying still before a dead corpse//

    #imagery
    #tenderc

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    PIQUANCY OF THE EVE!

    The chilly breeze whistling through the hot cocoa blows it's chocolatey aroma ; relishing its flavour are the withered florals of the eastern redbud which croon in together - their funeral hymn.

    High above in the azure a flock of rose breasted Grosbeaks circle 'round the redbud in rejoice , maddened by the pleasant aroma of the buttery and crunchy baked cookies - which the kids munch with a ravishing sense of elate.
    Glimpsing their elated faces , their granny beam with her grey curls wavering through the breeze.

    The joy of the kids reminded her - the reminiscences of her own saccharine childhood days of relishing the exuding honey of the pancakes - freshly served by her beloved mother with a weary yet satisfied smile.

    Stepping into a new day , the girl leaps out of her couch , tearing off the calendar sheet , she unlatches her casement to drench herself in the hazy warmth of the tangy and glace sunshine. Off she goes to blow the candles over her favoured dessert of - "Baked Alaska " with a glossy and creamy contour. Whole of the vanilla cream smeared above her nose , she flickers her tongue over it and gets carried away with its beguiling vanilla essence.

    And yet again, here is a poet slurping the acrid and stale syrup of her toxin yet tender whisper , which brings the poet back to those memories abounded by crispy verses of hollow promises.
    ©santor_674

  • santor_674 20w

    A MEMOIR

    Sunshine dazzled over a small aperture in my casement which camouflaged my dark curls and gleamed it into a brunet. Whilst , I was stirring my cup of espresso whose aroma quivered over my nostrils.

    The sun painted an exquisite mosaic with vivid hues of carmine , salmon and amber mending themselves together with several contours of the environment.

    I settled myself over the lawn chair with the enthralling sip of the hazel espresso with a naturally sweet savour. When the zephyr swished over it , the liquid grew vibrant making waves. My hands felt quite cold and numb and my feet felt chilly because of the moist grass blades watered an hour before.

    The evening seemed pleasant with the resonance of chime of the Japanese bells wavering back and forth but at a sudden an unpleasant creaky sound heard when the birds fell asleep over the branches by the sun's caress over their soft feathers.

    I followed the sound disturbing the whole sense of silence and found it to resonate from the old banyan tree with an empty cage hanged over the part of its bough.

    A rusted iron cage , oscillating for years , still remains strong. Though the birds kept in there were let free years bygone - their fragrance ; their obscure withered feathers; their mellifluous chirps ; the scraped remnants of the bars by them remain still in that empty cage which is now completely crowded with their imaginary presence.

    As I see them, nostalgia hit the Garth of the withered roses of my heart which poured down the fluid of empathies into unusual tears.
    ' Circling 'round the Banyan tree ; we search of a place to conceal ourselves to win over "hide and seek" but everytime we hide behind the tree, the caged birds chirp aloud in excitement ruining our game. Our mothers would come about when we sit exhausted to make us feel pleasant with the soft kisses and enchanting mango shake. '
    And now it's 6:06 pm , I stand before a filled yet empty cage!

    // How innocent we were in our childhood of thinking ourselves to be enclosed and caged in the lap of our mothers contradicting the fact of our present where we are caged within our uncertainties in a large dorm of four walls//

    //Childhood flavoured of a rich liquor never brewed that stayed in our lingua even after years of experience ; while adulthood flavoured of a Barley Wine - all bitter//

    I realised from the empty cage of how uncertain we are - for we had been betwixt paradoxes - where at one side we feel elated for a hopping caged bird and at the other side , mourn for a bird that flew high above with its flock just before being enclosed by the verge of death!

    #mosaicc #childhood #paradox #imagery #combination

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    ©santor_674

  • santor_674 21w

    The cosmos seemed enigmatic for it had boundless riven remnants plated in together fabricating the vast " path "which was sleek as the "milk" flowing through. Sprinkled with starry spheres , it guides through a way of aesthetic bodies.

    Minute looms of dust and comets of the Kuiper Belt weave 'round the Poseidon - which gleams as a turquoise hued celestial body.

    Sailing as a vagrant , I stay buoyant in the black sphere , as I fall into the serendipity of the interstellar nebular structure.

    As I sail through , something glistened in a colorless contour , as I disclose it - I found about the existence of the - Lucida which reflects my aura into vivid shades of dazzling entities swirling with each other to sum up the aurora borealis .

    I felt miserable lying on the - Andromeda with no one to haul me back ; like every time I was reminded of my mom in absolute solitude . But this time I was reminded of something strange along with my mom. I remembered her whispering to me when she was holding her last breath, where I was comforting myself in dad's arms - Dear ! Your eyes held that inevitable power that one could never be against of ; the power of love! Hold it back when you feel alone and you would reach to where you were lost! Remember , the stars in your eyes shall live longer than history for they behold the secrecy of untold truths and unuttered metaphors of reality !"

    I realized that I slept all these time with the the stars of Orion singing mellifluous melodies of lullabies!


    This is just a fictional story where the writer finds herself in a strange journey to different celestial bodies of the space!

    #combination
    Set A - Miserable
    Set B - The stars in your eyes shall live longer than history

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    COSMIC VOYAGE

    I was gazing at the splendorous starry spheres with a drugget on the ground , I felt amazed for the voyage I travelled all around !
    I never felt of a celestial sphere crafting fantasies alluring ,
    For it made my day enduring!
    ©santor_674

  • santor_674 21w

    The clouds furled over the gloomy sky ; an await of a heavy downpour chuckled in my misty intellect. The sun seemed to be petrified with the darkness hovering over ; for it had to sojourn concealed amidst them. I was in my dorm ; finding no one to accompany but a lantern whirling along with the gust. I quested through my briefcase and found something gleaming which was a locket. Never did I oblige to acknowledge of why I had this locket after years of grief plunging down my lane. Why was I bestowed with such an ecstatic accessory to adorn my torn attire? I laid it in my hand with incessant thoughts running over my mind.
    Something was strange today. The cold breeze brushing past my face had numbed my senses and the scent of a distant lover unsettled my inner storm. The floor beneath my feet seemed chilly and wet and I shivered in the melancholic cold resonance of his verses.
    My windows remained unlatched , for a white Lily fluttered over my heart - when my mind picturized him lying dead over the tombstone of my heart. It's been years since we met each other for we could never even brief about our whereabouts. All these days seemed never sad thinking about him , but today seemed too dark that it had faded away the certainties. As the florals of the Lilith petals came through I fabricated them into a bouquet garnishing the imagery of the tombstone of my heart. Much exhausted the lilies buried themselves under the earth reflecting his aura before me. I remain startled ; then hid myself beneath my duvet with tears pouring down ; but my heart stayed strong sheltering him with it's tombstone from the heavy downpour rolling down my eyes.

    #creative
    @miraquill thank you so much for EC❤️. Means a lot❤️

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    Tombstone Of My heart

    // Tombstone of my heart subsisted of - amiable assertions ; bewitching beatitudes ; cordial chortle and delusional detours//
    ©santor_674

  • santor_674 21w

    Lurking beneath the duvet; the tepid of sunbeams skim over my half opened eyes. My eyes glued to the Bombax Ceiba that was located all alone in the Garth and the komorebi passing through its leaflets brushed my hazel curls as I could feel the refreshing zephyr passing by. Flowers showering all over my withered pieces of mind having a handful of uncertainties , the lavender florets flourished after much nurture. They say , February will bring blossoms unexpectedly and fortunately for I could not perceive what it meant. Then could I contemplate of February blooming out the true reflection of one - washing away obstacles in there and all those withered petals of hope gather in with no proper contour yet they are cherished as they lay beside the wabi Sabi. Withered florals of the tree craves out euphoria of ephemeral - knowing that it won't last forever - I run behind it for it's aesthetic empathy.

    #nature
    #tautogram
    #quesc
    #combination

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    Where Do I Find Solace?

    //February fabricates fragrant florals for fanciful fantasies fetching festal fables//

    Solace is where I disclose myself of who am I , which drowns me through the deepest point of my eyes to get rid of the shallow minds and I could find it in the riven mirror with memories beheld and imperfections grooving on to find a better person in myself.
    ©santor_674

  • santor_674 21w

    The Rose petals in my journal have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now..
    #choose
    #recitec
    #shallowc
    #petalc

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    When a Rose Bloomed in Winter!

    And when I relish about the years bygone , your phony and bland promises still dawdle in my ears. Reciting the symphonies of your ineffective melodies - I lay in search of what these resonance beholds - the whacking of my aphonic soul or the giggles of your hideous laughs. Trailing back my drawer , I found your photographs that lay deep underneath the withered petals of heliotrope that you bestowed me at the shallow lane across my residence. And that shallow lane left back memoirs that settled deep inside the retina of my eyes. All those magnolias and redbuds that showered on us ;as we dreamt of us together fluttering in a folk tale. And now I sidle down the shallow lane as I could glimpse of the trodden footprints and the scent of the florals still wavering in though winter had gathered up with it's heap of snow flakes. I caressed those fantasies I built up in my journal picturing us with a tinge of blues - which the rose petals adorn to dress themselves and bloomed out afresh. The thorns pricked my thumb which became a tranquil leading to solace over the bed of cactus. For it was the rose he lent me years ago that symbolized the hoax of our eternal love. For I went to lock the window when one of our polaroids swished to the frozen lane , which reminded me of the fact of how can a rose blossom in a winter and then I contemplated that everything you gave is just an illusion
    ©santor_674

  • santor_674 23w

    This is just an imaginary piece of writing where the writer imagines her heart to be travelling somewhere!
    #prose
    #belongc

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    The Heart of A Poetess.

    I borrowed a handful of blue sky from my last lover and adorned it to my catastrophic hues of hopes fluttering high above , turning the blue sky into a purple shaded one. The day remained spooky , with the sky turning purple and the gust of uncertainties whirling in high tempo.
    I was in a hurry to reach over to the imagery , where I entombed my metaphors, symbols and buoyant figures. The path to the imagery I followed was sleek for I throbbed over the path of consonance - which didn't have any twist and turns. And I was beguiled with incomplete sonnets and nonet poems fabricating their own poems - by sharing each other's beverage of verses bringing out a different interpretation of the incomplete poetries.
    And then came a band of rhymes and rhythms assembling themselves in correct positions and postures to pour out a soothing and melodious orchestra in order to sing out symphonic poem.
    And then it started to rain , wavering out a heavy downpour of relished memories and grieved emotions and a huge drops of black ink was showered on me ; signifying me to squeeze out the carmine fluid to pour out her reed.
    And finally I reached to my destination where I was belonged too, and with no surprise, I found my last lover on the same abode , and she tore her pages and I too restrained myself.
    ©santor_674

  • santor_674 23w

    #art
    #roadc
    // The road to abandonment was easy to travel , but arduous to rebound back//

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    LAST DAY OF MY DIARY.

    It's been 2 years, since I left to transcribe in my book with a set of poetries. I could still retrospect about the last day I scribed out in that book. It was akin to a diary with a black rose imprinted over the book case. It conventionally galloped my incomplete verses, riven rhymes, discorded rhythms and ambiguous metaphors into a cuisine of poetries. Black ink oozing out of my reed allured many but I had an uncertainty since I found that book.
    21st June 2019 , I was indulged in an arduous task of writing an elegy. It has gulped much of my time for it had wavered my mind into divergent roads of contemplations and then I started off- "On the dark night when the sun had dipped itself beneath the cluster of trees , I started to feel the roads ahead of me being longer and longer .." Hush! The lights went out. I walked out to the door and found the clouds becoming darker and intense and then few droplets drizzled over me . I drenched myself in the heavy downpour when a ring came in my telephone. I ran and picked it up , it was from the hospice in which my grandfather was admitted. My silence was perceived by them with my tears washing my muddy shoes. I laid down in the carpet for hours.
    Recalling that day makes me feel grieved yet tears are now not enough to express them. Picturising the black rose ; the black ink and my idea on that day to write an elegy correlated with each of them. Yet I decided today to visit the same cranky house . It was a journey of two hours and I walked to the dry and wilted garden - no one to take care of. And then unlatching the door , I found the diary and stepped out of the house to see a rainbow flourishing in vivid hues in the dim sky. But I never turned my whispers into sound poetries.
    And now the rhymes wither themselves , the metaphors fade themselves and the sonnets undress their beauty
    Though at times I incline to write, I said to myself - Abandoned things are never restored back to their initial form , they remain as memoirs twinkling in the dreamy skies of fantasies.
    ©santor_674

  • santor_674 23w

    On the summer eve ,the sun blazed down over my desk,
    I squinted to look up to the clock and realised that
    I slept for long hours. Devoid of hopes,
    I rambled towards my petite garden,
    in search of newly blossomed florals.
    My eyes locked themselves , on the
    Alluring petals of salmon shaded - Dahlia.
    Months of await, resulted on the unexpected blossom of this elegant flora. Brushing it's ring shaped petals I revealed about its poise and graceful contour along with me , cluster of oak trees waver
    In together. Elated was I to witness the wilted garden
    Turning into vivid shades of heavenly meadow
    Upon the arrival of
    D
    A
    H
    L
    I
    A
    #wov7
    Tried my best to bring it out as flower��
    @santor_674
    Ps: Dahlia is flower blooming in summer and it symbolises elegance and grace ; it can have many other meanings too.

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    UNEXPECTED BLOSSOM

  • santor_674 23w

    APPETIZING POETRY

    Beguiling savor of rhymes jolt in
    The lingua - enhancing the glace
    Of the tranquil echoes of
    Rhythmic ballads. Bitter,
    Metaphors remain
    Implicit of
    Weaving out
    Poem
    Tales.

    //Poetries can enamel pale verses of truth with vivid hues of lies
    Which remains wavering in the fantasising heaven of skies//

    //Poetries can resonate aphonic echoes whispered by the heart
    Which is etched as a memoir of art//
    ©santor_674