suranjana__

Sudarshana Sarma -the endings won't end you.

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  • suranjana__ 57w

    ~ homosexuality, a curse or a gift?

    we played not strings of guitar
    but a flawless love everyone yawns for
    we immersed our limbs not in a marine water source
    but in a microscopic waterhole
    of anonymous tenderness
    we ate not pieces of biscuits dipped in nutella
    but thoughts that concealed
    beneath unsaid words
    we bathe not in a tub of clean water
    but in the spa of freedom
    that was meant for love.
    but did we really enjoy years before we knew
    that all we were just homosexuals
    nothing strange that conveyed,
    tendering and warming peps
    with same old love
    and all we pleased was
    for a mate we are sheltered by
    one who can look for and stare our optics
    with that ethical and strong adoration.

    if you can ,
    so can we descend our souls
    in care and affection.
    if you adore a boy being a girl
    then why not we adore a boy being a boy
    if you take your hands through her ears
    with utmost fondness being a boy
    then why can't i do it being a girl
    all that we changed
    were our perspective through mates
    we elected ones we loved
    that holded no longer
    the gender rules
    but we still clutch same bygone love
    that almighty sent for each sapien in this orb.

    love tastes not the flavour of gender or
    feels the fragrance
    of masculinity or femininity
    but it swallows affection, trust and freedom
    which we stored in hands of grips so tight.

    ©suranjana__

  • suranjana__ 57w

    ANONYMOUS POVERTY

    scars were told not to sleep
    wounds yawned to nourish them more
    scratches whispered i shall keep pouring by
    bleeding howled let me live
    and the black circles laid there
    beneath eyes in a perpetual way.

    || the skin felt poverty ||

    vibrations of dark clanged again
    tales of melancholy flied in waves that encircled
    flute sang songs of death
    the big piano spoke my segments of vein
    and the eardrums shivered in a aching way.

    || the ear felt poverty ||

    thorns embedded the pupil
    fountain arouse with bleeding so red
    eyelashes conveyed bygone spoilers
    shades of light vailed
    all that arouse was curtains all torn
    and a shadowy vault of blackish threads.

    || the eye felt poverty ||

    odour that left was of dried up cicatrix
    nostrils were surrounded by smoke and dust,
    embraced verses all broken up,
    inhaling cyclones of terrific tales
    and exhaling tornadoes of pure memories.

    || the nose felt poverty ||

    gulped venom of half-done poems
    tasted bitterness of torn hearts
    swallowed blended blood
    of knives and forks
    of miseries and panicking alphabets
    and chewed hard biscuits of death.

    || the tongue felt poverty ||

    ©suranjana__

  • suranjana__ 57w

    i shall dream of stars
    stars that never were mine
    mine until i could assemble them again
    again for a constellation to devise.

    i shall shade with perpetual hues
    hues on the seven blank bars
    bars hanging in my sky of cerulean beauty
    beauty with a purpose to shine
    to shine my pleasant existence.

    i shall stretch my heights to that
    of eucalyptus
    of eucalyptus, to fondle my arms
    arms that don't want to attire like grass.

    i shall build castles in the air
    in the air of the heaven that was mine
    mine all the time.

    i shall desire to brush my fingers with the sky
    the sky of great heights
    heights that are meant to be climbed up
    climbed up by my flawless anatomy
    anatomy that was continuously loved
    loved by the hopes of mine.

    || ©suranjana__

    @miraquill @writersnetwork #pod #wn

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  • suranjana__ 57w

    and i am a descendant of s o l i s and l u n a
    manifesting a bond of two varied zeal

    and i am a tarzan of dense canopies and woodland
    shielding my abode with ethical warmth

    and i am a victor of my ocean so dense
    locking horns with sharks that were left

    and i am a queen of the island
    knitting hope to scars and wounds sapien have

    and i shall be a coffin in the shadowy graveyard
    to typify my old self holding bunch of sunflowers.

    ©suranjana__

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  • suranjana__ 57w

    ~ to the sky by your bushes

    i yawn to taste your cotton candies
    that give hues so pure

    i want to hang on bars of sun spiky and hot
    while touching those creamy curtains
    of thy v i b g y o r

    i yawn to paint your physique with shades i like
    holding a brush of my body part

    i want to meet high mountains that
    present me lash downs of water
    or mizzle so light or snow that are soft
    and thunders blast

    i yawn to whirl through anatomies
    of hurricane and tornadoes
    of cyclones and gale

    i want to gown myself
    with crystals of star
    and make a visit
    into the moony floor
    of thy l u n a

    //but i cry while lying on ground
    so rough and feel blood-curdling howl
    of the w o l v e s

    p h y s i q u e is cramped with wounds
    e a r s are defaced by vibrations of tractor
    h a n d s are eaten up by snails so giant
    l e g s are dried up due to water so less
    h a i r s are bading me goodbye
    s c a r s are growing fast
    all i am left is with hope;
    to fondle my dreams
    in your lake of e n t i t y. //

    || ©suranjana__


    luna: latin word for moon

    @miraquill @writersnetwork

    @redolent_smile do read my poems whenever you can i shall wait for you to read��♥️

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    ~ to the sky by your bushes

  • suranjana__ 57w

    ain't the voyage of five sense organs through nature better?

    the odour of the petrichor made you bliss over the fragrance that came from the attire last night you sprayed on.

    the flavour of berries hanging in thy garden was more than those cookies lying in your giant glass jar.

    the touch of petals and dead leaves when they fall on thy body made your lips widen more than the fondling of moisturizer that goes on through legs and arms.

    the buzz of bumblebees and chirping of songbirds sometimes make the frontal lobe of thy brain and earhole serene or calm than sound played by strings of ukulele, guitar and violin.

    the snap collected by your eyes of the mountains so high, rivers so quick, trees all green, creatures beautiful may have kept better space being a memory in the corners of your heart and memoir than movies high rated, restaurants and buildings that are wealthy.

    ©suranjana__

    @miraquill @writersnetwork #wn

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    ain't the voyage of five sense organs through nature better?

  • suranjana__ 58w

    @writersnetwork @miraquill did you forget your friend?��
    #wn (bhul hii gaya yaar mujhe) #pod
    my perception about revenge and everyone does have a different viewpoint♥️
    i really don't know why i am failing to write day by day

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    Revenge, a word that deals with one's mind being crowded with emotions that are sore and indelible.
    how about if i ask have you ever felt as if your state of mind is being caged behind walls of concrete cells or your heart is psychically being murdered in a pool of lost hopes? your answer might be a yes. and the yes still is aching you deep inside if you never thought of healing it.
    you might have thought of taking a revenge, being similar to the other homo being that caused the agony and again that person might have planned something scary for you. and this chain of illogical revenge would go on until and unless you have self realisation that all you have been doing is wasting your o'clocks. we are of the same specie but with different perspectives and i have something really distinct vision towards revenges. now we might not have similar point of views for that don't curse me out.
    revenge for me is a speedbreaker to the quote "karma hits back". if you are so confident in saying so about this quote then let karma decide , let almighty decide what might be the hit the other sapien would receive for the evil deeds of their soul. if revenges are going to be taken then the voyage of yours might no longer be peaceful. but...in this existence of yours if you are somehow planning to take revenges do make sure that it doesn't cost anyone else's feeling and only of that specific person. might be in the hurry of hammering them you are likely to loose connections with others.
    what i am trying to put forward is you can either believe in karma hitting back or taking a revenge to heal your heart. choice is all yours me is not pulling your leg. it differs from person to person but what is important is that whether that hurt or hatred is lost or not. 'cause i personally think that most of the times even taking revenge doesn't bring peace.

    ©suranjana__

  • suranjana__ 58w

    the perfect body with imperfect mind

    • struggling a lot through years of practices not of scaling down the length of narrowness crowding in the mind but the lengths of calories that lies down the tum.
    • jumping hours to let your feet grow further to touch heights and let the perfect tallness title be earned and not letting the arms of yours to grow further for helping the aged ones yawning with rolling tears at streets.
    • fabricating six packs to be the idol infront of everyone's eyes and not erecting the six core values of social work to replace the pessimism flagging up in your mind.
    • sapiens out there i hope one fine day arrives when you would look how perfectly,

    *your ear acts as a device of listening to other's sorrowful fragments of life and not pulling a heavy earing part,
    *your nose smells the natural fragrances and not drugs that makes you half alive,
    *your skin feels the scars of others to heal up
    and not is cramped with cosmetics and watches of high price,
    *your eyes keeps looking at books of beautiful advice and not at bodies that lies imperfect in most of your eyes
    *your tongue tastes the cotton candies offered by the man who is old and not the costliest drinks that let you lost in an artificial existing world.

    || ©suranjana__

  • suranjana__ 58w

    haven't you ever been asked
    how love starts
    i never met someone who
    asked me so but
    in this long journey i might meet
    a confused sapien who don't know
    how love really starts
    and thereby tagging myself to be
    an astrologer i already devised
    the answer to this very beautiful
    though idiotic question
    and you have seen a mother
    at streets offering the piece
    of loaf to the unknown child
    crying out there
    and you have seen a dog
    somehow helping the kitten
    to reach its mother's arms
    and the soldier irrespective of
    his body fighting in the battleground
    players frolicking with that
    broken leg
    and doctors sacrificing their lives
    in the service of one's nation
    and teachers with a cracked voice
    declaring the main points
    in the classroom
    sorry but not being able to see
    this love
    i think you have much severe problems
    than that of myopia, hypermetropia
    and presbyopia.

    ©suranjana__



    i love you all so much!! it feels like a kid has finally got his/her candies after jumping heights to grab the candy jar. i missed you everyone, your beautiful write-ups, those pleasant comments. i won't be active like the way i used to be but i shall try my best to hold the pen to write again^_________^♥️
    @writersnetwork @miraquill ♥️

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    haven't you ever been asked
    how love starts?

  • suranjana__ 64w

    i am here i know i got lost without informing you all my beautiful readers, my dear lovely souls. i am here just to post this poem on this lovely menstruation day. i would be gone again please don't curse me for that.trust me this has been my home and i love my family. just a trial to make you happy i wrote this and thereby i am posting this. feel proud to be a girl, a women. we all love you. sorry for not replying to your comments and not thanking you or reading your beautiful write-ups. i sure would soon arrive and interact with you all. wait for me. i miss you all trust i miss you all. bye!!(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)♥️
    HAPPY MENSTRUATION DAY
    #pod#mirakee#wn#menstruation#suwn
    You made me smile after months @writersnetwork(6) me loves you♥️( ◜‿◝ )♡

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    the red watercourse that cascades with beauty though moulded with aches and agony

    under the strength of her vivid speeches
    under the love of her nurturing tales
    under the amusement of her throwball matches
    under the pride of her professional attire
    there lies her red menstrual fluid
    that smiles with beauty and pain
    after every epoch of 30 days.

    this river ain't giving her bliss
    but that abdominal cramps
    letting her learn to go through every ache
    she receives in her voyage through life.

    this river ain't allowing her physique
    to swim while touching it's waves with delight
    but is making her stronger
    while she screams with
    every independent flow of the river
    in o'clocks she wished never would have turned
    towards her.

    this river ain't showing its cerulean anatomy
    but it's scarlet hues immersed in the vaginal soul.

    this river ain't hiding aquatic creatures under its
    transparent blue cloth
    but is making her realise the fact that
    she is a women who is alluring, brave and bold.

    this river ain't making her pride to rise
    for she is taking a route through natural artefact
    that is pleasant and winsome
    but is making her pride to rise
    to pronounce her epitome as a "WOMEN" awesome.

    with every flow of tints of vermilion she receives
    a day so painful, a night so dreadful
    but a facade smile that hides under a face beautiful.

    this river might get upset a few times in the 7 days
    of yours
    but it promises to let you enjoy the course of time
    when you won't have it's arms to touch the body
    of yours.

    the river arising from the uterus
    might be named a curse by many
    but remember no one gets to live it's existence
    until sacrifices knocks you at the door
    the river that is red when emerges
    at the perfect time
    makes you stronger, devoted and pure.
    and this river is the menstruation,
    the term in book of "a real women" you look for.

    -sudarshana sarma
    ©suranjana__