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Ritujoshi

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She is butterfly don't try to chase it or hold it tight between your fingers she will flee leaving the hues of her memory behind on your fingertips ©Ritujoshi #poetry #poem #English #poemsporn #poetry_by_rittujoshi

She is butterfly don't try to chase it or hold it tight between your fingers she will flee leaving the hues of her memory behind on your fingertips ©Ritujoshi #poetry #poem #English #poemsporn #poetry_by_rittujoshi

Diwa

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The girl, grieving in the shadows; blending with it; was, simply, evanescing in the bubble of nothing, that he left her in. #yqbaba #yqdidi #poems #poemsporn #poetry #YourQuoteAndMine Collaborating with Dewansh Kumar Beautiful poem, this, you made. Thank you for inviting me to collaborate on it. 🙏

The girl, grieving in the shadows; blending with it; was, simply, evanescing in the bubble of nothing, that he left her in. #yqbaba #yqdidi #poems #poemsporn #poetry #YourQuoteAndMine Collaborating with Dewansh Kumar Beautiful poem, this, you made. Thank you for inviting me to collaborate on it. 🙏

Sanjana Kumar

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A shriek that bears the holy spirit of Charon. Making its way through every dead smile, every dead muse. With every half dead poem, every half alive interlude to our song being carried on his shoulders. Every uneven edge, carefully caressed. Every apology letter, carefully sealed, one rose tucked inside each beige envelope. //full poem in caption// Tender twigs, fallen last wishes of Autumn. Fallen last guilts of a summer so warm, a summer so cold. Fallen last wishes of days, rather quiet. Fallen last wishes of nights, rather non poetic and yet ours. Non poetic. Ours, though.

A shriek that bears the holy spirit of Charon. Making its way through every dead smile, every dead muse. With every half dead poem, every half alive interlude to our song being carried on his shoulders. Every uneven edge, carefully caressed. Every apology letter, carefully sealed, one rose tucked inside each beige envelope. //full poem in caption// Tender twigs, fallen last wishes of Autumn. Fallen last guilts of a summer so warm, a summer so cold. Fallen last wishes of days, rather quiet. Fallen last wishes of nights, rather non poetic and yet ours. Non poetic. Ours, though.

Sanjana Kumar

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. It has been your favorite ever since you realized sunflowers aren't suited to the climate in your city. A utopian fantasy, a sunflower field. A subtle reality, the gentle hibiscus in your palm. //full poem in caption// You can't always make out the words the guitar strumming, drum beating chaos surrounds, but you may catch scraps of words. Broken sentences, a few jagged words. A few unknown chords, a few known pauses. And softly banging your head, you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Your tresses, your smile. But no, not your stare. His stare, almost piercing your stare. Almost.

. It has been your favorite ever since you realized sunflowers aren't suited to the climate in your city. A utopian fantasy, a sunflower field. A subtle reality, the gentle hibiscus in your palm. //full poem in caption// You can't always make out the words the guitar strumming, drum beating chaos surrounds, but you may catch scraps of words. Broken sentences, a few jagged words. A few unknown chords, a few known pauses. And softly banging your head, you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Your tresses, your smile. But no, not your stare. His stare, almost piercing your stare. Almost.

Sanjana Kumar

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While my dida (grandma) still let's me hide away into her bosom for a few moments, those moments seem almost stolen. Stolen from a stack of collective moments that would perhaps, let her sleep peacefully, sleep after she's completed all the household chores, for which she has forever refused a domestic help. //full poem in caption// I."And then the thunder said that the eighth of the children born to his sister of affection, would be his slayer. The savior, the Lord. " Suspense. This is where my dida finished her episode for the day, of telling me stories from our mythologies. And this happened on one of the many almost jagged, almost scratched, almost failed memories I hold rather close to my heart. While my dida still let's me hide away into her bosom for a few moments, those moments seem almost stolen. Stolen from a

While my dida (grandma) still let's me hide away into her bosom for a few moments, those moments seem almost stolen. Stolen from a stack of collective moments that would perhaps, let her sleep peacefully, sleep after she's completed all the household chores, for which she has forever refused a domestic help. //full poem in caption// I."And then the thunder said that the eighth of the children born to his sister of affection, would be his slayer. The savior, the Lord. " Suspense. This is where my dida finished her episode for the day, of telling me stories from our mythologies. And this happened on one of the many almost jagged, almost scratched, almost failed memories I hold rather close to my heart. While my dida still let's me hide away into her bosom for a few moments, those moments seem almost stolen. Stolen from a

Sanjana Kumar

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I'll tell you of the amusing shapes I've learnt to spot in the careless cobwebs. I'll tell you a tale of the two sparrows who distract me each day, trying to grasp the iron railings, failing, trying again. //full poem in caption// Separate ways, cherry wine. Almost as if, the sins we worship were separate too. Fairy lights, bitter Bourbon. This time, the cherry

I'll tell you of the amusing shapes I've learnt to spot in the careless cobwebs. I'll tell you a tale of the two sparrows who distract me each day, trying to grasp the iron railings, failing, trying again. //full poem in caption// Separate ways, cherry wine. Almost as if, the sins we worship were separate too. Fairy lights, bitter Bourbon. This time, the cherry

Sanjana Kumar

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You've heard them say, you've heard them laugh. You've heard them say, you've heard them love. //full poem in caption// Eyes on the same horizon, we talk. No words, a lot of them. Eyes no more on the same dusk, eyes no more on the same dawn. And,you've heard them say, you've heard Lennon say. Happiness is a big deal, love. You've heard them say.

You've heard them say, you've heard them laugh. You've heard them say, you've heard them love. //full poem in caption// Eyes on the same horizon, we talk. No words, a lot of them. Eyes no more on the same dusk, eyes no more on the same dawn. And,you've heard them say, you've heard Lennon say. Happiness is a big deal, love. You've heard them say.

Sanjana Kumar

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You speak, you drown. Poison, lies. She stays, she smiles. You sin, you sing. She stays, she smiles. //full poem in caption// Sly pretence, a slight mistake. Cherry red marks all over your shirt, spilled wine, too much of an excuse. She stays, she smiles. Sun shines, grasses dry up when they die. She stays, she opens the door each time. She stays, she smiles.

You speak, you drown. Poison, lies. She stays, she smiles. You sin, you sing. She stays, she smiles. //full poem in caption// Sly pretence, a slight mistake. Cherry red marks all over your shirt, spilled wine, too much of an excuse. She stays, she smiles. Sun shines, grasses dry up when they die. She stays, she opens the door each time. She stays, she smiles.

Sanjana Kumar

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Purple heat waves in the autumn sun. Purple smoke through the glum horizon. Too much purple, too much scorch. Slow burn, this earth, love. //full poem in the caption// Window seats and early autumn. The sun scorched you, seeping in through the thick fabric of your jeans. You feel every bit of the scorch. You relish in the feeling. You take the slow burn with a smile, maybe you're too engrossed to notice your skin tingling with the burn? Maybe you're too done hiding in the steel cold interiors, you welcome the heat and scorch?

Purple heat waves in the autumn sun. Purple smoke through the glum horizon. Too much purple, too much scorch. Slow burn, this earth, love. //full poem in the caption// Window seats and early autumn. The sun scorched you, seeping in through the thick fabric of your jeans. You feel every bit of the scorch. You relish in the feeling. You take the slow burn with a smile, maybe you're too engrossed to notice your skin tingling with the burn? Maybe you're too done hiding in the steel cold interiors, you welcome the heat and scorch?

Santhanamullai Mohan

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I wanna explore you in depth Without loosing me on the path #deep #deep #depth #lovequotes #quotes #poemsporn #poem

I wanna explore you in depth Without loosing me on the path #deep #deep #depth #lovequotes #quotes #poemsporn #poem