Puppets

I would never want to forget a thingfor the boundless moments,and the memoriesare always etched in my heart forever. It’s always the seconds,days,and months,that makes an absolute differencematter of the time,need of the hour.and we humansthe most eerie of all the creatures,puppets of the circumstance. -Shreya Sharma

You and I

I safekeep your effervescent laughs in my heart the laughs that scatter rain in deserts, and bring mirth in blank space. You resemble a dateless blooming flower- Calla lilies, the petals diffuse in the blood of your heart. There is a sheet of optimism in your glazing eyes, and I breathe on these hopes residing… Continue reading You and I

Nepenthe 

Nepenthe (n) : Something that makes you forget grief or suffering. A flock of starlings chirped words of sweetness And my heart was astir in seconds The grief and sorrows carved in pieces of my heart dissolved in nothing How congenial are these beautiful winged-creatures That heals my soul as nepenthe And same the stars… Continue reading Nepenthe 

If objects had a voice..

If objects had a voice, they would not stand still. Perhaps they would form groups and chatter and laugh, their voices will pass through the windows, across the walls of next room, and to the backyard in unison. The floral linen fabric in my closet will desire to visit gardens, and accompany flowers;sunflowers and daisies.… Continue reading If objects had a voice..

Undone

Your kiss was so real in my dream it felt raw and nicotine a bit of honey and a bit of smoke altogether as a perfect blend of milk and caffeine yet it remained unfinished you know like half sunset view half-moon night undone. and maybe uneaten pizza slices or refused macaroons. -SHREYA

After Life

A drizzle from the clouds awakens a sunny weather, a beautiful aftermath of different shades of sky. A minute seed blooms into a floriferous bliss, turning my garden into a land of angels and flies. A caterpillar undergoes a process of metamorphosisto come out as a butterfly. What do you name it as, A complete… Continue reading After Life

Layers of Longing

My beating heart is a druma thunderous rhythmreciting an epistle of my grief.A concoction of     togetherness & separation. There are layers of longing;   of being seen   and seeing   of a single touch   and being touched   of love   and being loved. I swallow nights in counting kisses-and envelope the remnants,sitting as wildflowers on my waist. A site… Continue reading Layers of Longing