Poeticwelkin

A person one night I identified and found my home when she smiled. Brighter my days evolved into out of the gloom Her gazelle eyes invited me to be mesmerised. I breathed layers when she felt around The hue of her ornate lips made me hypnotised. Stars resembled her eyes & universe felt astounded her thoughts lingered over my head like a cloud. Strands of her hair wavered like a breeze when she walked She appeared prettier than the moon when she talked. I built a home inside my poetic cocoon Whither I and She danced till not we defeated the moon. I envy the flowers that served as scent and stuck into her hand Her silk-coated hand passed seeds of love to me & I became a bard.

If you give me flowers I would preserve Its petals in different shrouds some accompanying your warmth whilst some the imprint of glossy pristine touch, with one petal I would paint the chandelier of your eyes Sparkling with the ethereal elegance it would drizzle its ignite and I put all of it at the epicentre of my shelf So its aroma could kiss the abandoned plasters of my past, With one petal I would carry the lonely weep of your gazelle eyes into some old remnants of your old tiny frock that you admire most and now it seems faded I would paint it with some borrowed colours from the sunset I would wash it as the desert washes the oasis into the aroma of your submissive oasis though I'm not autumn I would get you rid of the embroidery of cactus that you have put in the closet and never talked about, What metaphor do I prefer to paint the other petals If you would let it touch silk sheets of your skin I would paint those petals into a pilgrimage to your toe to your very thought whilst I glimpse the moon every night Its submissiveness let drizzles my heart, With one petal I would earmark the curve of your lips when you smile carrying an enigma in the heart how you inscribe the way behind, I would let you cry, so loud So the twine of depression and scars could come out of its gloomy past, With one petal I would borrow your past and plant it before my bed where I put my spectacles aside and lay down to feel the serenity of your presence beside and if it seems faded I promise I will not make you wait for spring So I'll be myself a spring when it the bleak everywhere aside, So If you give me flowers I would let my nib take colour from the petals and it would compose your sensibility and engrave it in the metaphors on the rocks, on the pieces of leaves that would give rise to countless petals that would carry the touch of your pristineness, and the bird over it would sing melodic hymns and it would be celebrated till where the universe's very existence will last, 🥀🥀

Saturn's ring feels its fragility and asks Pluto "Why did they leave you alone?" It counters, "My uniqueness will be faded if the moon sings a lullaby for me as it does for others." You left, surmising that you are not sacred evolution to reign but only to remain secluded and be tough on yourself, But my dear, you aren't just a typical swirling metaphor highlighting a poet, but you're the precious sonnets, for whom thousands of Shakespeare would be born again to write about.

Main ek din pyar muhabbat pr likhte likhte, single hi marr jaunga 😭

An ordinary person would love you with their entire heart, but a writer makes your existence flow through their veins, turning the intangible sheets into heaven when bled upon. If a poet/poetess loves you, you'll never die. If they choose you at any time in their existence, mark my words: the last symphony they sing will be your name, and the last breath of their surviving heart will write about you and your life.

Desh ke cuteuuu students

Maybe love is not that fancy toy that you get attracted towards everywhere in a fest rather it is Halley's comet which comes at its own predestined time and makes you feel its warmth. Maybe love is not that stereotyped ring of Jupiter that you always see and admire rather it is the Pluto whose existence we even celebrate from afar and behind the glee of calmness. Maybe love is not some fancy elucidate statement rather it is just a line that connects with you and makes your entire existence so vividly fine!🌻✨ Maybe but who knows!?

power lies in the ability of making your feelings irrelevant when necessary.

The morning I always dream of consists of a determined spirit, resilience, long studying hours, each task marked done, If it's not equivalent to heaven for a student then what could it be!?! I open one eye, and a sliver of sunlight sneaks through the blinds, what I assume is the magical spark it is going to induce and restart my intellect for another productive day, yet the morning makes me lethargic and makes me feel the sigh of indiscipline. The textbooks on my desk, usually grinning with the delight of beautiful pain, the vibrance of its shiny cover obscures the dense fog, the curiosity I crave befalls as lead weights over the head and a spot of defiance abrupts within against the serenity of discipline, I take a deep breath, a silent pep talk brewing coffee. "Everyone has sluggish mornings," I remind myself. "These struggles, this desire to keep pushing even when it's hard – that's what builds resilience. It's the foundation for an unyielding spirit." I attempt to rise a warrior weary from a battle not yet fought. But even the brightest stars need the cloak of darkness to shine their most brilliant so do I. So, I ignite my body, stretch the tired muscles, and refocus on the purpose that ignites my passion and then I realise that this momentary stumble isn't a defeat, but rather a butterfly hurdle. The fire within me still erupts but steady, a steady heartbeat. I embrace the slow burn, the quiet determination to keep moving forward. After all, even the most triumphant ascents often begin with a single, determined step, and then I embrace the tranquillity of discipline for it shapes me into a calm, composed, resilient, marking ticks on task done. #microblog