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  • daffodilpearlzz 1w

    Poetry is #art and every art is a #poem

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    Her name was Mona Lisa

    I don't look straight
    into people's eyes,
    When I do
    I see her.

    I don't look
    at the mirror
    to see if my smiles
    make me good at all;
    what if I don't see myself,
    but her?

    I don't look
    at the mirror
    to know how sleepy
    my eyes appear
    What if I don't see me at all,
    and only her?

    When my eyelids
    turn sleepy enough
    to close the cornea
    there's a reason
    why I don't wash my face.
    What if I appear like her?

    When I pose for a photo,
    I wish the scenery
    behind me
    was blurred
    as it was in hers;
    because what if?
    What if I fit in,
    and we look similar?

    When I draw a picture,
    paint the shadows and highlights,
    I add a tinge of secrets to it,
    What if one day,
    it becomes what she is today?

    When I name
    the character
    of a story I penned,
    I wish she was named;
    I wish she was named like hers.
    And she was named
    as though the world doesn't know her,
    every world has her.
    Her name was Mona Lisa.

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~ Bhavya
    Wed 24 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 2w

    Fallen for fall

    "When leaves fall in autumn, I too wear a brown blanket around my dried heart", the first conversation I had with nature started and concluded in this line. I printed those words on a paper's laps.

    Yes, 'tis true that summer is a vibe
    An energy that we forgot about
    A perfection that the universe owns
    A full-stop for every year; every revolution.

    Yes, 'tis a fact that spring is varicolored
    The flowers don't forget to arrive this month
    A jamboree; made every once in 365 days
    A ceremony of harmony and co-existence.

    Yes, 'tis never told that snowfalls too bring joy.
    Winter freezes dismay every year in december,
    when christmas fills the gap between our bonds.
    Snow drapes all imperfections; hides sorrows.

    But still it can be denied not; that I fall for fall;
    when trees stand as a crooked witch's broomstick
    and welkins open out to every trace of solitude
    Dismays get celebrated; hearts get opened.

    Autumn: a submission of woe for every poet
    A time for artists to open their brown color box
    A time for musicians to slow their rhythms
    A time for the clock to pause the time in itself.

    In the avenues of silence, for a little while
    solitude will dress itself in tawny brown
    Maple leaves will replace lavenders and roses
    Autumn will welcome my heart to its welkin.

    ~ I love autumn because a dried tree looks more beautiful than a green bushy one when I draw it on a paper. ~

    ~ I love autumn because my drawings which were frozen in the month of fall seem more beautiful than all others. ~

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~ Bhavya
    Tue 16 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 2w

    #monostich
    Thank you for the like WN ����

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    —• Untitled solitudes •—

    I am loneliness; and even I don't live alone when I'm in you.

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~ Bhavya
    Mon 15 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 3w

    #myth
    Thank you for the like and repost WN �� EC ��

    Wait what?! It is selected a POD ������ Thank you team @miraquill for the like and repost ���������� I am happy today ��❤️

    My fourth post that got selected as POD ❤️������ Lots of love to all those who showered your love and support ❤️❤️

    I took a screenshot of 100 comments. Thank you for all the love you guys have showered on me ����

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    Because when on the boulevards of a summer
    the sun forgets to flow in between the shadows
    only the frozen crystals of snow that arrives,
    drapes every bruise in a snow-white serenity;
    changes the agony of cicatrices to that of silences.

    So shall skies snow, the sun can come again later.

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~ Bhavya
    Sun 14 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 3w

    #movingonc
    Thank you for the like WN ����
    Two likes in one day ����

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    When memories hold a part of us

    Dear friend (/stranger),

    Once while racing behind my dreams one by one I met you alongside whilst you were on another race. It was for just one day that we were together but you have become one of the most beautiful memories I safekeep in my dairy. I forget your name everytime I try to recollect it because that was all for how much you came in my journey of life; one day.

    At that last moment I left that place I turned back several times and paused several times. I could've left my contact with someone there but I didn't know what to do. To leave something behind in your journey of life and stay connected throughout or just be a memory that you might even not remember.

    I still don't know what you're as a person. What you love or what you hate. What you like or dislike. I've even forgotten how you look like. All I remember is a vibrant smile and a mellow voice which came to my ears as I was reading my book alone. I had felt too disconnected but why did you come to me when your team was there with you in that last bench? I would've sat alone till evening and never ever thought of that day again in my life, unless it is about the achievement I made.

    But now each time I recollect that day, I feel so excited to know that I have left traces of a beautiful friendship to someone afar, to someone whom I didn't meet everafter and broke it right there; yes it was inevitable to break it. A bond for a day. We were strangers and we're. We have always been, except that one day which the Almighty picked from each of our lives and gave it to each other. Wherever you're, I still remember you. Let us meet again or not, but the past was beautiful and I am always thankful for that day.

    Dear school,

    I left you last year after fourteen years of a beautiful bond which I think no other place in this world might give me again; I wish though if one could. I will look for you wherever I go. Whatever I see will connect it to you through me. Whatever I hear will be transcribed in my head to the language in which you spoke to me. Whatever I speak will have your voice.

    This year I will go to a new place. Just like you, it is a home to many. But I doubt I will look for you there as well when I am supposed to find new colors. May be one day something else will come in place of yours but I know that my life has been rooted so much in you and I will keep transforming whatever that comes to my life into a version of yours. You gave me wings, I will fly. But everytime I return to the ground I know that my eyes will search for you.

    From the color of the uniforms I wore to the leaves and flowers of your trees, it seems like everything belongs to you and no one else. Every memory good or bad becomes sweet and cherishable at your laps.

    ~Love,
    Bhavya



    ©daffodilpearlzz
    Sat 13 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 3w

    #wanderer #gorgeousc
    Thank you for the like WN ��

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    I'm a wanderer to the eclipses which hid the sun in my life and a river to the moon-lit night which hid the clouds (thoughts) of my life in its darkness (emptiness).

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~Bhavya
    Thu 11 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 3w

    Unanswered

    I'm an old mantra
    you've forgotten to chant,
    but why do you write 'em down
    in your leaves, autumn?

    I'm a string, broken just at one knot
    of a necklace of pearl beads,
    but why do people not use me
    when I'm not broken everywhere?

    I'm a fallen flower
    of vibrant colors and fragrances,
    but why do people not take me anymore
    when I'm still the same flower, just fallen?

    I'm a black 'n' white piece of art
    with perfect shadows and highlights,
    but why do people not prefer to look at me
    when I'm still so realistic in the way I'm painted?

    I'm a strong woman
    with inspiring messages and boldness
    but why don't people give credits for my deeds
    when I'm no less than anyone, a human?

    I'm a new radio of the olden times,
    I played well before and still I do
    but why do people not play me anymore,
    have I become their icon of nostalgia forever?

    I'm a blunt one, still a knife
    I'll cut your fingers, if carelessly used,
    but why do people use me not,
    when I'm still a knife, with an edge carved sharp?

    I'm an unanswered question
    with the scope of lighting the spark in you,
    but why do people still not answer
    when I heavily hang a question mark in my neck?

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~ Bhavya
    Wed 10 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 3w

    #unnoticed
    Thank you for the like and repost WN ���� EC ��

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    Unnoticed shards

    May our abstract arts
    be unnoticed forever by each other;
    Our poetries remained unchanged
    as time penned its fallacies over it;
    One day, on the shores of a serene
    we will cross paths
    and share our pieces of heart
    One for the sake of art,
    and the other,
    an unforgotten poetic lament.

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~ Bhavya
    Tue 9 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 3w

    I'm a guest to your silent charms
    who floats in the aethers of your sparkling eyes
    and turns into a free feather to pen your poetry.

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~ Bhavya
    Sun 7 Nov 2021

  • daffodilpearlzz 4w

    #myth #getinc
    Thank you for the like WN �� EC ��

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    Light gets in; spring arrives

    ~every season within us is a version of ourselves~

    It's told; springs and summers reside in people
    Winters are an abode for the despair stuffed in 'em
    In autumn, they give up all the dried thoughts;
    Hopes turn into the shades of healed bruises.

    ...

    Sometimes, when the hopes in life turn auburn brown like the autumn maple leaves, people turn their frozen hearts as a submission to the fall; letting all their dried hopes to shed along with all dried twigs, leaves and flowers which wither away.

    They turn to their past as if it had been filled with alyssums of a beautiful spring and daffodils as welkins for every drop of komorebi dripping from the tyndall.

    Though they knew about a winter waiting for 'em ahead in their lives, they moved with the hopes of sunrises welcoming them gracefully.

    ...

    With a bouquet of snowflakes and winter pansies
    A winter waited for those who never came its way
    She froze her thoughts in her own white silhouette
    Longing for catharsis did she froze; or for warmth.

    (she : winter)

    ...

    But when the unexpected, though known, winter appears infront of their pathway; people freeze and never let their warmth flow into the melancholy of those snowflakes. The bouquet of pansies remains unreceived for winters and winters, until one day when their petals become no more visible through the inches thick snow dressed in white.

    People are guilty for not receiving the wishes and what they do to winter returns to them from their pathways. They could have just shared their woes, pondered upon their journey and self-evaluated to self-heal each time their life freezes at a winter. But they ignore, disguise in joy and pretend to move on; the rage in them turning fiery and frozen alike.

    Once in a year, they finally come across a summer after releasing all their trauma through the teardrops they cried through; raining heavily once a year; or twice for some people. This summer will witness the sunrises they looked for, the epiphany of the fact that some scars are healed and can be withered off next autumn as auburn red coagulum - which the seasons called 'dry leaves'.

    ...

    The sun rises every morn to melt the cold scars
    Hopes sprout in their hearts as daisies and roses
    They absorb their shades of life into their veins
    They adsorb the colors into their chambers.

    Their hearts bloom into flora; content in disguise
    The leaves turn green and scars pretend to vanish
    Lips carve smiles and eyelids embark stardom in.
    Emotions - mere costumes and seasons - trends.

    ...

    What people awaited for, finally meets their life. Light gets in the form of content and rejoice and all bonds turn into a tender tendril with strong veins and green leaves. Every version of rejoice they stored in their minds takes the shapes of flowers. They spring up and induce colors of their own shades of life.

    But they never realize that seasons come year over year and emotions too and sunrises are followed by sunsets; dawns don't happen unless the sun sets; be it their life or the sky, for human mind is an orchard and there's not just flowers in them, there are bees and butterflies too, which come in spring.

    Every season is a version of their selves. Light gets in and leaves too; not the darkness which always remain. Not always does their happiness sprout and bloom into beauty; probably why we call it spring, when it does and also why flowers bloom only in spring.

    ©daffodilpearlzz ~ Bhavya
    Thu 4 Nov 2021