#iconography

142 posts
  • akankshya7 19w

    The last portrait

    Last piece t'was ,
    How strong I knew.
    Murdered numerous,
    Belaboured have I few.

    Meticulous, scrupulous,
    Everytime I cry my pen slips.
    Love reciprocate ardour don't,
    Yet wished it be my masterpiece.

    Why, he won't remember devotion mine,
    Or look the stars find my letters to him.
    Worthy ain't he I know, know well I do,
    Still I frame him with finest seams.

    Maybe it's ardour may be not it's,
    However tinges define sublime.
    The fine contours of his face,
    As if were a unusual chime.

    I never wished to tarnish,
    his face with taint'd love.
    Don't desire to give up,
    The untiring strokes.

    Basil hallw'rd 'll be,
    Murdered by him.
    Love was blinded
    Ardour a felony.



    ©akankshya7

  • anwasasil0011 28w

    In this lonely alley,My heart is melting for the most precious feeling of this world.
    The street lights, the colours around us, are embracing our love.
    This drizzle don't want us to stop in making love.
    The bright shades of colours painted in this wet street,making this moment more colourful.
    My hands holding your waist so tiedly,
    Bringing you more close to me.
    My chin is so close to your wet lips.
    Your wet hair is falling on my hands.
    Your eyes, telling me, drown in this moment for ever.
    There have a lil bit of shyness and infinite love on your face.
    In your every touches I feel the trust you have on me for life-long.
    Let's make love, unforgettable forever.
    ©anwasasil0011

  • alsyniarico 29w

    #mypoeticsoul #tale #iconography #journey #wod
    @mirakee @writersnetwork
    @love_whispererr

    LAST OF HER

    Born blind, she surmised her world
    Laying like a dead metaphor near the shore
    Fair complexion, hair was curled
    Age of a lady, child like immature

    Waiting for her beloved
    Some pages yet to be disclosed

    Born aphonic, he fabricated his words
    Growing up in a family of musicians, guitar was his love
    Water burbling, chirping were the birds
    Lining partially was some unexposed stuff

    Playing "his" guitar
    She tried to call
    The soul in star
    Who did not come after all

    She drowned herself with his guitar
    But removed two strings
    In memory of him
    She sacrificed her wings
    ©alsyniarico

    Pc: pinterest

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    Last Of Her

  • ak_anjali_daydreamzz 29w

    #transform #hibernation #iconography #wod #pod
    /Quotations/ Disclaimer : I have cited quotations and dialogues in this series, without which this would be incomplete. I would say, I attempted an entangled collab/
    Maybe I'll delete this series someday... (~_~;)
    Rest written rights reserved
    10 May 2021 1.51 pm

    [The end of Van Gogh series ,Thank you, those who read !
    I don't know what I accomplished, but I feel satisfied ]


    Vincent's Butterflies ~

    Vincent found solace in the lap of nature. With his neon tinted vision, he found the thin blades of green grass as soft as a velvet veil to thorny thoughts. He found the branches of fir trees as comfortable as a cradle to his clammy mind. He found the endless wheat fields as serene as a prayer house to his ailing soul.

    / "painting promises color " , as soothing as music /

    He transformed what soothed himself into art and what better cocoon to his caterpillar than the world of colors. So he immersed himself in those hues in hopes of metamorphosis to butterfly, as soothing to soul like music.

    Hopeful hues in his Butterfly series evoked rays of faith reflected by bright rhythmic brush strokes. Fascinated with butterflies since an infant, he saw those fragile lives as a symbol of fervent hope.

    Metaphors perched on the branches of chaos inside his head, screamed at him the innate potential of life for metamorphosis.

    / Unknown transformation of grubs into beetles
    Cocoons that transform caterpillars to butterflies
    Assuming existence of colors in another life-space
    Hopefully affirms the altered existence of painter-butterflies /

    He painted twin butterflies with white delicate wings whispering wishes to green coated grass, delighted in the daydreams of a dainty day.
    / A symbol of 'freedom and foreboding '/

    He also painted 'Butterflies and Poppies' with 'bright colored layers of oil on canvas that gave a textile-like feel'. How his hopelessly hopeful mind could differentiate colors and give them a characteristic of nature is extraordinary.

    Even his blooms had a veil of gloom
    And his hope had an inevitable slope
    He roamed freely in the valleys of death
    Disappeared like a butterfly devoid of breath

    / He wondered about fallen angels of women
    " She is seeking, seeking, seeking -- does she herself know what? Might she be transformed one day like a grub into a butterfly?" /

    Today, a dainty day in the month of May, 2021,
    I seek a shadow of hope in the wailing greenery and wilting sunflowers. I imagine a sea of poppies in the barren field across my balcony and wish for a monsoon that could fulfill my daydreams. I wonder whether such a monsoon will ever arrive and welcome a swarm of butterflies - a kaleidoscope of hope
    Yet the nature makes me ponder again of possible potentials of a drought land of my mind. Some of those summer showers surprised me with blossoms of gulmohar in the lone tree in my vicinity. Maybe some verses could transform me into a butterfly too. A poet can hope.

    One such day in the month of May, 1889, Vincent spotted a rare nocturnal moth called death's head. The painting was titled 'Green Peacock Moth' but Vincent self-titled it as 'Deaths Head Moth'.
    Its linked wings were bleak black and grey splashes of murky cloud-like shape with white tinges and vague shades of olive green. The vivid colors and the intensity of passion is obviously visible from the enlarged size of the moth and the plants in the backdrop.
    The 'lords-and-ladies' in the background symbolize copulation of man and woman. A cluster of bright red cherries are characteristic of female flower which remain when leaves start withering in Autumn. Perhaps these poisonous berries symbolizes the existence of evil in the world, the blooms the attraction of human nature and the moth a symbol of looming death. Yet its the depiction of a delicate life, a transformed life, a FULFILLED Life.

    / Did those butterflies inspire 'a troubled soul to survive'
    Or did the emperor moth lure in his soul like a siren /

    He was a pupa of painter
    A chrysalis of creativity
    A butterfly of art/artist
    And a moth of insanity

    He was that 'Existential Butterfly', a caterpillar that hibernate in the cocoon of colors, only to wake up as
    a ' Lost Butterfly'

    ©ak_anjali_daydreamzz

    3 #ak_to_vincent ��

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  • antheia_ 29w

    #elehaiku #dwalec #iconography #hibernation

    *Lines in the BG is a haiku with syllable order~5/7/5 except for the words within the parenthesis.

    **Shrivelled petals of her heart credited to~ The poetic buds.

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  • ak_anjali_daydreamzz 29w

    #iconography #hibernation #wod #pod lengthy ಥ‿ಥ
    #mothersday #mother #VanGogh
    / Quotations /
    Rest all written rights reserved
    9 May 2021 3.39 pm

    [Dear Vincent, I apologize for every thing I spilled here, I've been sinking into your art, your life and your pain, idk why ]


    Vincent's Starry Night ~

    Vincent's life was empty for a passerby. Yet it was filled up to the brim with multitudes of visions and hues of daydreams. No mortal could trespass the brimming life within his soul. And he poured it wholeheartedly to the ever-welcoming canvases.

    Hurt overshadowed every hail. Pain veiled every pleasure and sorrow reigned over his solitude.Despite pessimistic diagnosis, he always bounced back to his art. Perhaps that was his only optimistic stroke in life's canvas.

    I wonder what caught his mind gazing at the outside world through the barred windows of his cell. He said he " had a new study of a starry sky ". And I guess only blue could do justice to his emotional turbulence. Those twirls his paint brush stroked was the entangled threads of his life. Swirls swiveling between life and death, pessimistic blues and optimistic yellows, persistent dreams and stubborn depression, those strokes were resultant force of the tango with his variant turmoil.

    The enormous star prior to the dawn-break of the countryside was a vision that anchored his hazy mind. Cobalt blue curls marrying zinc yellow pigments created the serene sky in starry night.Those funereal cypresses, olive trees and mighty mountains acted as his catalysts. The village a reminiscence of his life and the sky a depiction of the real night sky with a play of contrasting colors and the presence of the cresent moon with a heavenly halo and northern lights give an ethereal treat to artistic minds, a vision unlike no other.

    He failed to recognize the magical spell sprinkled all over the oil painted canvas, as he regarded it yet another of his failure, a moment of weakness where he allowed himself to go
    /"astray, reaching for the stars that are too big - another failure "/
    Perhaps its the world around him that veiled the true colors of his own art from his eyes.
    The illusion of death and afterlife is also entwined in his brush strokes.
    / " we take death to reach a star " /
    And maybe those yellow tinges affirm his hopes of finding an abode elsewhere or even in this very earth itself.
    / " Hope is in the stars " /

    It is that very hope he meant that I find myself holding onto in the silence of many starry nights. That hope blooms in the intervals between consciousness and unconsciousness. That hope seeks a solemn soul with senile vision to carry on his missions.

    His life was a Pilgrimage of Art
    Starry Night, an Illusionary Heart
    Swirls of inky infinity redundant
    To denote melancholia abundant
    For infinity was a fraction of consciousness
    And a forever of unconsciousness



    I wonder who was a mother to him, all his life ?
    Was it nature which pulled him with a gravity to his sanity ?
    Was it those colors which sprayed his hollow life with blues and greys ?
    Was it art that filled his lungs along with scarce breath and sadistic smoke ?
    Was it those delusional dreams that was a hiraeth to his haunted self ?
    Was it those psychedelic elipses intermittently visiting his troubled psyche ?
    Was it the yellow hues that painted his self inside out ?
    Was it the starry nights of overwhelming solitude ?
    Was it the magical synergy of his solemn hands ?
    Was it the frozen time to the warmth of life or the frozen hearts who alienated his fiery soul ?



    Maybe his whole life, he was in hibernation -
    breathing between ereely silent walls, clutching paintbrushes for life, often eating bread and coffee alone, even the yellow paint to feel some bliss, inhaling tobacco in hopes of relief, drinking away untold pain, smoking and coughing vapours of murky clouds, intermittent episodes of hallucinations, successful attempts of self harming, including self-mutilation and at last his suicidal act, which culminated in death a while later - to finally wake up to death.
    / Death is not the opposite of life
    Rather its a part of life, its purpose /

    Or was the entire world in hibernation to this man's whole existence ? To His ART ?

    Which spoke volumes about abundant pain synergized to redolent art.
    Was he aware of the heights his delirium took him to ?
    Or was he a nomadic bird flying with severed wings of sewed dreams towards an illusionary empyrean ?

    / Who took his own life in the " vast fields of wheat under turbulent skies " that represented his "sadness and extreme loneliness" /

    Who succumbed to the everlasting sadness, without any remorse ?
    Who found solace in his own hands that held a weapon instead of the familiar paintbrush ?

    / Who was called a "le fou roux" (the redheaded madman)
    A misunderstood genius in whom insanity and creativity converge /

    Did he wake up from his hibernation from a hallucinatory hell to a healing heaven ?
    Or is he drowning in the clouds above, swimming in pain and paddling tears of treasure ?
    Is he up there painting the heavens in holistic hues ?
    Or did his existence dissipate into a hollow world of spiraling spells ?
    What if he is a resident of the imaginary township with the twirling cypress towers and starry swirls overlapping the inky night ?

    / "canvases will tell you what I cannot say in words " /

    While my wet ink dries my tears
    Staring at his soul that disappear
    I couldn't say goodbye to a soul
    So lost yet found elsewhere toil
    And I unearth more of his mysteries
    To sew more metaphors in my verses

    ©ak_anjali_daydreamzz

    2 #ak_to_vincent ��

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  • panda_queen 29w

    And when you see a rose
    In the next morrow,
    It'll be laced with dew,
    Looking content with those tears
    It shed for the sun,
    Just the way I do for you.

    ©panda_queen

  • kin_jo 29w

    So badly I want to capture what I see, but since I don’t know how to express,
    I tried painting you on a white gleaming canvas
    Carefully adding brush strokes of your colour and integrity
    Adding some pastel hues of your softness and composure
    Some Greens for selfless love you behold
    Deep violet with the stability of blue and energy of red
    Used some yellow for the warmth and your smile, shining with glee
    Blending every colour of the spring to add the tenderness you hold
    To create a kaleidoscope rainbow of emotion on the white mingling maze
    Yet the painting was no match to the colour you add in entireness to my life.





    Thank you for teaching me the beautiful gift of resilence and perseverance. You are the reason for the person I am today ❤️❤️


    @kin_jo

    #writersnetwork #pod #iconography #wod
    #ceesreposts @writersnetwork

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  • rupestral_flower 29w

    Hibernation

    I sleep and sleep often
    wanna escape from slumber attacks
    I want to jog,jump,observe nature peacefully,hoot in isolation,shimmer with stars tonight and sing lullabies tuning with piano
    I try to play with mornings and catch sunrays but something calls me to hibernate

    Alas!
    I can't stop myself from detaching self again!
    Bed is a sick virus,encapsulates to not wake up from the nest
    How to reverse back the effect of those drugs once swallowed to find solace while running away from own demons?

    Snow chills in cavities under sheet of darkness
    Where lamp of light use to flicker with glow
    I see dry scales on my skin,dry and dim in the centre
    Once monsoon and spring flourished to keep it radiant
    Why melodies of birds can't freshen up me like mint and golden nectarors?
    I want to live deeply in vivacity bcause i feel alienated,
    carrying numb stones on my guest rooms
    I am sick of this hibernation!
    ©twist_twirls
    #iconography

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    I want to live deeply in vivacity bcause i feel alienated,carrying cold glacier within body
    ©twist_twirls

  • saif5alam 29w

    घर की इस बार मुकम्मल मैं तलाशी लूँगा
    ग़म छुपा कर मिरे माँ बाप कहाँ रखते थे
    ©saif5alam

  • chris_yash 29w

    Anger kills realistic thinking and realistic thinking kills anger. The choice is yours to make.


    "Act in your anger - and you'll create the best acting
    You'll ever regret."

    Nobody has the power - To make you angry
    It's simply your choice to be angry.


    #iconography #pod #wod #stay

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    A fox and crow once had a conversation on a slope.
    The fox said proudly.
    "I am so willed - no one dares to come near."
    The crow laughed mockingly and plucked the fox in his eye. with that crow flew at the edge of the cliff. 
    And  mumbled teasingly  
    "If you are so brave as you claim
    come and get me."
    The fox jumped in anger and the crow 
    flew up in the air.
    The fox falls to its bitter end.
    Choices made in anger can not be undone.
    ©chris_yash

  • uniqueeunice 29w

    Since Iconography is the description of images,i interpreted this painting from the perspective of Jacob who fought with an angel in the bible.


    Alone with my thought
    When a swarm of fireflies buzz past me
    Glowing in myriad of colours
    I was captivated by their sight
    Following the trail of their twinkle
    Behold a sight so rare!!!

    There he stand in his full glory
    Skin as white as snow
    Face shining so bright
    That i can't look up to
    Wings shimmering in the dark
    Fireflies giving him the heavenly spotlight
    What a divine creature to behold

    I rushed towards him
    To touch the divine beauty
    I speed so fast
    To feel the God's masterpiece
    As i reach out him
    My heart skipped a beat
    He is not Human!!

    Seeing me,he was shocked
    Ready to fight,he braces himself
    My mind a battlefield of words
    As i fought him
    He is as hard as rock
    I cannot defeat him
    Yet am not ready to let go
    Not until he blesses me

    The divine creature also prevail not
    With the last bit of my strength
    I hold onto him tightly
    Asking me what i want
    I shouted with great vigour
    BLESS ME
    ©Uniqueeunice
    Picture credit-Gustave Dore 1855

    #Iconography #iconography #poet #blessing #jacob #wod #pod @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Skin as white as snow
    Face shining so bright
    That i can't look up to
    Wings shimmering in the dark
    Fireflies giving him the heavenly spotlight
    What a divine creature to behold!!
    Seeing me,he was shocked
    Ready to fight,he braces himself
    My mind a battlefield of words
    As i fought him
    He is as hard as rock
    I cannot defeat him
    Yet am not ready to let go
    Not until he blesses me
    The divine creature also prevail not
    With the my last bit of strength
    I hold onto him tightly
    Asking me what i want
    I shouted with great vigour
    BLESS ME
    ©uniqueeunice

  • hamallaxmi 29w

    There was a time when you
    To click lots of pictures
    With me
    But I would just refuse
    Saying that none
    Of these will really matter
    Until I am there in your heart.
    You see it's been months
    I do remember the picture we clicked
    In these mirror reflecting us
    That that pictures were perfect
    How that moment was perfect
    Was we have seized in the lens
    Of our cameras
    But now everything of it gets blurry
    The moment we spent
    Those laughter
    That tapri wali chai
    I do remember things
    We did but I don't remember
    Clearly
    You see everything starred fading away
    Is it because of you have moved on
    Or I tend to forget evey possible thing
    For answers you looking in me
    I really don't have.
    I no longer remember your face
    Its all blurry
    And some days I just
    Somehow recollect that
    Face of your
    I get scared
    Scared
    So much that I
    Close my eyes
    And ears and scream
    Scream untill everything fades away.
    I have developed this phobia
    Called pistanthrophobia.
    I am on such verge of life
    That I can't even trust my own self
    You have shattered every Piece of mine
    And throttled until it became the pool
    Of blood.
    .
    .
    .
    #iconography

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    I am on such verge of life
    That I can't even trust my own self
    You have shattered every Piece of mine
    And throttled until it became the pool
    Of blood.

    ©hamallaxmi

  • _falguni_ 29w

    #iconography #wod #pulpfiction

    “That’s When You Know You’ve Found Somebody Really Special
    You Can Just Shut The Fuck Up For A Minute And Comfortably Share Silence.”

    -Pulpfiction



    She loves taking off on mondays,
    The hangovers of Sunday nights make her skip the blues.
    She prefers waking up in the afternoons
    To avoid headaches worse than her migraine.
    A lazy afternoon, as the bright sky stretches itself
    Right out of her window
    Like the cat on the bricked wall stretching herself after a filling afternoon nap.
    She gets up with a hazy head and messy Auburn curls
    Forced together in an untidy bun
    She rubs her eyes and grabs the laptop tossed lazily next to her
    Her only companion for that lone 2 am insomnia.
    She turns it on and a familiar pane of all her tabs pops up
    One note drafts, aesthetic art, books to be read, kittens playing keyboard on YouTube ,unfinished mangas and hentai
    She quickly clicks on the hentai page as she grabs a half finished cigarette butt from the ashtray
    Resting on her mahogany coffee table that she stole from her parents room.
    Steal, a word she is best friends with.
    She'd steal his tshirts, shirts, books,car keys
    Even quick glances at him
    And lurk away like a raven
    Stashing shiny things in her unkempt nest.
    She even stole his heart, the story tellers claimed.
    She lights it up as she watches a new hentai porn
    The girl in the video is hot as fuck. She's wearing those tight hot pants with a crop top
    That's way too cropped for her
    And she's being ravished by two well built men.
    Mia could feel a wet patch forming on her panties.
    She takes 3 puffs and puts the cigarette back
    Partially aflame, partially dying.
    She puts her fingers inside her cotton underwear and thinks of him
    With his alter ego.
    Devouring her like the men in that video.
    She gasps as she is about to finally reach the peak
    An easy trek of his thoughts had her panting.
    And she clenched her legs tight as she came.
    A wicked smile curves her lips as she continues feeling those spasms.

    The headache is done for
    The laptop, back to where it was.
    A timer in her head ticking
    Tick tock tick tock
    She pops a pill right in time.
    Delaying the blast for another day.

    "She watches him with an anamorphic lens.
    Because he's a mess.
    An intentional distortion, a futile device
    Her only love, a reality that bites. "

    -Mia, falguni

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    ©halfburntcigs

  • shrey_2410 29w

    Darling ! look at you ...
    You need no one ....
    So let them say whatever they want to,
    Just focus on my words .

    Yours ,
    Fav. Book

    ©shrey_2410

  • bubbly_bluebells 29w

    #iconography
    Dark,ignorance
    Field can't concieve truth,only
    illuminated!

    Understanding never gets weary nor feels down
    High vibration excites questions amid traumatic situations,
    Warrior spells affirmations to handle the quest curiously

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    Breath & island was dying
    that knot untied entangling both alive
    To posses something in life,sustain greenery
    needs to bind patterns with breaths and flow
    Whe she becomes keeper of treasure,a force
    Neither a owner nor in any dilemma,inner fire
    Her purpose awakens also meaning to live
    Protecting it until last breath matures her
    It turns her power to survive around chaos
    "Service gives true strength" abides divinity
    Life force of feminine power;rising creativity
    Second stage of union is courage
    Despite life-threatening;perilous site
    She verges on oath,swaying in objective
    Victory!
    ©bubbly_bluebells

  • the_unfiltered_ink 29w

    The scent of freshly plucked flowers
    Pumping my lungs with soothing shower
    of love, compassion, faith and bliss
    These stars in the sky are placing a kiss
    on my forehead, that is labelled as dead
    My tears had been tired enough to shed
    Day and night, till they end up having a fight
    with my magical eyes, waiting for too long
    It had been a decade I looked in the mirror
    But when today I did,
    my soul bloomed with fantastic fervour!

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #iconography #wod #pod

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    Blooming

    The scent of freshly plucked flowers
    Pumping my lungs with soothing shower
    of love, compassion, faith and bliss.

    Simran Ahuja
    ©the_unfiltered_ink

  • smile_its_sunnah 29w

    Quote~the~day~with~inspiration

    YOU CAN DO ANYTHING,
    EVEN IF THERE IS BARRIERS
    IN YOUR WAY,
    It JUST MAKES THE HARDSHIPS
    WORTH THE ACHIEVEMENT.
    BELIEVE AND YOU WILL ACHIEVE��
    By smile_its_sunnah
    Saturday, 08 May 2021

    #smilesquotes
    #iconography #mirakee #writersnetwork #pod
    @writersnetwork
    @mirakee
    (Pic credited to its rightful owner.)

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    Pupils dilate from pigments of imagination as she strikes the canvas with exasperation. Artist of contrast and unity emphasis her title, as the pigments approve an alliance with her deficiency. Accident at age 21, damned her sight unworthy but her heart rejoiced with colours of symphony. An artist whose sight dissapeared with humour proved to be inefficient in her world of atistic inspiration.
    Dreams approve, if the dreamer perceives.
    ©smile_its_sunnah

  • inkandfable670 29w

    When the night gathered it's
    Dark shimmery gown ,
    The dawn wore his luminous crown
    The moon yawned,and the sun
    Streached his arms,
    Chirping birds sang an enchanting song ,
    It wasn't much bright but little dark tint ,
    When earth felt soothing blow of wind,
    Buds were blessed to touch the purest drop,
    Visible in sky, a flying birds folk ,
    The sun swept the green lush,
    When everyone wasn't in rush, but
    I missed it all, those ;
    Refreshing, reviving and inspiring calls,
    As I'm punctual in waking up late ,
    With eyes closed I was then,dreaming in bed,
    But sure, my fellow mates have witnessed ,
    The beginning of this delightful day
    Motivated, filled their pen with inspiring ink,
    Ready to give their thoughts eternal wings.



    #wod #iconography
    @miraquill
    @writersnetwork

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    ©inkandfable670

  • lovethatneverfades 37w

    The mayfly


    Sailing Into the sunset
    The bewildered tourist spreads his wings
    Sings hymns of glory waltzing into crimson air
    Shudders into twilight, last echoing flicker
    Beholds vibrant life amid the folding shades


    @lovethatneverfades

    The words in the image are a haiku ( following 5-7-5 syllable count )


    #wod #pod #gogyokha #learnsyllables
    @writersnetwork #ceesreposts #iconography

    Picture Credits - google

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