love_whispererr

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  • love_whispererr 10h

    WHEN THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS BLOOM


    When the cherry blossoms bloom
    I walk towards your memories gently
    to unclasp some breathless reveries
    while gulping the enfeebling oblivion
    of cold heartbreaks and perilous stains.


    When the cherry blossoms bloom
    I kiss your waggish deformities softly
    to inlay on the umbrageous billows
    while scalding my stupefied thistles
    with your slender lies & supine fantasies.


    When the cherry blossoms bloom
    I cloister my soul from the setting sun
    to lie down on the vale of soliloquies
    while tyrannizing on the faery of dotage
    of wrinkled myrtles and fragile mistletoes.


    O darling !
    Close your eyes to feel my
    quenchless quintets of heartbreaks.


    "These cherry blossoms are waiting
    near your doormat to recite the poem
    with the refrains of whimsical winter.

    ~open the door darling.


    ©bidya

    #refrain #wod

    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ☃️

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    .

  • love_whispererr 1d

    under the streetlight,
    I met a shadow of poetry
    which was standing alone
    and facing the storms of
    stained heartbreaks.





    From a bad poet || bidya

  • love_whispererr 1d

    O darling ! Bring me a cup of sunset,
    my night craves for a red shaded yellow poetry.


    From a bad poet || bidya

  • love_whispererr 3d

    The bad poet never forgets to scribble about you.

    #fromabadpoet

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    I'll write you at 2 am
    with the sweetness of our last kiss
    through the shades of a setting sun.


    From a bad poet || bidya

  • love_whispererr 4d

    S E L C O U T H


    Chorusing on the pelages
    of some Yellow Warblers
    the goatherd faded away
    behind those ridges ;
    tripping on the fantastic
    skylines of sunset
    some slender reeds
    giggled through billows.


    The plough boy, who was
    guiding some virgin clouds
    through his gentle smile
    and courteous shoon ;
    Where I, a scalded poet,
    was standing near the
    breaths of autumn
    to scribble about the
    pastoral hamlet for you.


    Those clouds receded from my view,
    that plough boy didn't appear again
    but I whispered for the warblers
    "O darling ! Your sky won't forget me, right !"


    When this poet forgets how to write || bidya

    #Pastoralpoem #wod


    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��

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    "ᴏ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ ! ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴋʏ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ, ʀɪɢʜᴛ !"

  • love_whispererr 5d

    NEVERTHELESS


    Poetic was my heart,
    abandoned your soul was ;
    grey were your skin and lips,
    daubed with cold heartbreaks ;


    But I, a long-suffering sonneteer
    searching syllables within the sunsets
    while nuzzling the stained goblet and
    turning down the kisses from moon.


    "I should choose those skies,
    but clavicles of heartaches lure me darling"


    When those fireflies melt away || bidya


    #life #wod

    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��

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    Nevertheless

  • love_whispererr 1w

    SOME HAZY METAPHORS FOR US


    I'm a lost child of autumn
    who hides behind the hunter's moon
    to steal the metaphors for cold heartbreaks,
    tipsy sunsets and twirling lavenders
    and I scribble sonnets near the blanket
    of darkness while embracing
    the collapsing world & disguised phantoms.


    And you're the alone firefly
    neither belong to the breathless autumn
    nor belong to the purple lavenders
    You belong to that unclasping darkness
    melting away near the scalds of hopes
    while crumpling the wreaths of
    withered orchids & dead chrysanthemums.


    We, two divergent portraits
    hung on the walls of two unrelated porches
    but we gulp the same syllable of a poet
    inside his antichamber of grey-lipped solitude
    yet offbeat for his paired fantasies.


    ©bidya


    #Patheticfallacy #wod

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    ˢᴼᴹᴱ ᴴᴬᶻʸ ᴹᴱᵀᴬᴾᴴᴼᴿˢ ᶠᴼᴿ ᵁˢ

  • love_whispererr 1w

    A CONFESSION FOR TOMORROW

    Tomorrow
    I may forget those
    rhymes of your poem
    I may not remember
    your sumptuous sonnets
    Let me paint you with the
    umbrageous syllables now
    below the billows of a welkin
    and inlay my soul
    with the cheerful stars
    and your maiden moon.


    Tomorrow
    I may not knuckle
    your face with my fingers
    I may scroll your elegies
    before gulping them
    Let me drown now inside
    the ocean of your diadem
    with the wreaths of orchids,
    tulips and daffodils
    I, a wallflower, again ween
    to be your austere hem.


    Tomorrow
    The death may kiss
    my delicate clavicle
    I may abut the stars
    without bidding a final goodbye
    Let me breathe now inside
    the soliloquies of the worm moon
    before the death could
    scald my red tongue
    Let me chug those
    curtains of memories
    for the last time darling.

    ~those broken crayons in my bag are
    screaming inside the emptiness of life.


    ©bidya


    (This poem is written from the point of view of a dissociative identity disorder (DID) personality)

    #Combination #confessionc #wod

    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��

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    ᴬ ᶜᴼᴺᶠᴱˢˢᴵᴼᴺ ᶠᴼᴿ ᵀᴼᴹᴼᴿᴿᴼᵂ

  • love_whispererr 1w

    (Shoon(n)- old way of saying shoes, wight(n)- ghost)


    #imagery #wod

    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��

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    UNDER THE SHOON OF A WIGHT

    Under the shoon of a wight
    I sew the torn doormat of a broken heart
    with some not-so-austere syllables and
    hide from the perilous realm of darkness.


    Under the shoon of a wight
    I curse the stupefied oblivion of my corpse
    through the umbrageous arbour of metaphors
    and mourn for some heavenward souls.


    Under the shoon of a wight
    I muffle up my poetries of black canvas
    under the saffron cum swerved summer house
    and bloom near the graveyard of a forgotten lavender.


    Alas !
    You may not bear my rise but
    I must bloom on your diadem to taste
    the irked nights of summer's jasmine
    and stinging bile of winter's stomach
    & scribble you on the palimpsest of monsoon.


    ©bidya

  • love_whispererr 1w

    Someday I'll tell you about my poetries ;
    how they were born from
    fragmented sunsets and cold heartbreaks.


    ~hope you'll enjoy my syllables under your wild clouds.


    From a bad poet || bidya