• zoya_charmz 23w

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    I'm a disguised lover,
    A sandwich infused in cold beverage,
    I was born when monsoon ceased
    the August rain and September wore
    a hodge-podge of maple leaves and
    some braided red pink camellia.

    ~ Stained museum is the synonym of Autumn ~

    ���������������� ���� ���� ��ℎ������ℎ������

    The Nightingale welcomed my arrival,
    I flipped a page and painted golden yellow
    timber towns, the whimsical moves of
    oaks and pines touched grandpa's heart,
    writers shed sonnets and the passer-by
    chewed cidery scent and brewed
    a bottle of red wine.

    • In the hustle and bustle, the kids compose
    their existence with the floral crowns.

    ���������������� ���� ���� �������� ��������������������

    In the September evening,
    I encountered the gentle brisk air
    slightly wiping away the dusty lanes,
    the rooftops and the mud folding
    edges of the alabaster walls.
    I remember the musical notes of
    yellow warblers that carried my opalescent
    wings to the October nights when lovers
    drank the soup broth of promises resting
    on each other's shoulders.

    • I breathe when honeysuckle
    lovers meet, I breathe a little more.

    ���������������� ���� ���� ������������-���������� ��������

    Leaves began to fall, I gulped a quarter
    of courage and stitched tangerine
    epigraph on the vintage streets
    when parched foothills were covered
    in mist; I sowed a vermilion sunset,
    reaped some evergreen ghazals
    I swallowed silhouettes of October
    late and crooned a septolet of windfall.

    • The sparks of campfire melts the winter snow.

    ���������������� ���� ���� ����������������

    I served nostalgia and draped my
    fragile skin in pomegranate's veil
    I breathed November like a
    sojourner, passed December
    like a short-lived cherry blossom
    erasing tassels of turmoil;
    I inhaled the mellow moon to
    welcome Nabanna, baked pots
    of rice cakes and sweets,
    healed ulcers of claustrophobic

    • Winter knocked at my doorsteps,
    And I lay resting in my graveyard with
    a memoir of epitaph and some white jasmines.

    // I hope to meet you again in my next birth //

    ~ Oh human, I want to stick to your soul,
    I want to stick to eternity ~



    Nabanna - A Bengali harvest celebration usually celebrated in the late autumn with food, dance and music in Bangladesh & in the Indian states of West Bengal, Tripura and Assam. It is a festival of food; many local preparations of Bengali cuisine like pithe are cooked.

    #autobiography #pod

    @theinkdomain I just tried :-(

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    Oh human, I want to stick to your soul,
    I want to stick to eternity.