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  • zeee_zephyrs 27w

    T H E E TE R N A L L O V E

    The Sun forms eternal strings
    of embers on blue beds,
    birds' silhouettes are visible
    over red, luminous clouds
    and on the bank of river Yamuna,
    over cliff top,
    sits a soft, blissful physique.
    Her hands move slowly through her bangs
    and feet dance over water splashes
    and her satin blue dress
    seems flowing with the breeze.

    Once Yamuna asked her-
    'Who makes you wait till the entire course
    of sunrise and sunset is over?'
    Her lips turned crescent
    with a tinge of shyness
    and replies with her eyes closed-

    'He stands in the shades of stygian clouds
    and as the chromatic rainbow,
    holds a dignified peacock feather over his head.
    His lips moving through the flute holes,
    seems magnificent
    and the dulcet melodies of his instrument
    as pious as river Ganga,
    breathe life into sullen winds,
    his lotus eyes
    always holds a wicked look.
    His yellow attire, brighter than the Sun's rays,
    carries a vehement divine aura.
    Whose euphonic tunes
    push us to oblivion and making us dance
    till millennium,
    is the one beside whom,
    I feel the epiphany of love.
    It's been long since I have seen him
    since I have heard him
    but this serene sunsets
    and the soft tunes of zephyr
    makes me feel his presence by my side.'

    PC- Rightful owner
    #face #zeeCollection #zeee_fav

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  • zeee_zephyrs 29w

    The sky is laden with clouds,
    an another cloudburst
    and I once again wish for a rainbow
    but the weather seems heavier
    than the wish.
    I loved drizzles
    until they turned into storms
    and these ghoulish, incessant clouds
    from an anonymous origin
    stays longer than the Sun
    and seems perennial.
    Months passed in these four falls
    the outer world is condensed
    in the window panel
    with a few sunsets seen.
    The umbrella doesn't seems enough,
    so I bring myself back to the casement.

    Some lost lives
    and many lost hearts
    but my eyes adhere
    to the senile tree
    whose ochre leaves departed
    while battling with the winds
    but it stood erect
    for the ones it still holds.
    It's a new day,
    a new hope
    but the same weather
    and the same wish.
    Maybe the rainbow forms
    on the other side
    where the Sun rise.

    Pc- me��

    @kin_jo @inked_selenophile @fromwitchpen @thelazymitochondrion ��
    #zeeCollection #zeee_fav

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  • zeee_zephyrs 31w

    wrote for a teacher on her birthday❤

    PS- I will come here only on Saturdays and on days before any holiday.
    take care everyone♡

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  • zeee_zephyrs 33w

    I don't know what's this but it will surely bring a smile on your face.
    @galvanizedthoughts I hope you like it.❤
    Thank you @writersbay

    When the months
    at the door steps of baisakh
    the owner refuses to open
    because she knows her time.
    But when the ground
    is washed enough
    of matronly believes
    and of course patriarchy,
    her mother forbids her to go outside
    it's dark, still
    because murk is her jewellery
    and cavern her home.
    The meadows
    wear the shades of black
    without any objection,
    the firmament descends to grey
    accompanied by thunderstorms
    to welcome baisakh.
    These mundane lives
    think that it rains because
    the sky weeps out of dolour
    but she's kalbaisakhi
    she rains metaphors
    and throw thunders
    on the conservative minds of patriarchy.
    Her drops create poesies
    accentuated by waves,
    but some fail to go beyond words.
    She is spunky,
    who ignores
    the words of old wives' tales
    and paving way through them
    she creates another poem
    'The tale of Kalbaisakhi'
    whose sighs would be enough
    for archaic minds
    and deluge for the obstinate.

    bg is ss of her feed.

    Thanks a lot everyone for leaving beautiful comments❤

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  • zeee_zephyrs 34w

    Making our way across city chaos
    From rushed life to tranquil paths,
    when population density seems to decrease
    and serenity gets bestrewed in the winds,
    my coarse skin feels the felicity
    in the brisk weather of the suburbs.
    'And what about the fields and crops?
    How mud houses look?'
    My friend screams in between
    As I narrate further,
    Where erosion fails to make an existence
    and the rice fields wave a hello
    as they get drifted by the gentle winds,
    Farmers hold a curve of smile
    and melancholy seems to lost its way,
    I call it, the abode of ecstasy.
    From gravel roads
    we enter the narrow alleys.
    The bucolic houses are in the shades of yellow ochre
    and roofs are of brown,
    as we have the view
    of the most idyllic corners.
    'How is the view there?
    How does the morning feels?'
    My friend interrupts,
    And I continue with a sigh,
    the rays penetrate through the mist
    the sky descends to aureate,
    I feel the embrace of zephyr
    as I stand in the veranda.
    The mist clears,
    and the mountains make an impressive existence,
    hit by nostalgia,
    I remember my wish of climbing them
    for a panoramic view,
    My friend giggles.
    But deep within, I still hold the desire.
    A bell rang
    a peddler arrived from the other side
    I bought myself an ice cream
    and towards the fields, I went
    joining hands in front of the divine temple
    then through haystack and cowshed
    a scarecrow I met,
    with a better smile then it
    I reached verdant meadows
    beside a pond,
    I saw women in traditional costumes
    holding terracotta pots, heading home.
    I laid down on the mother earth
    gazed the amorphous clouds, finding patterns.
    'And where is this place located?'
    'In my heart.' I silently whispered.

    Thanks from the depth of my heart to all those who left here beautiful and lovely comments. Tysm❤
    #picturec #zeeCollection #zeee_fav #writersbay #pod
    @writersbay @writersnetwork

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    Through the Village Alleys


  • zeee_zephyrs 34w

    rant. skip

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    To My Terrace

    Dear terrace,

    Your open arms feel so warm. I know I don't come to you often but everytime I am there, you never fail to welcome me with the bewitching scene. The sky seems closer than the ground and you keep me engaged with the serene sky because the view of ground always makes to feel like falling.

    When I reach you on not so sunny days, you welcome me with the scorching sunlight, conveying that too much light also hurts. When the stygian clouds get bestrewed in my life, you make me understand that dark clouds bring with them the most gratifying zephyrs.

    The world becomes so small in your embrace and you taught me to not cry over small things. When the gravity fails to pull my hairs down which are flowing on the lap of zephyrs you teach me that this is how free birds move, neglecting all the factors which brings them down. The world print their silhouettes on the canvas of sky, becoming the most beautiful art ever.

    You taught me that the most pleasing song is the chirping of birds, the most beautiful scene is of the sky, the most peaceful fall is the fall of the Sun and the most beautiful feeling is the embrace of my terrace.

  • zeee_zephyrs 34w

    #memories #zeeCollection #zeee_fav
    wn thanks for editor's choice ♡

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    I Lost it to a Forgotten Place

    I walked down the memory lane
    of halcyon days
    'cause I thought it existed there
    but I lost it to dreams
    which I couldn't recall.

    I lost it to effloresence of dahlias
    and I dare not touch them
    'cause they are no rose,
    my touch may make them bloom on spikes.
    They are the dahlias
    which danced in every season.

    I lost it to my pillow houses
    and I dare not seek them there
    'cause my coarse hands would demolish them
    calling them amorphous.
    They are the well built houses
    which stood even after pillow fights.

    I lost it to fascinating fairytales
    and I dare not listen them again
    'cause they will lose their significance
    with my sense of logics.
    They are alive in the lucent eyes
    and myriad smiles of fantasies.

    I lost it to mellifluous poesies
    and I dare not read them again
    'cause I don't know,
    if I read it in annoyance or in blithe.
    One will espy the foolishness
    and other the chaste innocence.

  • zeee_zephyrs 34w

    Women, especially housewifes are often treated as domestic objects.

    #ode #zeeCollection #zeee_fav
    wn thanks for editor's choice

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    Not Domestic, Maybe

    ~From the One Who Wrote the Ode~

    From this corner to that quarter,
    in yards long saree,
    Before the advent of the Sun
    and hours after dusk,
    the black and white checked apron
    your uniform for the whole day
    and knifes and pans
    your unadmired tools.
    Breathing betwixt tempering
    which we can't handle for seconds,
    cooking to everyone's desire
    this with no garlic, that with more red chilli
    and no one questioning your favourites.
    Cooking, washing, cleaning
    Washing, cleaning, cooking
    Cleaning, cooking, washing
    the only routine
    with grandmother's taunts
    mother-in-law's taunts.
    We have holidays
    to increase your work load,
    From ordering for a glass of water
    to stepping onto the mopped floor
    just increasing the burden
    and treating you as a mediocre
    but you keep us on top in your dulcet orisons.

    ~From the One to Whom the Ode is Written~

    you talk about,
    who have buried their desires
    beneath their red sindoor
    and you bury her
    in the boundaries of syllables.
    These days as a housewife, bloomed in her garden
    the day her father thought of her marriage
    and not for her further studies.
    not the housewife,
    the mother of the housewife
    who was blindfolded by patriarchy,
    couldn't dare to go against her husband.
    now the housewife,
    who was deprived of the right to think for herself
    now bury her desires beneath her saree.
    And you
    who have seen me as a housewife
    my life in a house,
    my journey from house to home
    and not the struggles before that,
    sit writing odes.
    And would you dare
    to read them aloud
    to me and to a HOUSEWIFE ?


  • zeee_zephyrs 35w

    #oxymoron #zeeCollection
    @writersnetwork thanks for like and editor's choice❤


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    I Trust You the Most

    Some six years or so
    or six and a half
    to be more precise,
    I met a stranger
    with two handles
    and two square-shaped transparent eyes,
    the specialist told
    it's called 'spectacles'
    to support my blurred vision.
    /you were strangely familiar/

    Days passed,
    I eventually grew trust on you
    I saw what you showed,
    becoming the most honest to me
    I don't want you
    to be so pellucid
    to let me see whatever come on the scene
    be opaque to those harsh realities
    be opaque to lives which asundered
    be opaque to innocent victims of misfortune
    'cause I am too emotional.
    /be opaquely pellucid/

    I let you play with my bangs
    Behind my ears
    I let you make my eyes look dull
    I let you hurt my lashes
    'cause I trust you,
    being impuissant,
    still holding the world for me.
    /you are amortly alive/

    You gave
    a view of world,
    a view of phases of lives,
    a view of realities.
    You gave a view of honesty,
    it still abides.

    And now
    here I am,
    personifying you
    with a bunch of oxymorons.

  • zeee_zephyrs 35w

    Will read you all soon♡

    #imemyselfc #writersbay #bagpack #zeeCollection #zeee_fav

    @poeticgirl cause you love skies.

    Here, sky signifies her home which is lost and she tries to find and reach there.

    maybe this makes sense :'(

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    In Search of her Lost Sky

    She holds a demure smile,
    a curve which often stays,
    and faints
    when the moon smiles.

    The aureate firmament,
    her most favoured abode
    which she desires to reach
    on the barque of zephyrs
    but bid adieu
    on the lap of hurricane.

    Betwixt the chaos of the city,
    she seeks tranquillity
    under the feeble rays of the Sun
    which is enshrouded
    by heavy, grey clouds.

    When the sky is painted
    in intricate strokes of pink,
    with amorphous clouds bestrewed,
    lasting ephermally,
    she stares at the horizon
    and the skylines,
    lamenting on her unaccomplished destination.

    The azure sky turns moonlit,
    the sleepless night feels eternal
    and the moon is concealed in clouds,
    she wishes
    from the fallen stars,
    to make all of them fall
    and collect them,
    to festoon her lost sky.