Hurt me as you can,
all the lines to cross;
I will just stay silent,
all the words to exhaust.
...
Under the green shadow,
of that serene afternoon;
the branches to dance,
the winds to be its tune.
...
Like an evoking mystery,
the power to enchant;
growing up steadily,
a seedling into plant.
...
If you were me,
you would have known;
imbecile to execute,
in the field of buried corn.
...
A young poet who has recently begun her passion for writing. Who deeply admires her quality and wants to persuade her life with the talent she has. Her poems are a combination of experiences and imagination together with deep thoughts. 'A folklore of a writer, thoughtful words to conceive, as to confront a critic, foliage falls to receive' - Arya Gupta.)
Lost
Hurt me as you can,
all the lines to cross;
I will just stay silent,
all the words to exhaust.
Saying it was a fault,
out the letters forced;
carrying its own regret,
sugar to taste like salt.
Afraid of the blame,
begging to just sort;
How could we handle,
The situation I bought.
Cold winter evening,
white sparkling frost;
these pages of chaos,
and my poems are lost.
'A folklore of a writer, thoughtful words to conceive, as to confront a critic, foliage falls to receive'
'Search yourself in this, one day you will find peace, you will finally smile and your pain will cease.'
'Getting freedom from this was never one of my goal, but as the death steps, it will slowly free my soul'
'I never knew you meant her, when I thought it was me, this deep pain of the wind, hitting me like cold breeze'
Nais : )