NilavroNill Shoovro

NilavroNill Shoovro Poems

During the periods of stipulated flashbacks
Memories may not always be smooth or soothing
The pages of the wary calendars
Under the color of my melancholy ink
...

Waiting for your footsteps
Soft pleasant like the music
Of the falling leaves
Delicate yet subtle in confidence
...

Back to the days of the first encounters,
Back to the pictures with the zoom effects in full
Back to the first names hanging from those innocent lips
Back when the earth was singing with the full moon
...

She had been suffering,
The broken relationships under the cracked memoirs
Bones almost plundered
With the fearful hopes, anxious, doubtful all the way
...

within the range of your eyes
with the residue of love
like the mist descending
in your heart:
...

So, with her tender smile
She has requested me then
Not to send her anymore
My signatures of love
...

And at last the indomitable world was unfolding
In my palm.
All the skies were merging
Into my blue.
...

No message, no suicide note
Self-attested with familiar signature

She was hanging in the middle of her room
...

It was not the midnight drill,
Nor any dream necked in blue.
People may cover their own defense,
When night becomes true.
...

like the dark side of the moon
i wished your attention.
alone but not fragile!
doomed but not hopeless!
...

She had been suffering,
The broken relationships
under the cracked memoirs
Bones almost plundered
...

Whoever wants to die before his time-
Is not in love. How can it be so true
For someone who has seen
...

NilavroNill Shoovro Biography

Poet, writer, editor and publisher of web journals.)

The Best Poem Of NilavroNill Shoovro

Alone With My Loneliness

During the periods of stipulated flashbacks
Memories may not always be smooth or soothing
The pages of the wary calendars
Under the color of my melancholy ink
May not forget nor forgive the pain
Yet I would love to be alone again.

My heart will never burst into laughter
Nor will cry in rain
Flashbacks of the scenes may not survive
With all the clocks in my hand,
For they are the silent warriors
Dead, but fought in vain.

The next day is always so crucial
Fighting against all the odds
Yet the motion seldom walks along
With our dreams or feel at home in accord.

If you think you win or it is a defeat for me,
All the days are numb, crying silently
Morning brings nothing but wary nights
Passions grow old from everyday fights,
Let me put it straight for ages to come;
Not time but moments may matter to some.

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