Biography of shweta dixit
Matter of Heart..... The Feelings
It's not easy for me to sit down and write something, no matter what the subject line is. Rather I write something before I've even set my mind. Reckon words come to me like an early spring shower that just comes and leaves its imprints on the green grass.
I welcome all my thoughts with sheer enthusiasm and wait for it to carry me along to the land of dreams and wishes.
My poems are FEELINGS the feelings of mine, the feelings of all.
There is not only one person, that all my poems dedicated to. Reather I owe to all my near & dear ones, specially My Parents, my family members, my friends & my Sir, Mr. Manoj Srivastava.
I am thankful to the Lord for blessing me with the courage of expressing myself with words.
Kindly visit to my poetry planet, I'll appriciate ur comments.
shweta dixit Poems
‘love Me For Love's Sake Only’
If You Love Me, Love Me For Naught, Except For Love's Sake Only. Don't Say ' I Love You For Your Smile..............
Mingle With Me’
The Fountain Mingle With The River The Rivers Mingle With The Ocean The Wind Mix With Sweet Music All Things United In Devine Love
Let Me Say
You Stole My Heart, You Touched My Soul Your Arms Around Me Make Me Feel Myself Whole
Let Me Tell U......
I Couldn't Say Till Now..... I Don't Know How To Say..... Our First Glance, So Magnetic,
Each Morning I Stare At The Sun Without You There Is Nothing I M Undone
“war Of Heart & Mind”
A Pair Of Beautiful Eyes Looking Me Through & Through….. Wearing A Smile On Face,
The World Of Amazing Colours Joys, Woes, Some Woven Feelings A Glimpse Of Giggling
Its Very Hard, To Appreciate You The People Like You Are Very Few Recognize Yourself
'Ll Go On '
I sit here tonight On the same place An old wooden chair A big table full of scattered pages
'How Much I Love You’
I Love You To The Depth & Breadth & Height My Soul Can Reach. I Love You To The Level Of Everyday's
‘what Is It? ’
What Can I Call It? What Should I Call? Is It Moonlight Or A Rainfall?
'Ll Go On '
I sit here tonight
On the same place
An old wooden chair
A big table full of scattered pages
With the same dairy
In which only few pages are left
The same pen between my fingers
Again doing the same thing
Nothing new for me