She loves to twirl, She is the wind, Cold and wild. She loves to flow, She is the river, Deep and tranquil. She loves to bloom, She is the flower, Delicate and enchanting. She nestled the morning sun inside her The scintillating rays, Unclogged her meandering crevices, To penetrate into the world full of ravages. She never shifted into a storm She never wanted to be perilous She never shriveled and fall Taking revenge is not her call She is a lover spreading love so deep She is dreamer moulding dreams in her sleep She is the flower child Who adores beauty in the wild. 🌸🌸🌸

#napowrimo

The song of life, The mirror to the soul, The very language of love, For all who are unloved. Like a serene river it flows, In the heart of the poet, Emboldening the flowers of hope, To bloom in the fleshy plain, Amid the bosom of his silent pain. Beneath its tender arms, The soul seeks comfort, The budding roots of ease, Evoked springs in his mind, Leaving the gust and gale of life behind. The lord plant the seeds, That thrive into thorns, Bearing the rhythm of his life, With poetry that keeps him alive. Nurturing poetry at the core, Is the only thing he adore. In the midst of his battle, He has so much to celebrate. With poetry, being his only way to liberate.

Your eyes sparkled at the brimming moonlight, My tender heart shook, For I never wanted you , And your eyes, To dazzle on the charm, That was never mine, All I ever wanted is your glance, At my freckled face, And messed up hair, But you denied, Being modest and free, I smiled at you, A smile indicating my sweet little compromise, For me, you are the only sunrise, Lighting up my life, Like the early morning sky. May be this is the way I loved you, The only thing I wish, You already knew. January never felt the same this time, With new beginnings, New resolutions, I followed the path that leads to your heart, With a hope to colour all your thoughts, Just a gentle touch of true love, Is what your stubborn heart longed, But the door was never opened, You never wanted to let me in, Yet my love sick branches promised to thrive, Promised to find its way, Till the last autumn's ray, Maybe this is the way I loved you, The only thing I wish, You already knew.

This is the world with two faces, Where honesty and goodness have few traces. The bright faces seem to be fake, As their only intention is the advantages they can take. The modest tend to be the meek, As the art of deception is not what they seek. Their search for the foul weather friend; Is like a tussle with no end. Their fondness for the dear ones is the only thing they have own, And the depth of hypocrisy is what the dear ones have shown. Their love for the dear ones was always in their deeds, But the ones who were dear were never in their needs. The broken heart was set on fire. Inside their hollowness they were echoed as liars. Yet the shade of white can never be lack, As the world is not all about being black, So let the white conquer the black, Hoping for a better world by fixing the wreck. By - Jagriti Devi