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portia-burton
portia-burton
30/F/London Student of the Queens' College, Cambridge, (university of Cambridge, U.K.) / Now doing research in post-surgery trauma.
October The yonder hills look like The birthday cake with green topping. My eyes were swimming in the ocean Of the sky's infinite blue. Autumn golds are melding together Sepia toned with a tint of brown, Rustling leaves look like the lips Of girls singing in a chorus. There's our favorite coffee shop Where our hearts will beat in 'mocha lattes'. And, yes, as you say, this is HAPPINESS! © Portia Burton
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Oct 19, 2022
Oct 19, 2022 at 10:44 PM UTC
October
Me and My Muse The dusk has fallen, it is getting dark, Alone and nervous I wander in the park, The breeze is cold and has started to bite, Everything is gloomy, nothing seems right. Now comes wafting a scent that I know, And in an instant my eyes start to glow, Lo, there she is! A goddess in every way, Has the breeze stopped in awe of her sway? She is my muse, heavenly and glorious, Friendly as a fairy, albeit mysterious. Her tresses glisten around her angelic face, She comes to me in her lovely grace, Like a charged spirit I rush to her, How ardently we meet each other! In her calm eyes I find my solace, But she gets dissolved in our embrace, I submit to her and through our union, I realize that we are not two but one! © Portia Burton
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Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 9:26 AM UTC
Me and My Muse
Granny's Cottage I am visiting my granny's cottage Some time after her sad demise, I hold my breath on the threshold As her memories flood my mind. Without going inside I can see Each room of this tiny cottage: The front room where she welcomed Her friends, and even a stray goat. Her table by the curtained window, Where she raised her cup of tea To the rising sun, and to the birch Whose branches always waved to her. Her kitchen where she always had Something delicious only for me, At least her dainty hand-made cheese. Her husband's study which remained Locked even for her darling me, It was actually a treasured vault Where the memories of the moments Which she had shared only with him. Then her room, her books, her bed, Where as a child I slept in her arms, As my mother also may have done, Reaching for her face with tiny hands, While drifting away to meet the fairies On the wings of her magical stories. And it was there our roles where reversed, When I had to put her to some sleep, As she clutched my hand like a child To find some support while drowning In the unbearable pain of her sickness, And it was on that bed I had found her Sleeping peacefully in the arms of death, And as per her wish I had prepared for her From her garden's flowers a clumsy wreath. © Portia Burton
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Dec 6, 2021
Dec 6, 2021 at 9:41 AM UTC
Granny's Cottage
When I Decided to Love You... When I decided to love you, I first charted your sphere, The orbit of your attractions, Traced the tendrils of affection Sprouting from your heart To see where they finally reach, Only to find encircled with them. I then realized it was pertinent That I should start loving myself To be worthy of this adornment. © Portia Burton
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Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
When I Decided to Love You...
My Room Sorry, my room is totally disorganized: There are more books of poetry On the shelves than text books; Crumpled ***** of paper containing Unfinished poems jeering at me Are lying here and there, along with Some incomplete drawings and paintings Of wingless birds, truncated trees, Confused paths ending abruptly Before reaching any destination; Dried up brushes coated with colors, Disheveled like my auburn hair... Then, in a corner a dusty vase Squirming with dried, crooked stems Mourning the petals turned to dust... And me, circled by an invisible cage Which prevents me from touching the sky Which calls me out like an yearning lover... © Portia Burton
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Dec 1, 2021
Dec 1, 2021 at 5:25 AM UTC
My Room
I will accept your flowers... I will accept your flowers With a guilty heart For robbing them of life Which we can never impart. I will hold them gently Close to my chest, But will they find it worthy Even for a momentary rest? from their faint fragrance I seem to hear their words, 'Why do you pluck us in bloom, Like you shoot down the birds? 'Tomorrow when we will wilt You will throw us in the dust, But the same fate awaits you, You'll return to dust, yes, you must. © Portia Burton
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Nov 30, 2021
Nov 30, 2021 at 5:36 AM UTC
I will accept your flowers...
Tattoo I blossomed like a wild flower That is allowed to grow from its crack By an ancient moss-covered rock By softening its stoic arrogance. I then felt a soft musical strain Rippling through my tingling veins, Felt transparent like the morning dew, Adorned with the sky's ethereal hue, But just then the moon came up above, Making me hastily cover my ******* Lest she should see the tattoo upon my heart Carved by the soothing singeing of the stars. © Portia Burton
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Nov 25, 2021
Nov 25, 2021 at 10:13 AM UTC
Tattoo
Sublime Presence Here I stand among a throng of trees Wrapped in dense and dark shadows, And feel like standing silently Under the dome of a green cathedral, Drenched in irradiant silence. I feel around me a sublime presence Watching over me with love and care, While the breeze fondles my curly hair. I also feel some inaudible melody Streaming all around, in the leaves, In the blades of grass, nascent flowers, And even in my overwhelmed heart! © Portia Burton
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Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
Sublime Presence
Granny Granny, It was you who put away my childhood 'walker' and taught me how to walk, fall , and walk again on my own... It was you who swirled around like a ballerina in my school auditorium when I played a ballet dancer... It was you who lovingly massaged my aching feet after my mountain trek... you could walk only a few steps holding my hand, yet there used to be so much joy on your wrinkled face as if all the paths of the world were bowing down before you. ..... Now All I have is a quilt made by you for me, and though it is very old, I still seek through it your warm touch. © Portia Burton
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Oct 29, 2021
Oct 29, 2021 at 7:29 AM UTC
Granny
Did I Cry? Why? On waking up in the morning I felt the smears of tears across my cold cheeks, with the gory image of the last evening of a sparrow killed by the neighbour's cat still burning my eyes. 'Did I cry? Why?' I wondered aloud. The walls replied, 'Because we could not.' ©Portia Burton
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Oct 28, 2021
Oct 28, 2021 at 4:12 AM UTC
Did I Cry? Why?