Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Is Social Media, a bermuda triangle,
Hauling ourselves into the deep entangle.

That, unfortunately for a couple of likes from strangers, 
We overlook the likes of our own folks. 

The anxiety turns to frustration,
As it embraces anger in gestation.

The phase you reveal as a vent out,
Gradually stumbles the bond throughout.

The more you love the unknown appreciation,
The more you miss the love of real conversation.

Open up your hearts for the pire souls,
Who yearn to lean on you, so close.

Life with it's twists and turns,
Perpetually fixes the discerns.

Look around at the authenticity,
And leave behind the complexity.

For, you the epitome of tomorrow's inspiration,
Fly on, with adept determination.
A couplet is a pair of successive lines of metre in poetry. A couplet usually consists of two successive lines that rhyme and have the same metre.
Burden or Relief?
Love or hate?
Share or split?
Choice is ours to create the
Bond, or extricate?

Escape or accept?
Joy or pain?
Hope or fear?
Choice is yours to ensure the
Concord, or discord?

Life, deeply
Unfurls the pure truth
Of combat
Within us,
Choice either to win or lose
Or walk towards love.

- Aishwarya Sridhar
Shadorma is a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively. Simple as that, And proceeds on, with unlimited stanzas.
There is a hollow feeling within us
supressing the voice to identify us
Never has that kept us in loneliness
But had established a sense of emptiness.
Is that the sound of silence within us,
the emotions of our past reminisce?
Or is it the fear to face the future of us,
with the lack of confidence in us?
Whatever be the silence in us, let the hope in us,
Ever kindle the silence with the sound of endurance.

- Aishwarya Sridhar
For, Silence she chose, to let time reveal the truth,
Clandestine promises she kept, not to get misconstrued,
When fear in believing people, strangled her to death,
For, silence she chose, to let time reveal the truth,
Blind love and compassion she had bestowed with strewth,
On the one, who gave back false hopes with betrayal, all to feud,
For, Silence she chose, to let time reveal the truth,
Clandestine promises she kept, not to get misconstrued.
The triolet is perfect for this kind of repetition, because the first line of the poem is used 3 times and the second line is used twice. If you do the math on this 8-line poem, you'll realize there are only 3 other lines to write: 2 of those lines rhyme with the first line, the other rhymes with the second line.
Aghast was the feeling within,
the moment I heard saying,
"The grudge in me never ceases,
If I look at you, it upsurges."
What was that? Hatred or Jealousy?

Together we grew,
Together we played,
Together we enjoyed,
But she was loved more.
What was that? The age or Comparison?

Appreciated for her appearance,
Admired for the best smile,
Pampered for the sweet talks,
Gradually grew the inner bitterness unaware,
Igniting in her, the spark of arrogance uncompared.
As I was placed ever in contradiction.
What was that? Seed of praise or despise?

The child in us possessed the love,
while in the name of maturity the gap stretched,
The silence took deep breaths
Between each conversation
We, the alike thinkers
Now parted with difference.
The daughters of two sisters,
Misunderstanding cultivated the distress.
What was that? Distance or Belief?

The question still perplexed
Whose fault was that?
The childhood innocence ripped with arrogance?
The comparison that planted the vengeance?
But ultimately, it is the misconception established with pride.

Now after these many years,
the love in me for her never faded
but grew more when we by chance interacted.
What was that? The pure love or move on?

Having the belief that our thoughts were alike,
My heart ceased not to pour my inner feelings,
As my childhood pal, my sister, my twin.
But still the ignorance in me continued to control,
My maturity to understand the completely changed person.
It took sometime to get in my senses
that her eyes looked hither and thither
with lies unrelated,
and conversations proposed,
not to share but to grasp
whenever connected virtually.
What was that? A changed self or Gossip Monger?

The vengeance inside gradually
turned to revengeful remorse.
And the love had turned to blame,
With pierce striken words she poked
Of accusations and falsehoods,
But none seemed to disturb me.
What was that? Mellow in me or Her immaturity?

With composed tone, I did stand for me,
confidently, a new me,
neither raised my voice,
nor reacted losing my poise,
but assured that in her life,
"Never could you forget to remember me and never, remember to forget me."
What was that?
A blessing from a mellowed soul.

Comparison is a needle, if sewn with a positive thread, would bestow a Mellowed soul.

— The End —