We had a cup of coffee together in our lily garden. Poppy Bird, Mommy Bird, and I were filled with our sweet talk and the small stories we usually shared during our chit-chat at evening tea!

I romped in our garden and shared my relief with the cold wind! Happily, I sat near the swing in our garden!

To feel happy without any perfect reason is a great relief. Smiling in this moment makes you feel like you are your own best friend!

And you always feel like chirping when you are happy!

I can't throw the dry leaves away from the *** I care for during my leisure time at home! This time, I decided to do some creative work with the dried leaves, which had turned pale yellow!

I planned to give them beautiful colors by painting the dry leaves with attractive hues to look pretty in my room!

While looking at the new look I gave to my flowers and the dried leaves, I remembered a conversation I had with my friend Bird the other day! She asked me, "If you are your best friend, then how do you talk to yourself?"

I looked at the bold colors I had given to the leaves. They felt very pale, although they had an attractive gleam!

Oh, this gloominess! It doesn't feel rosy at all!  
Oh, this gloominess doesn't look attractive at all!  
Oh, this gloominess doesn't look loving without the thoughts of your beloved!  
Oh, this longing doesn’t look good without remembering your beloved!  

I felt this and looked in the mirror. The flower *** in my hand was trying to make me see a rose among the hidden stems!

The rose was not there in the ***! The longing didn't look attractive, even with the imaginary rose!

I had other friends kept tied in a silly small cage! I happily freed them and started chirping to see them off! They tweeted back and told me they would see me daily in my flower garden!

I gave them a waving hand as I looked at them flying from my window! Oh, this window helps, I thought to myself, and fell asleep!  
©shivpoetesspriya

Silence has the eyes
that doesn't want to talk.

Silence!
It is the silence that doesn't want to talk.

Does silence talk anyway?

The little broken heart understands!

The unspoken sentiment of the heart tells a story.
Amidst the struggle, it offers suggestions.
The silent heart attempts to understand the exploration of the hopes and the contemplations within the silence.

The broken heart doesn't leave its way.

The gift of the deep feeling and its understanding sparkles, and it understands the silence that understands the silence behind the silent eyes.

Does silence talk anyway?
The pretty little heart, let's rest in the contemplations of the silent heart within the silence.
©shivpoetesspriya

Did I remember those eyes?
Did I remember your eyes and cry?

Did I call you to listen to my heart?
Did I remember you?

Did I remember the look of your face?
Did I remember that you were upset with me?

When did you come so close?
And you went away?

Did I remember you and cried?
©shivpoetesspriya

How happy my heart feels while taking and playing tiny steps with you.

When you are with me, I feel like dancing on my tiptoes.

Your smile always has a captivating win over my heart.

My heart overflows with joy, and I dance and dance with this blissful happiness that makes my heart swaddled in singing along with your dancing steps.

A call of a symphony of joy strikes me, and I feel happy.
It is happiness when you dance in my heart, or I get to dance with you.
©shivpoetesspriya

I didn't say it.
I didn't say it because I did not say it without any purpose.
But now, since it was without any purpose, I feel it is still within the range of some purpose.

I didn't want to lie, I know.
But I think my hesitancy tried to hide a certain thing without intervening, with my no purpose and reason.

My hesitancy may have hidden something out of habit.

I wish all of the above were out of love towards you.
I cry about it as I say it.

Now, since I can't take back my hesitancy show that's already shown,
I wish the hesitancy feels the regret out of love-
A momentary regret out of love- that will pass quickly before reaching the point of minimalism.
©shivpoetesspriya

You don't want to talk, talk, and talk!
But you have a habit of listening, listening, and listening!
I get that right.

There is a needle that hits rightly.
The settling thing takes work.
The never-easy mode of letting go and forgiving is under amendation.

The following gems pave the way, but the bundle of reasons covered with expectations causes hurt.

I know.
Thankfully, there is a needle that hits rightly.

My ways are now more rooted in a deep allowance to you, without messing with you and burning with fire.
It has taken the form of fire in my heart, and since I'm a water person, with that fire in my heart, I immerse myself in water.

Thankfully, I know,
A clock is inside, apt for its time, and it hits the needle just right.
©shivpoetesspriya

A state of longingly position aligns with a reference that echoes your chivalry.

Its commissural linkage is close to my heart and tied with the entrusting of pointing responsibility that reaches for the protective politeness of my heart.
Your engraving look-see and the precision of the auspicious gap connects with my juncture of turning point to commune with my hope for leading me to a closed curve for taking charge of a long stop to catch my missed goals.

I started taking long walks to check my lagging.
Meanwhile, I tried performing in the loops at the ridges to release the compaction of the worthy pivot, eliminate any misvalue, and encourage my determined pursuit by retaining it as the heartening focus of my attempt.
©shivpoetesspriya