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  Aug 2020 Shrika
Veritia Venandi
The girl never knew what love was...

She had only heard people falling in love...

But whether love was an abyss or a deep ocean to fall into...She could understand it not!
...

Yet when she gazed at the moon his smiling face was all she saw...

When she lazily strolled in her garden...In the hum of the bees she could but hear his excited voice...

And when she sat down to paint her favourite picture... Her hands always unknowingly drew a pair of dreamy eyes...

She couldn't fathom her restlessness on calm nights and her calm on stormy days...

The world she thought had gone mad...

But little did the naive girl know that it was her world that was being carved irrevocably with...

The shape of love!
The first feeling of falling in love is always confusing...Looking back it seems sweet-the innocence and the oblivion of not understanding a universal feeling as love...! No wonder first loves are always special!
  Aug 2020 Shrika
Carlo C Gomez
To thine own naked lunch be true.

Nonetheless,
she knows where from the prolonged gaze
resides.

She knows it's as central to life
as a breath of newborn air.

Yet, she confronts it,
she queries it.

Why must love
Be thunder and hunt?

Why can't it stretch it's limbs out,
languid in the diffused light?

Like morning awakening
to bluebell carpets in soft spring,

Where the revealed flesh can
unfadingly upon float.

When will it learn to sit with her,
quietly, and partake
of such nakedness together...?
Inspired by the renowned painting by Édouard Manet (c. 1862-1863)
Shrika Aug 2020
I watch her.

I watch her,
as the night drapes over her window,
as the stars tangle in her hair,

I watch her,
as the chiseled imperfection
of the moon stirs her inky musings,

I watch her ,
in the uncertain glow of the dying candle,
in the torrent of tattered thoughts,

I watch her,
watching me through the silver-smeared glass,
through the pits of colourless brown,


                                      I watch her as                           
                                   ­            she slowly traces the silence,
                                                        ­           silencing the traces of him.

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