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 Sep 2018 amora
raicyd
i'm
     sorry
         that
             every
                     word,
                              i
                                write
                                      bleeds
                                               in
                                                  dark
                                                          ink...
                                                   scratches
                                              on
               ­                             to
                                     your
                              skin,
                         like
                   pen
                on
       rough  
papers...
           i'm
                sorry
                         if
                              i
                                     don't
                                              use
         ­                                              my
                                                        words,­
                                                    the  
                                            way
               ­                      it
                         should
          be
      when
i
write
             you.
i'm sorry if i write my poems from the way i should feel...
 Aug 2018 amora
Nikita
Exposure
 Aug 2018 amora
Nikita
Make me your art
your game
Make me your leisure
your name

Crystalise me with beauty
drape me
With shackles and chains
until I bleed enough
To cry out your name
 Aug 2018 amora
Orange Rose
I wrote a poem when I died...
Another at my birth.
A brand-new sonnet when I cried.
And again when there was mirth.

A song for my confession...
A story for my pain...
A painting for depression...
And nursery rhymes for rain.

My creations live inside my heart.
I keep them there in shame.
Yet you looked around and saw my art,
And smiled all the same.
 Aug 2018 amora
Aishwarya Ezhava
They say, you can't see God
But in the dawn and at dusk,
In the daylight and starry night
And when the sky wears the spectrum,
I see Nature, I see God.

They say, you can't hear God
But, everytime I hear the burbling stream,
the soothing sound of the waves
and the chirping of birds,
I hear Nature, I hear God.

They say, you can't talk to God
But whenever I scream out my love
to the desolate dunes and
talk my heart out to lonely trees,
chilling under their shades.
I talk to Nature, I talk to God.

They say, you can't smell God
But in the sweet scented​ flowers
and in the wet mud after the recent rains,
I smell Nature, I smell God.

Everytime when the wind
blows through my hair,
Everytime when I feel
the fresh air on my face,
I feel Alive, I feel You,
I feel Love, I feel God.

— The End —