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She is like water running through the valley
drifting through the rocks
the rocks make unable to move
unable to grow
unable to flow
Takes away her ability to contribute,
but,
Water is meant to flow to the Ocean,
Not to be contaminated,
By the pollution of your opinion.

She is like water
surrounded by things still finds ways
crashing every barrier comes in her way
She want to rehydrate the minds,
That have been compressed,
That have been dehydrated,
She want to refresh the dry ideology.
She'll nurture the barren land of old thoughts .
An Ocean looks so calm and beautiful but when you dive , you know how much depth it has and how much darkness it stores .
Inspired by someone's pain and experience .
you are peaceful like water
and become strong like its waves .
ART
Creating art
is like letting your soul breathe
that once choked by doubt
that came to life after one verse .
"Art is just the image of your  soul"

Maybe that's why when I looked at you
your eyes looked like meteors showers
and your iris like moon ,
body barely holds
millions of shattered galaxies
beauty is in the shattered soul
which balancing its sanity .

Sometimes you looked  like a saddest yet beautiful piece of art
which lie at the corner of museum
having a thousand  of tales to tell
yet no soul to listen
maybe they know they won't able to bear it
perhaps it's meant to be that
not everyone is an artist
who can feel your soul .
.
.
" Not everyone can understand you because not everyone is an Artist "
find a soul and fall in love with it . which is ageless and Shapeless.
A poet gains popularity when he acquires an ability to use words in his poetry that would appeal to both philosophical and non-philosophical readers.
when feelings throttle
my heart
when memories **** past
like flash bulbs
I sit drowsy
in yawning dawns
trapping
all drunken thoughts
bustling
to be winged

then a poem is born
It costs less than electricity,
But it lights millions of hearts.
1/6/2021
A face that never changes
it's countenance even when
the mind is overflowing with
emotions is a blessing indeed
Sitting on a swing
was the nearest way to fly.
Higher and higher you would go
Eyes closed while  hands holding the ropes tight
Almost touching the sky
Sitting in the car
Counting houses as you pass
Fantasizing what’s going on inside.
Lying on the grass watching
clouds from afar
Seeing all your heroes
come to life right there in the sky
Although you look at life quite different now
this inner child will never die.
Still looking at clouds in the sky!!



Shell ✨🐚
Your inner child is always there.
For those whose mothers are no more
the annual business hype of what to give
    and where to take your mother
is but a sad remembrance of loss
stirring up memories of happier times
when she was still a pillar in your universe
loved and revered, and sometimes feared,
who taught you, patiently or not,  
the basics of survival in your expanding world.

She knew, while you were as yet unaware  
that all her loving preparations
would over time mean separation.

When you struck out to shape your life
all by yourself and left her with her fears for you,
her wishes, and the hopes that what she tried
to give you was enough and right,
your heart and mind were elsewhere, far away,
focused upon the future of your independent life.

Your years run fast and busy, and suddenly one day
you stand before her coffin
and discover that it is too late
for all the questions never asked.

What you have left are memories
and a vague sense of having missed the chance
to see - and maybe even understand a little -
the woman she has also been
throughout her life, behind her loving face
of a dear mother’s care and grace.
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