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Unbeknownst to the human eye
The tiny frog, lived in the forest, anonymously free
Dewy, evergreen its home
Its existence it knew
In its ecosystem
It grew

Caught unaware
It landed onto the palm
No not the leaf
And that’s when the discovery
Made news
Until then it lived
And so did its ancestors
Free
Of speculations
Unbothered
By its size
Until it was
Branded
A new specie
The human
Classified
Thank you so much for the sunshine here, Agnes :)
the saddest part of dying
is what you forgot to do
the ideas born in lucid dreams
that vanished in the hue
the mountains never seen
the oceans never crossed
the poems written on scraps of paper
a lover's smile now lost
the tears you held inside
the chances never taken
the landscape of your life
an oasis now forsaken
Faster and faster,
chasing one thought after another.
The unbridled force doesn’t stop
carrying dissonant sounds,
playing melodies on one dissonant string.

The reality?
Shaping through thoughts, through words
and actions.

If you listen, you are a friend.
If you reject it, you are just an enemy.

Emotions vibrating in the air
The butterfly effect works so well.
Nobody sees subtle cracks in the structure.

A pluck of the string.
The fragile beings disappear.
Those who feel compassion,
bearing the burden
of those who find pleasure
in the fears of others.

This is not a polyphony,
this is a cacophony of curses
of those who are unscrewing
the lightbulb in the middle of the day.

Please,
don’t fall asleep
though your eyes are heavy.

You still have your own songs
to sing purely and loudly
in the middle of the night.
Queen-of-night in bloom,
a lake holds our laughter still,
waterfall blushes.

For my best friend, J.
You're my queen of night. 💫

P.S.
Happy 17th to me!!! 🎂🧸🌷
  Apr 29 Sarita Aditya Verma
Isla
i am not a poet,

nor am i a poem.

i am not a writer,

nor a book.

i am not a painter,

nor a painting.

i am not a sculptor,

nor a sculpture,

i  am not the artist,

nor the muse.

i am an idea,

that exists

only

in your imagination
I wrote this on a total whim, I quite like it.
Why

🥀

Why
And For how long
Why can’t beauty, just be admired
Why does it attract hatred
Why does one want to own it
Why can’t it be set free
Free as it can be
Mother Earth
Births

Why do we hold hostage

Boundaries are set
Why can’t they be respected
Why
A sheet of white, admired
Cold and clean
Struck and sprayed
Unawares, the innocent not spared
Scarlet, cries everywhere
Why
And for how long
🥀
Blooming
In the darkest of hue
Brightest of colours
Vibrant orange, magenta and red
Summer’s at its peak
The flowers speak

Gulmohar’s orange glow
Like a sweet memory
Of summer retreat
A bouquet one can never hold

Bougainvilleas
Sigh on the lattice
Like cascading rills
Of magenta pinks

Beauteous reds
Roses and Hibiscus
In the garden grow
Tempestuous
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