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Anoushka Jain Dec 2014
Her eyes closed, her cheeks fair. 
The wind fanning her raven hair. 
Her palms stretched, she is at rest. 
Her ears oblivious to screams. 
On her chest, the lion crest, 
The pride of her life. 
She's dying tonight, 
But on her mind, 
only the black haired lad. 
"Harry, be safe. Harry be strong. 
Lord, protect my baby from all wrong." 
She turns and sights, The coal red eyes. 
She knew they'll be her demise. 
He asked her to leave, 
Or death she'll receive. 
She told him she wasn't afraid. 
In her mind, all goodbyes were bade. 
"Avada Kedavra" 
And just like that, 
Her essence fades.
Lily Potter taught us that the love of a mother is stronger than anything else in the world. A tribute to a mother ready to die for her son.
Anoushka Jain Dec 2014
Dobby's ideas,

Are more of a glitch.

Flesh memories,

Buried in a snitch.

Life is tough,

And such a heavy fight.

When dark times encircle you,

Remember to Turn on the light.

Weasley twins are strong,

More like human beaters

The world is not divided

Into good people and death eaters.

For in dreams,

We enter a world entirely our own.

Turn to page number

Three hundred and ninety four.

Dumbledore smiled,

Everyone has bad days.

Snape replied,

Always.

The people we love,

Leave us never.

The stories we love best,

Do live in us forever.

Cause the books we truly love,

Right back, they love us.

Draco, Dormiens,

Nunquam, Tittilandus.
For all my fellow Potterheads!
Stephanni Rose Oct 2014
Have you ever been loved
By a love
That was as strong
As the love
Severus had for Lily?
A tragic love really
Elioinai Oct 2014
Sand on the seashore,
Wand and a bezoar,
Rustle of lace,
Legolas’ face,
Dragon’s and ghouls,
Monkeys and fools,
Knights, and Queens and fights
April 7, 2012
Shruti Atri Jul 2014
fiction: the figment of a great writer's imagination.

the words, ink on plain paper;
feeble in their existence,
tell me to be *fierce
 and compassionate.
to have something to love,
more deeply than any being is capable of;
to try...
so that there is something my soul will reside in,
which is not me,
something I can face a fight to death for...


they are not only books.
they are the silent teachings learnt by these authors,
living through hardships.
they are metaphors,
symbols of lessons to be applied in our lives.
their passion, their wounds, living inside of their words;
they speak to us readers,
in their meek mild voices;
to hope,
to have faith,
to believe in something someone beyond ourselves,
to be human in the face of impossibilities,
eve­n through difficult dark times,
to be humble in the face of success­,
to ride our dragons into oblivion,
to hunt them down and slay them like wolves,
to never­ give up...



*'Winter is coming'
'We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, but battle on.'
'Do or do not. There is no try.'
'A hero can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as he has the nerve.'
'You endure what is unbearable, and you bear it.'
'If you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior.'
'We will not just be another piece in their games.'
'Fear doesn't shut you down. It wakes you up.'
'Old things are better than new things, because they've got stories in them.'
'Not all those who wander are lost.'
'We accept the love we think we deserve.'
'Grief does not change you. It reveals you.'
'This is my family. I found it all on my own. It's little and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.
this is what fantasy has given me:
imaginary heroes,
imaginary victims,
imaginary villains.
all with different stories,
all lessons for life and love,
in a kaleidescope of metaphors and symbols.
a hundred thousand shades of vibrant colors,
instead of white or black.
Bella Anima Jul 2014
Yes
We can never be together forever
But during those times
When we were together
We built this room in our hearts
That are meant for each other
And it will always remain there
No matter what happens
We can be apart for years
And that room will still be there
If you ever need me
You can run to the room
And escape
I'll be there.
It'll be our secret escape.
Finding ways to cope with the emptiness.
Within the floor-less room
Of a ceiling-less chamber
Spanning top to bottom
Lies a collection.
Each strand of memory
In tiny glass vials
Trapped forever
Sealed to perfection.

Within this glass palace
These tiny glass vials
Sorted and labelled
Into many a section.
The past, the present
The thoughts for the future
Accurately categorized
According to emotion.

Within each glass vial
A wisp of thought
A caress of experience
A whisper of recollection.
Once uncorked
The memory unleashed
Arising in full might
In every direction.

Within this door-less
Window-less chamber
Alas these memories
Are bound for protection.
Trapped forever
Rusting with time
Or remaining in grandeur
Without external intervention.

One seeks the pensieve
The key to this access
Oblivious to the trap
A pure addiction.
Alas the pensieve
Binds one further to the chamber
Away from reality
No resurrection.

Within the floor-less room
Of a ceiling-less chamber
Spanning top to bottom
Lies our collection.
AavelinaJaden Jun 2014
I fell in love like the way you fall asleep: like getting hit by a ******* bus that knocks you out of your senses and *In that moment I swear we were infinitely in love but ******* you left me on my own. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company but I find great companionship in your eyes and I'm quite hoping you'll stick around. May the odds be ever in our favor of falling in love again in the empty house we once called mine where i'm divergent and I can only be controlled by my fears (of losing you) that send me recoiling in your arms every night; I solemnly swear that I am up to no good and I spend every second wishing you'd love me like I love you.
Jackson Apr 2014
Lean out and contemplate the Empire State.
After all, there's nothing else left to you.
The spider-web paths of the city
Branch out too often to form the whole
picture in your head more than a few
stems out.

Where do your lost hours go?
Is there a heaven for the good ones?
The ones you spend reading Harry Potter
in Spanish?
As if it's really so much better than reading
trash like 1Q84 or Plato's Republic
for 1200 page-intervals of excess language or
A bunch of questionable assertions
backing up logical conclusions on the most essential questions,
Respectively.

When I sit with the bright light in my eyes,
it triggers the breakdown of melatonin molecules in
my blood,
Among other things.
Will this restore my Brooklyn Majesty
in swells of lightwave tides
Or will it lack the broad spectrum necessary
to push my half-developed form out of the tidal pool
to make a swim amongst
frail men in shark suits?
January 2014

— The End —