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Every time you read a poem,
it would be different than previous.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and add warmth into raw words of obvious.
A poem is a mystery to everyone,
filled with pain and desires.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and arrange the words before they expire.
A poem can make lifeless person feel alive,
but make the mind a horrific place.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and let words flow in their own space.
A poem could be difficult to understand,
because it possesses calm and clash.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and avoid words to turn into ash.
If poems would be written on the skin,
everything would bleed and shed.
Poets shape verses accordingly,
and instead of vintage words turn red.
-Aishwarya Kulkarni
Savio Fonseca Dec 2020
Each Time I think of U,
I pen My Thoughts.
Rhyme them in Verses,
that end up with Dots.
Our Love Story that began,
in the month of November.
Is no more a Story,
I would want to Remember.
U filled My Heart,
with Sorrow and Pain.
All My Hard work,
went down in Vain.
The Love Letters U wrote,
I've torn them to Pieces.
I'm now a Man in Pain,
a Pain that never Ceases.
Nylee Jun 2020
My best verses are never written
Nor do anyone gets to listen
They dance in my mind
every word properly bind

The words conjuring the bliss
the smallest sentences
with deepest meanings

disappear when I take out my pen

and start over a blank sheet
with one word staring back
Composed and forgotten

In dark abyss
absence of words in canvas
Cannot remake the very rhyme
The painted masterpiece
Stolen away as
Reality strikes again
TIZZOP May 2020
writers can have a writer's block
they may end up as a skeleton
sitting at a desktop, holding a pen
take a picture of the soul, survive

looking at it kills every distraction
listen to the indecisive winds; they float
in each nutshell is another nutshell, right?
a letter will cause more letters, won't it?

the picture of the soul: take it
walk through the ruins of the night
watch stars rolling over heavens
don't think about your inner, don't think

the horizon of fear swallows poems
poems that have never existed
the horizon of fear is a writer in disguise
poets will never be able to spot this creature

sometimes, we want to write a lot
sometimes, we want to write less
take a picture of the soul and go on
come on: take this picture, my friend

the ruins of the night are made of letters
skinny letters will grow into heavy words
words become verses and they transform
come on: take this picture, my friend

a picture of the soul kills all the ghosts
write about it and let go, heaven and hell yeah!
vampires and writers adore the ruins of the night
a blank desk, now covered with words and muse

this poem doesn't have an end but a final
i am sending you these letters, here they are
chaos quietly rages in rivers of newness
take a picture of the soul, take these letters, friend
Tonight is a good night.

Inspired to write this poem by:
Nylee Apr 2020
The heart beat beats
Intrinsic and poetic
Describing my heart desire
But i don't speak it
who is to tell me the verses
of my inner fire
Nylee Apr 2020
I am most true
in poetry,
sides of me
which i never knew
comes alive
writes verses,
Unaware me,
cannot identify
a soul to soul
passes through words.
It is gold dust
touching the being
vanishing out the window,
through walls
and in the deep blue sky
Anu Mishra Mar 2020
My Pantry

I panicked in the storm, afraid
nothing to bargain or trade

sustenance or reprieve
bewildered and bereaved

to acquire or do without
I walked for miles in doubt

through the tempestuous skies
I looked at the field behind my eyes

I circled around and found
my pantry still abound

the sheesham shelves were old
the walls covered in mold

a smiling monsoon
coconut ladoos likened to the moon

stolen biscuit jars
they’d travelled from afar

half eaten cadbury’s bars
reminiscent of sibling wars

jars of kindness
marmalade bitter and timeless  

pickles of surprise
cakes made of rice

curiosity in spice caddies
an old healer of maladies

my fears left me to wander
my will now fed and stronger

I had no reason to despair
my pantry overflowing, I had so much to share
A look through my own emotional larder in times of a pandemic.
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