Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Spriha Kant Aug 2020
Unnecessary mental stresses are meant to be thrown away like dilapidated shoes.
  Aug 2020 Spriha Kant
Nidhi Jaiswal
This rose color makes me sting,
Its petals bite my soul like a knife,
Thorns pierced my heart,
My grin is lost in the dense forest,
That rose reigns in that dense forest.


Blood tears coming out of my eyes,
just like,
dew drop of the rose petals seen,
My heart is thundering like a cloud,
Tears like raining in dense forest.

These rose colors are like my sorrow color,
Red color is like the blood of my loved ones who died,
White color is like shroud of my loved ones who died.


Rose makes my eyes restless,
My heart soulless,
I do not want to see them,
But in my dense forest, roses are roses.
This poetry is based on Imagination
in which i am the part of such dense forest where only roses and roses,every roses are cause of my pain..its make me restless.
But after i'm part of such forest.
where only pain resides.
Thanks for reading
  Aug 2020 Spriha Kant
Jen
Eyes barely open
Sun breaks through
The blinds
It’s time to wake up
Mend your broken wings
Don't give up
You still have a purpose
To fulfill before it's your
Time to fly up
Up to aurora's heights 
Take this needle and thread
Sew them back
It’s time to mend
It’s time to heal
Your body
Your mind
Your soul
And take some time
To find your spirit
and become whole
Smile and don’t let go
Let it in and hold it close
Never let it fade away
It's time to have
Some faith
We are all
Human after all
Sometimes we fall
Only to fly again
Spriha Kant Aug 2020
They , the grass carps
eat away the algae of my brooding from the pond of my feelings.
Like painters , they paint the blank canvases of my life with unforgettable sweet and beautiful moments by their delicate and innocuous jacose paint brushes.

Tickling me with loads of laughter by their innocuous hilarious acts is their shadow.

Folding the tender age of the two little beauties into my palms for ever is my fantasy and living with their childhood memories shall be my ice cubes on my burning wounds.
You can also follow me on

https://www.instagram.com/rare_kinder_girl/
Once upon a time a dream  was etched in gold
airbrushed in passion both strong and warm
then one day you died and left me to grow old
without your living light death took me by storm
Down to the bottom of the sea I went, slowly
like a sinking rock that never met cuvette
floating in amniotic fluid in my own  debris
I found that I had lost the diamond of my get;  
"Take  me in"  I asked the sea with whimper plea
but in its spewing foam I  sank more and more
sinking with despair I fell into the deep blue sea,  
recalling just how much I loved you, to the core.  

August 10, 2020
  Aug 2020 Spriha Kant
Whit Howland
Time it seems has stood still
for us to admire

the purple budding flowers
in spring

the red
and yellow leaves of Fall

or the moss-covered headstones
in the graveyard

behind a quaint clapboard
chapel

we are not at a crossroads
there are no pivotal decisions to be made

we are free
to keep spinning the wire rack

flaring the nostrils
smelling sponging

and sometimes chewing
the scenery

getting lost in the wash of Americana
and nostalgia

Whit Howland © 2020
A word painting. An original.
Next page