The answer is blowing in the wind:

Your promise to
paint the miserable night phase with a
jovial light phase in your
stump speech took all of us on a flight
and then we all in delight
cast our votes for you
We all are now fumbling in a squint and you
claim publicly that you shined our lives with lights.
We are all now sweating
Our mouths – now barren lands are
exhausted by the
constant begs for water.
Then your beseeching voice again reached out
to all of us for casting our votes for you
on the pretext of bringing back the oasis into our deserted lives.

How many times will we all get a passionless scorching sun in
return for our hope of getting our scintillating sun?
The answer is blowing in the wind.

©Spriha Kant

This heart, if like a flower provides fragrance to others
Then it also tramples the love for those and memories of those who ***** it with their thorns
As this heart isn't made of flowers.

©Spriha Kant

Withering by the prolonged waiting for someone is strangulation of euphoric flavor.

© Spriha Kant

On the muted music of the zephyr, the viridescent folks' dance and the fluffs veiled in white, sallow, and orange tinges glide in the mid-air. In this pristine swathe shield by a mysterious guard against intruders, there's no gravity to land from jovial vibrations.

© Spriha Kant

When fear flutters me I close my heart's shutter for preventing its entry inside me.

© SPRIHA KANT

Self-love is a zone prohibiting the entrances of painful solitude state and inferiority complex.

© Spriha Kant

I have always been reluctant for stepping towards the path of expertise because the kid inside my heart laughs out innocuously on my foibles which I prefer over demeaning.

©  SPRIHA KANT

Sometimes one doesn't emit any shade or tone.We actually see the reflection radiated by the prevailing situation upon one's own aura.

© Spriha Kant

A woman remains an ocean of love till her pulchritude is not ****** by a Lothario.

@ SPRIHA KANT

I don't wanna touch my lips anywhere on a man's skin.I am rather interested in occupying a neat space in a man's brain.
    
  @ SPRIHA KANT

Stress on the summit is sometimes a rock heavy enough to not roll downward even by the application of periodic high-intensity forces.

           © SPRIHA KANT

I wish to get out of the tutelary purlieu because I fear of turning into fragments on its spontaneous explosion by time factor.

Sometimes , I am unable to resist an unknown force which pushes me to go beyond my limits and makes me a deaf for listening to all the **** that others say and think about me.

Circumstances crushed hopes and new hopes rose from the ashes of burnt desires.

The infinite flambeaux guards inside me daily haunt the subtle led through which the darknesses enter inside me and bully me.

When it comes to break the shackles fastening my feelings , then my sangfroid soul transmogrifies into a rambunctious wild creature.

In a wordy battle with trivial dogmatic mentalities , I win by sandwiching my perspectives between my upper lip tubercle and lower lip tubercle.

Imbibing books is far more easier than imbibing humans.

To burn like an ember is of no
worth till one doesn't glow like an
ember.

My ineffable feelings are those voids inside me that can only be filled with my designed cluster of words.

I am not stubborn. Rather , I am
  nothing beyond a soul who can't
  dare to rebel against her own inner    
  voice.

When clusters of anxieties roam inside me i try to read the blank last page of my life.

For concealing myself from the wicked eyes of melancholy , I tightly hug reverie and melt into its fragrance on intertwining with it as a twinkling soul.

Social media's intent was to spread authentic information among people but a few motivated by their selfish motives used it to generate those flocks which easily form conjectures just on the basis of baseless accusations disseminated from unknown sources and keep on barking with profanities on others.

Some people erase my warm feelings for themselves by their blindness and deafness for my feelings and tell others in my absence that Spriha has changed.

Love isn't adamantine.

Genuine polite and humble men are often misunderstood and tagged as flirty.May be because they are rarest of all the species , I guess.

Love taught me that it's available as printed versions in the form of stories , poetries and novels fascinating its readers with its utopian world.

My words can cheat on you all without stammering and trembling even a bit but my eyes are the clean transparent rivers from which my truth reflects , provided that you all should know to read them.

Sadly , most of the kibitzers are the houseflies sticking randomly to anyone unlike a few who genuinely drown in the worries of others.

Hushing my voice isn't needed as I never inflict pain on my throat where my voice's value is nugatory.

Loving , praising and embracing oneself isn't hubris and selfish ,
rather , the best technique for keeping all those at bay who expect from others to stay under their feet.

The desire to die as a mysterious girl seems to be a madness though but ain't for a girl like me !

I am not afraid of the dark.
May be because there might be a supernatural power sealing me by its protection.

Hatred is one of the side effects of jealousy.

Remaining clinged to proving my own point to be right to others is a pointless mental exercise for me.

Avarice consumes soul.
Jealousy burns heart.
So why humans cling to these two ?

The ability to never fail in speaking in the flow of sugary syrup is an undeniable form of art for me and the artists possessing this art are the ones from whom I am scared the most !

Either vent out whatever is boiling inside you and extinguish that fire that is burning your soul and heart or keep quiet with deliveries of fake smiles and live your whole life as a pyre.
Choose wisely !

I daily call you out my inner voice.
I get to listen to my echoes but no replies from you.

I daily search you my inner voice.
You are nowhere.

I can't feel your presence in me.

Do you still perdure in me ?

Where are you ?
Are you hidden behind the ebony trees in the forbidden forest ?
Has fire burned you to ashes ?

Your unread words on the paper have been washed away by the spilled water.
The regret of not reading you is burning inside me.

Yes , I always kicked you out of my soul.
But this was never my instinct.
I did this under the stimulus of others.

You are my soul.
Without you , my life is a deserted valley.

Wherever you are , please come back to me.
I promise you that I will always listen to you and obey your orders.

For me , a teacher is only the one who can understand my weaknesses and help and support me ( willingly ) in overcoming them and can identity my strengths and help me in practically implementing them.It is not only about academics and marks gaining.It is about each and every aspect , whether its about my behaviour , moral values , facing the world or any other thing.Being a diplomatic girl , age , gender and even type of living organism doesn't matter for me for my teacher.
It can be a dog for learning from its loyalty for its master or a baby falling down again and again and standing up by himself or herself till he / she doesn't walks properly , learning from its perseverance ( a great quality ) is also a  reliable teacher for me.
For me , a teacher can't be defined as a one who comes , covers the topics of my syllabus in my classroom for about an hour and goes back in another classroom to do the same and does it in loops till the completion of syllabus.He / she isn't my teacher but a PROFESSIONAL ERUDITE officially entitled as " TEACHER ".I have formal relations with them.
A teacher's definition in my dictionary is ,
" ANYONE OR ANYTHING WHO CAN TEACH ME TO EMBRACE LIGHT RATHER THAN ADVISING ME FOR NOT GOING IN THE DARK. "

I AM NOT AN EASY STUDENT TO HANDLE...!!

No regret , no descent of gloomy drop from eyes and no pain in heart for falling for a man dressed in courage.

No shivering in hands for emptying all those love poetries into trash which unknowingly embraced a spineless in the ****.

Flowers of love and trust , though , trampled but I am still a flower who is yet to be wilted !

When my soul gets bubbled inside gloominess , there's only one potent voice that blasts the bubble ; my inner voice who calls me out , ' Spriha , don't listen to anyone except me. '

Ineffable frustrations are like constipations.
So excrete all of them out into the bowls of words.
All the toxic wastes will then be flushed out from the mind leaving it fully filtered and a mind without unnecessary pressure.

Unnecessary mental stresses are meant to be thrown away like dilapidated shoes.

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.

I am a dust laden untuned guitar in a corner.
Come toward me and wipe away all my loneliness and tune the untuned strings in my life with your warm hands.
Chat with me the way you sing melodiously along with your guitar's melodious tunes.

Beat my fears the way you beat your drums.
Read , understand , remember and love me like your books.
Listen to the noises , voices , whispers and sounds in my silences.
Give me an eternal space in your poetries.
Spent such moments with me that gets carved beautifully on the walls of my memories.
Get lost in my love the way you are into the melodies of your violen and piano while playing them.
Love me above the boundaries of ether.
Embrace me tightly in the arms of your soul and coalesce me within your soul.
And take me away in the ethereal cosmos with you.

A person with physical beauty lacking
insight is like a seashell without pearl.

During a travel in Shangri La , the floating love in sunrays and choirs of birds opened my eyes.
And I found myself lying on mat on terrace with a handsome smiling man reflecting in sun.

While rolling mat , an invisible breezy naughty kid played with my messy hair and tickled and whistled in my ears.
Seeing this , the aunt flowers smiled and swayed in euphoria.
Closing the kid behind my terrace's door just before my way to downstairs, I sighed in relief.
And the kid went very far and higher and higher...

Capturing this moment , I poured it down into my diary.

Sometimes blurred hopes lie behind
scintillating eyes.