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 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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

© Spriha Kant

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.

What if the character of Snow White was as black as ebony ?

What if the heart of Snow White was as cold as snow ?

What if the nature of Snow White was red in tooth and claw ?

With her hair as black as ebony , lips as red as rose and skin as white as snow , would Snow White still be then called as
beautiful as the light of the day and fairest of all ?

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 !

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

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

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

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 !

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.

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

Whirling in your charm
I crave for owning tiara
ornamented with your love.

No matter what you are ,
but a king throning on my heart.

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

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.

Sometimes blurred hopes lie behind
scintillating eyes.

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

© Spriha Kant

Shedding tears and laughing in her memories is a movie watched on loop by me.

Story of granny about the deceased shining as a star is the force driving me into asking all stars the reason for her deviation from the path of her promise of never leaving me alone.

Silences are her replies if she really exists in any of the stars.
Silhouttes of dark circles under my eyes is the waiting for her reply.

Her betrayal is a fire and I'm its victim.

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

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

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

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

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

© SPRIHA KANT

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.

As I stepped into the sea waves ,
I got drifted into our friendship and no longer remembered about going back to the sea shore.

The moment you held my hand in your hand amidst the sea my fear of sinking under it wiped out like that of sand houses on the sea shore under the violent waves and I bathed in your pearly love , my seashell.

Swim with me till those stream lines where there's no trace of the sea shore and I will submerge and breath in them with you as a mermaid till eternity.

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.

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

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

@ SPRIHA KANT

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

Imbibing books is far more easier than imbibing humans.

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. '

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

Blue coloured eyes she has ,
which takes me away from this
colourful world into the depth of the blue sea ,
indicating the depth of her love and affection towards me.

Talkative eyes she has ,
which takes me away from this noisy world into the depth of the conversation ,
indicating the depth of her care and thinking towards me.

Shining eyes she has ,
which takes me away from this glamour world into the depth of the shining stars in the sky ,
indicating the depth of her hope and expectations towards me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have no desire for touching any apex but a longing for occupying large spaces in many hearts.

Hatred is one of the side effects of jealousy.

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

Love isn't adamantine.

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