"bewildering" poems
The future: Insecurities.
Like a black chasm,
(swallowing your absentees).
Uncertainties, promiscuity,
bewildering circumstances,
you try to find present serenity.
You never knew smoldering
could happen underwater,
until you see that later,
always under the
weather.
Lost for words — train of thoughts,
lost for sure, the battles fought.
these insecurities eating me,
(who would have known?):
because I never let,
it to be really, shown.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
There are some nights
When i look up at the sky and fall in love
Over and over again.
Gazing at the night sky
unfurl into deeper hues of blue
indicating the end of
yet another day.
Stars as if diamond flung up
into an inky facade.
The moon, shinning in its glory
As if the divine halo of the Almighty himself.
A celestial space so immense
where my mind can wander limitless.
I embrace the silence of the night and
leap into its angelic gloom.
They say dark is evil, an unruly nemesis
But now as I lie under this murky sky
I realize
Dark has a bewildering beauty.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
a national
dilemma
fears abound
losses loom darkly
i lose mine
if we are covered..
i versus we..
awakening
from this dream
a new lucid vision..
there is no i
nor a we..
a bewildering surprise
the linkage
our real constitution..
the real
patient...
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
Picnic
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My friends laugh elsewhere on the beach
while I sit here, alone, counting the waves,
writing and rewriting your name in the sand ...
Confession
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your image overwhelmed my vision.
As the long nights passed, I became obsessed with your visage.
Then came the moment when I quietly placed my lips to your picture ...
Rain
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why shiver alone in the rain, maiden?
Embrace the one in whose warming love your body and mind would be drenched!
There are no rains higher than the rains of Love,
after which the bright rainbows of separation will glow with the mysteries of hues.
My Body's Moods
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I long for the day when you'll be obsessed with me,
when, forgetting the world, you'll miss me with a passion
and stop complaining about my reticence!
Then I may forget all other transactions and liabilities
to realize my world in your arms,
letting my body's moods guide me.
In that moment beyond boundaries and limitations
as we defy the conventions of veil and turban,
let's try our luck and steal a taste of the forbidden fruit!
Moon
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
All of us passengers,
we share the same fate.
And yet I'm alone here on earth,
and she alone there in the sky!
Vanity
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
His world is so simple, so very different from mine.
So distinct—his dreams and desires.
He speaks rarely.
This morning he wrote: "I saw some lovely flowers and thought of you."
Ha! I know my aging face is no orchid ...
but how I wish I could believe whatever he says, however momentarily!
Keywords/Tags: Perveen Shakir, Urdu, translation, Pakistan, love, passion, picnic, beach, vision, confession, rain, rainbow, hues, forbidden fruit, body, *** orchid, mrburdu
What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch
What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer
~~~underwater~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles ...
Both worlds grow obscure.
Published by ByLine, Mandrake Poetry Review, Poetically Speaking, E Mobius Pi, Underground Poets, Little Brown Poetry, Little Brown Poetry, Triplopia, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, PW Review, Neovictorian/Cochlea, Muse Apprentice Guild, Mindful of Poetry, Poetry on Demand, Poet’s Haven, Famous Poets and Poems, and Bewildering Stories
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 11:29 PM UTC
the people whose job is to
understand the multiverse
can't figure this world out
rid·dle ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun: riddles
1. | a question or statement intentionally
phrased so as to require ingenuity
in ascertaining its answer or meaning,
typically presented as a game;
a person, event, or fact that is difficult
to understand or explain.
"the riddle of her death" [puz·zle
ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present:
puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle:
puzzled; gerund or present participle:
puzzling
1. cause (someone) to feel confused because
they cannot understand or make sense of something:
"one remark he made puzzled me"
synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,
bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;
faze, stump, beat, discombobulate
"her decision puzzled me"
perplexed, confused, bewildered,
bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,
nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;
flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,
discombobulated
"a puzzled look on her face"
baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic
"his explanation was rather puzzling"
antonyms: clear
think hard about something difficult
to understand or explain;
"she was still puzzling over this problem
when she reached the office"
| [ ] think hard about, mull over,
muse over, ponder, contemplate,
meditate on,
consider, deliberate on, chew over, wonder about
"she puzzled over the problem"
solve or understand something by thinking hard;
synonyms: work out, understand,
comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,
make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal: figure out
"she tried to puzzle out what he meant"
noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles
1. [ ], [ ] ( );
a game, toy, or problem designed
to test ingenuity or knowledge;
short for jigsaw puzzle (see jigsaw)
a person or thing that is difficult to understand
or explain; an enigma:
"the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox"
synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,
conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;
"the poem has always been a puzzle"
late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin:
synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,
unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,
quandary; informal: stumper
"an answer to the riddle"
verb/archaic
verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles;
past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;
gerund or present participle: riddling
1. speak in or pose riddles.
"he who knows not how to riddle"
solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone).
"riddle me this then"
Origin
Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion,
conjecture, riddle’; related
to Dutch raadsel,
German Rätsel, to read
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
a swimming
projectile,
I saw you,
dead.
All around you
were lettuces,
sea foam
of the earth,
carrots,
grapes,
but
of the ocean
truth,
of the unknown,
of the
unfathomable
shadow, the
depths
of the sea,
the abyss,
only you had survived,
a pitch-black, varnished
witness
to deepest night.
Only you, well-aimed
dark bullet
from the abyss,
mangled at one tip,
but constantly
reborn,
at anchor in the current,
winged fins
windmilling
in the swift
flight
of
the
marine
shadow,
a mourning arrow,
dart of the sea,
olive, oily fish.
I saw you dead,
a deceased king
of my own ocean,
green
assault, silver
submarine fir,
seed
of seaquakes,
now
only dead remains,
yet
in all the market
yours
was the only
purposeful form
amid
the bewildering rout
of nature;
amid the fragile greens
you were
a solitary ship,
armed
among the vegetables,
fin and prow black and oiled,
as if you were still
the vessel of the wind,
the one and only
pure
ocean
machine:
unflawed, navigating
the waters of death.
5.4k
There came an image in Life’s retinue
That had Love’s wings and bore his gonfalon:
Fair was the web, and nobly wrought thereon,
O soul-sequestered face, thy form and hue!
Bewildering sounds, such as Spring wakens to,
Shook in its folds; and through my heart its power
Sped trackless as the immemorable hour
When birth’s dark portal groaned and all was new.
But a veiled woman followed, and she caught
The banner round its staff, to furl and cling,—
Then plucked a feather from the bearer’s wing,
And held it to his lips that stirred it not,
And said to me, ‘Behold, there is no breath:
I and this Love are one, and I am Death.’
5.1k
these tempting and tumultuous times,
when the insect bite of attraction nibbles
your cheek, and first blood thickens with
intrigued,
the blood heated by, with a bewildering new sun's glow,
then bubbling boiling
over
with phantasmagorical fantasies,
and one endeavors to coax, to tease,
to preen, to adduce how best to ******
this persona, imagined or imaginary to be,
whispers a silent "no thankee''
and first bloom curls into a deathly brown doom,
you,
chastened by amorous hastening so quick evolving,
and the hither in come here, withers to a ghostly silencing,
one wonders, reminisces, and sadly recalls then forgets
the entreaties so eagerly received, how one wants to be
deceived,
for the once lay-buried-arousals now well recalled,
and quick to appear, faster to dismiss disappear,
and disaster cones and goes with light-speed velocity,
having fling,
now flung,
having crushed,
now crushing,
you caught laughing at your self,
still evolving long past the time
for youthful deceptions and silly indiscretions,
but not unhappily, for it was an acknowledgement
that good love poetry yet within resides, alas, alas,
it reciprocity seeds need replanting, and that notion
is quite pleasing...
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 9:00 AM UTC
In the early morning air
between the Londonderry hush of dreams
and the cry of Belfast on a weary morn
Where saddened eyes embody the twilight haze
of long past marches, the bewildering blaze
Of Beltane fires that scorch the hills
The world shudders to the battle cries
where brother to brother the war pitch fills
the saddened visions that over spills
That a Gaelic tongue can curse its own
To the bitter harvest of the Gael
That wipes away the blood dew
from these fields from which it grew
and damns itself in the pain and sorrow
That relives this war on every tomorrow.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 7:21 AM UTC
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
My memories deceive me, and my heart bleeds to thoughts of
you, poisoned from the curse that runs deep within my veins.
Do I halter and use the words that I can, to try with you,
another chance?
My memories deceive me, and my mind is headed to a paradox of
life that doesn't bring happiness but only a subtle feeling
of contentment. For in my memories you are with me in a
final, never ending dance.
My memories deceive me, as the bewildering cries from within
awaken the soul that has been bound by chains created from
the sins of my past life, and are made stronger by the sins
of which are my own.
My memories deceive me, as the rumors of your betrail fade
into the shadows but the calling from our hearts reach into
the light, violently, yet no sound have they shown.
My memories deceive me, trying to hold them back, all that
accomplishes is bringing you into my senses once again, but I
go forth to a different land with what could have and should
have been.
My memories deceive me, chased by an altered state of mind
where nothing has gone wrong, no death, no pain, just the
feeling of contentment once again.
My memories, they deceive me and everyone around me, for I do
not see faces, only souls that fade into surroundings. A
paralytic view is what they show, of what should have, could
have been you and me.
My memories deceive me, but could they instead be the truth
that I have been seeking as I try hard to sink them in
deeply...
My memories. My memories, immortal as they come, they open my
eyes, though they burn like facing the sun, in this time I
have begun, to realize my memories. They do not deceive, but
only conceive the past that I have forgotten and shields me
from...you.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
*Restlessness makes my nights sleepless
Overloaded thoughts make my lights stranded
My mirrored reflection affects my emotion
Finding the old me, now lost in the sea, never ending
Waves that never cease my ease, bewildering
Kisses pushes me to the dark,, hugs causes me to bark
Stars from far above filled this emptied love
Voices Rant, faceless haunt, memories taunt
Goodbyes are beginning, the ends are starting*
© Pax
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
You’re just being- my day’s delight:
Simply shy, serene and sweet -
This my world’s one treat,
beautiful and bright.
The way you walk,
shiver and shrug.
Your quiet voice,
turns cold to snug.
Soft eyes, smiling
with warm lips.
Dark hair dancing,
twixt finger tips.
It's your stare,
lost lingering.
Soul bare,
bewildering.
Heart bleeds
to know why.
It pleads,
and I cry.
Please
pull
it
?
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 8:04 PM UTC
The poet is a universe
In the universe
Having the universe in him
Vibrating the universe in his head
Kicking the ball in the mind field
In complex tapestry of words woven
To attain infinity in infinity.
Wonder not, the poet
In the universe knows
What others know not
By unravelling the universe
In complex poetic rhythms
From deep afflatus.
Living in the universe and
Carrying the universe on head
Are they equal?
I know the poet is a universe
Thinking the universe
Carrying the universe
In complex colors of night and day
Complicating the universe in issues
But resolving them in poetry
The poet is a universe
Growing tap root into the ocean soil
Shooting foliage to hell and heaven
Engaging the the universe in dialogue
To grow tall trees of wisdom and understanding
In the universe in which he is a universe.
The poet, a universe
Isolated in the universe
To think the universe in the plains,
Valleys and mountains of a universe
In the universe bewildering complexities
The poet is a universe!
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 6:31 AM UTC
Astonishing
Bewildering
Caring
Dissing
Educating
Fulfilling
Gravitating
Healing
Inspiring
Joking
Keeping
Loving
Motivating
Naming
Organising
Praising
Quizzing
Restoring
Smiling
Trusting
Uplifting
Varying
Willing
Xoxo-ing
Yelling
Zesting
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 3:24 AM UTC
Soft is the tone of your mellow heartbeat,
electric is the feeling when our lips meet.
manipulating are your illuminating eyes stripping me of all my control and will power.
Seductive you are, this time, this hour.
The silent ballet of your moans play through my ears like a first string quartet,
I can't fight it,.. the thoughts in my head,..
this is what resulted me in your bed.
You have toyed with me for the last time.
I'm letting it all out,
I'm trying to unwind.
Both bodies adrenaline beating in unison,
both bodies still in motion with the wants, the need of a ****
To feel close again,..
But after.. I'm A
L
O
N
E... AGAIN
The lust you portray is no greater than your desire,
The power I feel of your red lustful fire.
I know I feel you, I can feel your warmth.
I know your here, so please don't torment.
My small,
innocent,
heart.
You lay your body across mine,
both of us vulnerable,
skin to skin.
this is it..
****** me.
Your hands, I can feel them,
Your chest also heaving against mine,
back and forth we commit the lustful and desirable sin.
I've had my fulfillment,
my satisfaction.
I've been seduced by your bewildering attraction.
Now it's my turn to make you feel alive.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
Il pleure dans mon coeur (“It rains in my heart”)
by Paul Verlaine
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It rains in my heart
As it rains on the town;
Heavy languor and dark
Drenches my heart.
Oh, the sweet-sounding rain
Cleansing pavements and roofs!
For my listless heart's pain
The pure song of the rain!
Still it rains without reason
In my overcast heart.
Can it be there's no treason?
That this grief's without reason?
As my heart floods with pain,
Lacking hatred, or love,
I've no way to explain
Such bewildering pain!
Published by Better Than Starbucks
Paul-Marie Verlaine (1844-1896) was a French poet and a prominent figure in the Symbolist and Decadent poetry movements. Verlaine has been called "one of the most purely lyrical of French poets." Keywords/Tags: Verlaine, French, translation, rain, languor, heart, treason, reason, pain, hatred, love, Arthur Rimbaud
Ophélie (“Ophelia”), an Excerpt
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On pitiless black waves unsinking stars abide
... while pale Ophelia, a lethargic lily, drifts by ...
Here, tangled in her veils, she floats on the tide ...
Far-off, in the woods, we hear the strident bugle’s cry.
For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia,
This albescent phantom, has rocked here, to and fro.
For a thousand years, or more, in her gentle folly,
Ophelia has rocked here when the night breezes blow.
For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia,
Has passed, an albescent phantom, down this long black river.
For a thousand years, or more, in her sweet madness
Ophelia has made this river shiver.
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 2:13 AM UTC
.*in the end days?! you charge against the snowflakes... and make a ******* snowman! he... he! i still can't comprehend how these personalities made money from lifestyle choice... they were basically internet bums, internet "lazy people"... bums... become supporters... engrossed in the internet homeless people... bums... i ate a custard pie, and devised a poncy-scheme to become paid for an opinion without a dialectic.... homeless people, bums... seem like philosophers by comparison... and now the bewildering quest... of how / why the internet died.*
**** it, the gloves are off...
about time to punch this *****
silly-dead...
**** it... all the internet content
creators, that are women:
are giving off nervous voices...
shoe on head... whoever...
here's where said people...
start looking for, ahem....
"real" jobs... jobs plagued by
the study of psychology....
oh they're scared...
because whatever the internet
was...
from 2007 through to
2016... in the time of the zenith...
hello new t.v.,
hello internet banking...
hello internet online shopping...
what?!
you want edgy?!
come down to the forest,
or the shady back alleyway
with the new teens...
come come...
you wanted edgy...
such a shame though...
to think of your comments
becoming as redundant
as the plight of sending
off your C.V. application...
sorry....
what?
you have finally arrived
at what you wanted...
why are you looking at me for
with that dumb-"found"
look?!
do i look stupid?
or are you pretending
to not be?!
******* internet bums...
you know it was coming...
it was coming...
i never asked for money...
i'll never ask for money...
but you did...
you begged...
you dog begged...
you...
begged...
you're still going
to beg,
when the internet is reduced
to nothing more than
a 2nd t.v., internet banking,
and internet shopping...
and... that's about it;
you're joking, you think there's
more?!
ha ha... good luck.
p.s.
because, believe it or not,
look at what you gave me?
i didn't ask for money,
i didn't ask for time...
but what you gave me
is best expressed cryptically,
as both time, and money.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
278
A shady friend—for Torrid days—
Is easier to find—
Than one of higher temperature
For Frigid—hour of Mind—
The Vane a little to the East—
Scares Muslin souls—away—
If Broadcloth Hearts are firmer—
Than those of Organdy—
Who is to blame? The Weaver?
Ah, the bewildering thread!
The Tapestries of Paradise
So notelessly—are made!
2.8k
so what, they're slobs, but at least they're not cannibals... then again, maybe they are too, although i haven't seen it... then again i only write within an empirical disciplination... and i have seen these pecking cannibals... maybe it's an innate feature in all animals, then again these chickens were domesticated, there was no shortage of food, then again maybe it's some version of a religious tendency: translated directly into christianity... poetic cannibalism is not exactly my choice of events that follow a book written by kant; after seeing those chickens cannibalise that head of the sacrificed hen, and sipping the blood, while the head was still agitated into movement by the oozing out of electric currents... you know... i still managed to eat that chicken broth.
i don't understand this critique of pigs...
i have relatives living in the countryside...
and i was once upon a time engaged
in catching a chicken,
and upon the stump of wood
her head was chopped off...
why complain about pigs being "filthy"
when chickens behave like cannibals,
no, actually: chickens are cannibals,
the corpus was taken into the house,
while the remaining chickens sipped,
picked and nibbled the decapitated head
of a chicken to a non-existence...
bewildering, pigs are seen as filthy creatures...
finally, god is the counter-perfectionist
who sees some sort of imperfection
in his lie...
i don't mind a ***** animal...
but i've just seen chickens become cannibals
once one of their own gets its head
chopped off, and they congregate, peck
at the decapitated head and sip pecking
the running blood on the stump of oak...
huh?! pigs are bad...
yeah right... you haven't seen what chickens
do then one of their charles the 1sts gets
the chop.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
Programmers are the new age Necromancers
At a keyboard and screen, for aeons, they tap away
With the finesse and precession of tap dancers
They converse patiently with the cold and lifeless machine
With the love and care the rest of us reserve only for children
Filled with bewildering communiques is their lifelong dream
Their eyes dart back and forth in a room full of people
Hoping to avoid the gaze that leads to a conversation
In a church, at mass time, you’ll find them in the steeple
They are the toy makers of our current times
That provide your life with leisure and joy
To them is their code, as to us, our rhymes
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
sorry clings to a dark heart
take the wrong path, no restart
put it on the line, to have it all
my sorrow ushers in your pleasure
bewildering how you will never know
full circle for the things I've done to you
the dreams that will never fade to obscurity
we knew there was something wrong with me
wanting something that does exist any more
your pain forever heavy in my heart and my mind
every time I think I succeed, it bombards my mind
My absence has to be one of the best things you know
yet I know there is still a small fire inside
but inside it's just ember by this time
but surely the fire will never die
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
I love her like I loathe tomorrow
a broken smile
a sauntering denial
I love her like a confused mind
a spoken rhyme
a bewildering crime
I love her like I don't know how
and I want to show her
I'll tell her now
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
Stone slabs descended down,
forming a staircase straight to hell.
A sea of screaming miasma suffocated
either side of the winding venture.
The light of the world above no longer
registered as darkness swallowed this place.
It seemed that whether forward or back,
this road was infinite.
Finally, after endless time, the monument
of this suffering came into view.
The blackest Obsidian rose beyond
comprehension and without feature.
Voices wailed and tension bloomed
in ominous agony.
And as it called out, a liquid wave of
familiarity poured in and around me.
The door, once unmarked, split down the seam
as I came within the final stretch.
Understanding drowned my mind,
as I pressed my palm against its surface.
Instantly, with a deafening boom,
it swung open on ethereal hinges.
Walking through, in bewildering clarity,
what was one became two.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 8:06 PM UTC
The trees smile with their sprout of tender leaves and blooming flowers,
Eternal nature with its transient expression,
Hails spring with joy!
Bewildering shades with so many tinges.
The land of beauty and greatness
Colour of happiness and peace makes people alive to enjoy the spirit.
A celebration of colour
And
An experience of harmony and delight.
Gulal of red, green, yellow and countless colour also explains the colourful meaning of life,
A day filled with laughter and gaiety,
A day to smear our dreams
With a splash of vibrant colours
The festival of colour brings a spring of unbounded fun and frolic!!
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 2:32 PM UTC