By:- Romance
I admit,
I was afraid to love.
Not just love,
but to love her.
For she was a stunning mystery.
She carried things
deep inside her
that no one
has yet to understand,
and I,
I was afraid to fail
like the others.
She was the ocean
and I was just a boy
who loved the waves
but was completely
terrified
to swim.
Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.
I bought her the Bangles of Bombay,
Sleekly woven, delicately intertwined, and knitted soulfully,
Onto the hardened glass,
She gifted me her smile,
Celestially crafted, hypnotically bizarre and
yes, knitted skillfully,
Onto her hardened heart!
previously published in pwnbhtt
#pwnbhtt
By :- Roman
Awareness is beyond concentration
Love is a path to create
Dimensions that bridge
Beyond,
The traffics of mind.
Some pieces are puzzles
Some stones are disturbances
But,
Love is the path without greed
To the doors of heaven
Where rivers of never-ending
Sounds of the Creator exist !!!
The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.
The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.
The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.
The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.
By:- Kim blades, writer
Under the trees fallen leaves
blowing through the grass
dance to please the wind,
while the gold stillness
of the afternoon sun
warms the fields
with the scent of hay.
Under the trees
meandering streamlets flow
water cold and clear
over flat smooth stones
mottled grey as a pigeon’s breast
soft water baths
for the wood nymphs.
Under the trees
all nature seems at work
living freely and cohesively
languid Summer, colourful Autumn
brittle Winter, honeyed Spring
lulled by birdsong sweetly sung
all year long.
Under the trees
sit young girls dreaming
of true love’s pure flame
burning noble and bright
fuelled by our earthly origins
it reads and translates
the language of the heart –
under the trees.
The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.
