In the quietest hours

in the quietest hours, i spill
ink brimming with insurmountable emotions
drawing words that are yet to be defined
for a love that can no limits, find.

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Every breath I take

some lines that spilled with the falling rains …


And every breath I take is to
whisper your name,think your thought
smile amongst tears in the most exquisite yearning.

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Let it rain

some lines that spilled with the falling rains …


I knocked on your door dressed in the freshest rain.
Open the door and light up the universe with your smile.
We will have our rainbow in this moment of time.

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Love is …

… trees picking their skirts
dancing to wind’s songs

… colours of blushing rivers
quivering in sun’s embrace

… waves rushing to kiss
parched lips of shores

… fragrance of the earth
making love to rains

All magic that happens
is but loves grace.


I was nominated by the wonderful Piyush to come up with a poem on what Love is to me and convey it in 10 sentences each having exactly 4 words.
Phew! For a subject where I could write every minute about, my work was definitely cut out ;)

Please take it upon yourself or nominate someone to take up this wonderful prompt :)

I am also required to share a favorite quote on love. However that is just not possible because I love every love quote :) Instead I will share one of favourite poems on Love at below link:

Alexander Pushkin – I loved you once

I had made an attempt earlier on my idea of Love, without limitations though. You can read it here.

I Want to Know What Love Is


And sometimes your absence is like that touch
which leaves me shivering in its memory;
the magic of which dissolves in my blood and will keep me alive.

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Let the fog not clear

don’t draw the pearly curtains to see outside the window
we can never dream what we have been.
tired, cataract eyes trying to thread a pin
by the light of a famished candle with only a spent wick.

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I take my daily journey under the dark night sky
darker then the blackest black, not a shining star in sight.
The moon and I lonely together, alone.
Lonlier then the wind howling in pain;
writhing, crying not a leaf to dance to its whistling.

Part of the wonderful Blogging University 201:Poetry

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