She could grow wildflowers on her skin, And enrich them with her love. -pramegha Hey guys! How are you all doing?Do drop in a hello in the comments😊 Let's meet at: instagram twitter
Sometimes I wish to Cradle you Like a mother. -pramegha Hey! Love to all. Drop in a word in the comments. Connect at: pramegha at insta pramegha also at twitter
The ark is waiting for you with the mighty tides of poetry. What do you wait for?
Papers and Canvas boards are not only where you find poetry and art.
Who decides your moments of melancholy and moments of delight?
The wind ran excitedly, Like an anxious young woman, Eager to share the secrets Which she heard the bushes whisper. Eager to share the tales Which she heard the mountains narrate. With the grand old trees Always pleasing, And sometimes annoying them With her chirpy chatters and endless musings. Love, ~Pramegha
Days went by, grew up They turned into months My quill remain alone With no verse spelled out No poem, no prose The blank pages horrified There was an uneasiness A lot was felt, a lot was felt But nothing put in words I yearned for the calmness That spreads through creation. But wisdom talked… Continue reading Waiting for the Wave
I look again now At those strings lying jumbled which were held before In relations. I thought I was precise In holding them out to you Perhaps not. Who says money isn't magnetic I saw you pulled myself Towards hands filled, hearts empty I saw you hugging bodies Decorated with gems, platinum My heart, not… Continue reading Practical Idiots
Here is an extract from the poem, ' What are big girls made of' by Marge Piercy. "How superior we are now: see the modern woman thin as a blade of scissors. She runs on a treadmill every morning, fits herself into machines of weights and pulleys to heave and grunt, an image in her… Continue reading Woman Of Pain
"Childhood It seems Was another dream After a weary day The one in which you smile, And wake up With but few recollections Few sweet recollections Childhood It seems Has dissolved Just like some essence In the old books In the crooked drawings Which smell like it And which I can But see and laugh… Continue reading Childhood and Nostalgia