Dedicated to: Anirbandha PearlKim705 flawsome110
"Haunted whispers, a soft caress,
A silent symphony, the warmth of a breath.
The shrill cry that echoes on the walls,
The beauty of birth is enclosed within.
Moments fleeting and bright,
A butterfly's erratic flight;
Introspect beholds the retrospect,
as nuances bloom in an unknown palette.
Blinding white that falls on the prism,
Diverges, revealing the colours of life.
Like a tapestry unknown,
Threadbare and vulnerable, exposed.
The beauty lies, awaiting scrutiny,
The feathery, tangible feel of ephemeral whispers,
Riding through the waves in the sea,
Contemplating and filling each footprint,
Transient and fleeting, on the beach.
An elusive river like none other,
The flow of time is such,
Leaving you to contemplate,
The future that's yet to come.
With each new birth and a new beginning,
That awaits the world,
There's a dawn that lights up the horizon.
The past that navigated us to the present,
Leaving us to learn from reminiscence.
The words and whispers change with time,
Teaching us to adapt, accept, and keep alive,
The spirit to live and to love,
To have and to hold,
To savour and cherish,
Every moment that brings with it,
A new beginning.
Stop and breathe,
The petrichor that permeates the air,
Letting you take in the surroundings,
Cleansed with the torrent of rain,
Quenching the thirst,
Of a parched universe.
The world's the same, and yet it isn't,
The many whispers convey the change,
You welcome the new, shelve the old,
Share the love,
YOU ARE READING
Mrinalini♦
General FictionThe households in India have been run by women primarily, following the centuries old tradition. From taking care of the child's breakfast to ensuring that the mother in-law's morning cup of tea is served on time, it is always the woman of the house...
