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Smruti Ranjan Mohanty

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White SOMETHING I LOOK AT-176 BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY THE COUNTDOWN-2 A caged bird I am Do not remember How and when I fell in love with the cage How it became my lifeline My heart and mind. How I surrendered everything I loved and relished My freedom, love and passion For a handful of the sky over And a little earth to stand on A caged bird I am Forgotten long since How to fly in the open sky. Hope to muster enough strength To ward off the initial onslaught Gather me, my tired wings and mind To venture into the forgotten domain The unapproachable splendour of the empyrean Once a winged bird Do not remember When I last flew into the blue heaven. Hope! I will find my wings and urge, love and motivation to be on cloud nine once again Smruti Ranjan Mohanty© India 2.11.2022 All Copyrights Reserved https://smrutiweb.wordpress.com/2022/11/03/something-i-look-at-176/ ©Smruti Ranjan Mohanty #GoodMorning SOMETHING I LOOK AT-176 BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY THE COUNTDOWN-2 A caged bird I am Do not remember How and when

White SOMETHING I LOOK AT-176 BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY THE COUNTDOWN-2 A caged bird I am Do not remember How and when I fell in love with the cage How it became my lifeline My heart and mind. How I surrendered everything I loved and relished My freedom, love and passion For a handful of the sky over And a little earth to stand on A caged bird I am Forgotten long since How to fly in the open sky. Hope to muster enough strength To ward off the initial onslaught Gather me, my tired wings and mind To venture into the forgotten domain The unapproachable splendour of the empyrean Once a winged bird Do not remember When I last flew into the blue heaven. Hope! I will find my wings and urge, love and motivation to be on cloud nine once again Smruti Ranjan Mohanty© India 2.11.2022 All Copyrights Reserved https://smrutiweb.wordpress.com/2022/11/03/something-i-look-at-176/ ©Smruti Ranjan Mohanty #GoodMorning SOMETHING I LOOK AT-176 BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY THE COUNTDOWN-2 A caged bird I am Do not remember How and when

Sai Angel Shaayari

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White NOBODY APOLOGIZED FOR HOW THEY TREATED ME , THEY JUST BLAMED ME FOR HOW I REACTED. ©Sai Angel Shaayari NOBODY APOLOGIZED FOR HOW THEY TREATED ME , THEY JUST BLAMED ME FOR HOW I REACTED.

White NOBODY APOLOGIZED FOR HOW THEY TREATED ME , THEY JUST BLAMED ME FOR HOW I REACTED. ©Sai Angel Shaayari NOBODY APOLOGIZED FOR HOW THEY TREATED ME , THEY JUST BLAMED ME FOR HOW I REACTED.

Smruti Ranjan Mohanty

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White SOMETHING I LOOK AT-273 BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY Hope You read my poems If you don't read, who will? Who else will understand My emotions and feelings? Who else will fathom The depth and intensity of my love The way you can? Hope You read my poems If you do not Who will read my poems? Why shall I write For whom shall I write? Hope You reciprocate my emotion If not you who else will read me Read my pulse and perceptions On whose heart my poem will land From whom I will get the feedback Who will be my poetry My perennial source of joy and inspiration Hope To see you on my pages In your absence They look so dull and lifeless Like a flower without colour and fragrance Grace my pages They are dying to meet you once again Touch me, touch my lines Your touch of class Will let them come out of the grave. Smruti Ranjan Mohanty ©Smruti Ranjan Mohanty #love_shayari SOMETHING I LOOK AT-273 BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY Hope You read my poems If you don't read, who will? Who else will understan

White SOMETHING I LOOK AT-273 BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY Hope You read my poems If you don't read, who will? Who else will understand My emotions and feelings? Who else will fathom The depth and intensity of my love The way you can? Hope You read my poems If you do not Who will read my poems? Why shall I write For whom shall I write? Hope You reciprocate my emotion If not you who else will read me Read my pulse and perceptions On whose heart my poem will land From whom I will get the feedback Who will be my poetry My perennial source of joy and inspiration Hope To see you on my pages In your absence They look so dull and lifeless Like a flower without colour and fragrance Grace my pages They are dying to meet you once again Touch me, touch my lines Your touch of class Will let them come out of the grave. Smruti Ranjan Mohanty ©Smruti Ranjan Mohanty #love_shayari SOMETHING I LOOK AT-273 BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY Hope You read my poems If you don't read, who will? Who else will understan

Krishnan

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White Grandma Stories I still love to hear those stories narrated by my grandmother. From the starting punch line of "Once upon a time...." to the exciting finishing statement, and finally, after that, they lived happily." I used to get engrossed in every nuance of her narration. I used to persuade her to narrate the Cinderella-type story many times. The way she used to begin was perfect, drawing me into her story. "Once upon a time, there used to be a pretty girl who often rested her heart, mind, and soul every evening on the steps of the porch of her house after doing all household chores dumped on her by her arrogant stepmother and sisters. She knew no prince would come out of nowhere and hold her hand before taking her away. It happens only in dreams. Still, she waits for someone who wouldn't come. She knows that she is bound to continue as a puppet here. But what if, one day, her waiting pays off?" Then my grandmother sighed deeply and expressed her wish as she looked at me: "You know, Krishna, I hope that, one day, the prince from her dream will arrive and rescue her from this hell. But none of us can predict the future." I then raised my head from her lap and looking at her eyes, I put forward my curiosity, "Will the prince arrive, Grandma?" "Even the gods cannot resist the glowing beauty that radiates from her, along with her pure heart—let alone a prince! Let's see." She remarked before continuing with her story! ©Krishnan #Grandma #grandmother #storytelling #Childhood #childhood_memories

White Grandma Stories I still love to hear those stories narrated by my grandmother. From the starting punch line of "Once upon a time...." to the exciting finishing statement, and finally, after that, they lived happily." I used to get engrossed in every nuance of her narration. I used to persuade her to narrate the Cinderella-type story many times. The way she used to begin was perfect, drawing me into her story. "Once upon a time, there used to be a pretty girl who often rested her heart, mind, and soul every evening on the steps of the porch of her house after doing all household chores dumped on her by her arrogant stepmother and sisters. She knew no prince would come out of nowhere and hold her hand before taking her away. It happens only in dreams. Still, she waits for someone who wouldn't come. She knows that she is bound to continue as a puppet here. But what if, one day, her waiting pays off?" Then my grandmother sighed deeply and expressed her wish as she looked at me: "You know, Krishna, I hope that, one day, the prince from her dream will arrive and rescue her from this hell. But none of us can predict the future." I then raised my head from her lap and looking at her eyes, I put forward my curiosity, "Will the prince arrive, Grandma?" "Even the gods cannot resist the glowing beauty that radiates from her, along with her pure heart—let alone a prince! Let's see." She remarked before continuing with her story! ©Krishnan #Grandma #grandmother #storytelling #Childhood #childhood_memories