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Zumi

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*Of Anagapesis and Laconic Love* Those poems shine in dern- The darkness of my own fears, A sciamachy rides me, as I sit To write another laconic poem, With my black ink of grief, on The pages of a withered petal Of red rose which was our love. Laconic love. Anagapesis. Period. //Caption *Of Anagapesis and Laconic Love* Why do I feel like a poem incomplete, left to rust, by the agents of time and love and oblivion? Why do I feel like a poem,

*Of Anagapesis and Laconic Love* Those poems shine in dern- The darkness of my own fears, A sciamachy rides me, as I sit To write another laconic poem, With my black ink of grief, on The pages of a withered petal Of red rose which was our love. Laconic love. Anagapesis. Period. //Caption *Of Anagapesis and Laconic Love* Why do I feel like a poem incomplete, left to rust, by the agents of time and love and oblivion? Why do I feel like a poem,

Zumi

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#Day45 They say, You become What you Write, But what If I write What I Actually am? //Caption // Laconic // They say, You become What you Write, But what If I write

#Day45 They say, You become What you Write, But what If I write What I Actually am? //Caption // Laconic // They say, You become What you Write, But what If I write

Zumi

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#Day43 I'm a lot of things. I don't think that, I'm nothing. I believe everything is possible. But you will think that, I'm impossible. I'm a bearer of hope- a flickering glow, But you will think that, I'm just another girl residing in darkness. I'm lost, actually a wanderlust, But you will think that, I'm crying over my loss. I'm a poem, who writes a part of her in every poem she writes, But you will think that, I'm just another girl putting down the garbage of my sorrows in those sacred rivers. I'm unsung music, But you will think that, I'm a bitter cacophony. I'm a perennially scintillating star, But you'll think that, Soon, I will die like a shooting star. I'm a blooming flower with the petals of a rose, But you'll think that I'm one of those blistering thorns in a beautiful rose. I'm love, But you'll think that, I'm the synonym of hate. (Now read it backward.) The day 43 poem for #100poemsfor100days challenge. #rzreversepoem #reversopoem #selflove #yqbaba #poetry #poetry_by_z ... Rest Zone ... 43/100

#Day43 I'm a lot of things. I don't think that, I'm nothing. I believe everything is possible. But you will think that, I'm impossible. I'm a bearer of hope- a flickering glow, But you will think that, I'm just another girl residing in darkness. I'm lost, actually a wanderlust, But you will think that, I'm crying over my loss. I'm a poem, who writes a part of her in every poem she writes, But you will think that, I'm just another girl putting down the garbage of my sorrows in those sacred rivers. I'm unsung music, But you will think that, I'm a bitter cacophony. I'm a perennially scintillating star, But you'll think that, Soon, I will die like a shooting star. I'm a blooming flower with the petals of a rose, But you'll think that I'm one of those blistering thorns in a beautiful rose. I'm love, But you'll think that, I'm the synonym of hate. (Now read it backward.) The day 43 poem for #100poemsfor100days challenge. #rzreversepoem #reversopoem #selflove #yqbaba #poetry #poetry_by_z ... Rest Zone ... 43/100

Zumi

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*Grief- A Glow of Strength* It gives strength to Write poems again, It gives strength to Chant a wish again, It gives strength to Sway like a dandelion, It gives strength to Decipher those mounds of mundane emotions, It gives strength to Find hues from a black sky, It gives strength to Write with an ink, dry. It gives strength to Fight the sciamachy, It gives strength to Love everything, It gives strength to Fly like a butterfly, It gives strength to Live your life again. It gives strength to Die gracefully like A shooting star. //Caption *Grief- A Glow of Strength* Have you heard about black magic, Doing good things to people, for people? Have you heard about an occult called grief? The one which paints life black, so that it can stand among a group of plain white lives? The black raven grief,

*Grief- A Glow of Strength* It gives strength to Write poems again, It gives strength to Chant a wish again, It gives strength to Sway like a dandelion, It gives strength to Decipher those mounds of mundane emotions, It gives strength to Find hues from a black sky, It gives strength to Write with an ink, dry. It gives strength to Fight the sciamachy, It gives strength to Love everything, It gives strength to Fly like a butterfly, It gives strength to Live your life again. It gives strength to Die gracefully like A shooting star. //Caption *Grief- A Glow of Strength* Have you heard about black magic, Doing good things to people, for people? Have you heard about an occult called grief? The one which paints life black, so that it can stand among a group of plain white lives? The black raven grief,

Zumi

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#Day42 I couldn't sleep tonight, Because I wasn't able to, I was in a perpetual presence of perennial dreams, Dreams which aren't nightmares anymore. I couldn't sleep tonight, Because I wasn't able to, I was in a world full of Raindrops and rainbows, A warm world with moist lands, A colored world with the ambience of black. I was happy I couldn't sleep tonight, Because for once in my life, I loved a night more than the stars, The darkness engulfed me, To unravel its natural brightness, The one which it obscures behind its darkness. I was happy I couldn't sleep tonight, Because while tracing out those beautiful constellations, I realized they are the embedded remnants, Of the collosal night, hiding behind a shade of darkness. I was happy at last, As I got the message, I was happy to think, That the darkness in my life Is nothing but a shade, To prevent me to see the brightness behind it. I was happy at last, And then, darkness engulfed me...again. #Day42 I couldn't sleep tonight, Because I wasn't able to, I was in a perpetual presence of perennial dreams, Dreams which aren't nightmares anymore.

#Day42 I couldn't sleep tonight, Because I wasn't able to, I was in a perpetual presence of perennial dreams, Dreams which aren't nightmares anymore. I couldn't sleep tonight, Because I wasn't able to, I was in a world full of Raindrops and rainbows, A warm world with moist lands, A colored world with the ambience of black. I was happy I couldn't sleep tonight, Because for once in my life, I loved a night more than the stars, The darkness engulfed me, To unravel its natural brightness, The one which it obscures behind its darkness. I was happy I couldn't sleep tonight, Because while tracing out those beautiful constellations, I realized they are the embedded remnants, Of the collosal night, hiding behind a shade of darkness. I was happy at last, As I got the message, I was happy to think, That the darkness in my life Is nothing but a shade, To prevent me to see the brightness behind it. I was happy at last, And then, darkness engulfed me...again. #Day42 I couldn't sleep tonight, Because I wasn't able to, I was in a perpetual presence of perennial dreams, Dreams which aren't nightmares anymore.

Zumi

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*Cicatrize* My scars would heal me one day, My soul would rest in peace due to the scars, In the arms of death. //Caption *Cicatrize* The onomatopoeia of rain Triggers memories of a dark story- Mellifluous, melodious, yet misty black. I sit on the bench of the park to relieve them all. The mayhem of myriads blossoms to die soon,

*Cicatrize* My scars would heal me one day, My soul would rest in peace due to the scars, In the arms of death. //Caption *Cicatrize* The onomatopoeia of rain Triggers memories of a dark story- Mellifluous, melodious, yet misty black. I sit on the bench of the park to relieve them all. The mayhem of myriads blossoms to die soon,

Zumi

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*Of Anemoia and Nostalgia* The designs of the Mandala And the colors of the painting, 'Starry Night' by Vincent van Gogh Intermingle in front of my eyes, To create a new flavor, A new symphony of epiphanies. How I wish that the Indian and the Foreign culture intermix together To fulfill my dreams- often called fantasies. How I feel the nostalgia for the time I have never been- Anemoia. //Caption *Of Anemoia and Nostalgia* The designs of the Mandala And the colors of the painting, 'Starry Night' by Vincent van Gogh Intermingle in front of my eyes, To create a new flavor, A new symphony of epiphanies.

*Of Anemoia and Nostalgia* The designs of the Mandala And the colors of the painting, 'Starry Night' by Vincent van Gogh Intermingle in front of my eyes, To create a new flavor, A new symphony of epiphanies. How I wish that the Indian and the Foreign culture intermix together To fulfill my dreams- often called fantasies. How I feel the nostalgia for the time I have never been- Anemoia. //Caption *Of Anemoia and Nostalgia* The designs of the Mandala And the colors of the painting, 'Starry Night' by Vincent van Gogh Intermingle in front of my eyes, To create a new flavor, A new symphony of epiphanies.

Zumi

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*The wind speaks of hope in voice unknown* Somewhere on a seashore, Where frozen stars scintillate And undulating waves produce A soulful symphony, Wind creates an onomatopoeia, Producing soulful yet forlorn eolian. The wind speaks of hope in an unknown voice, Preaching the solemn sea waves that everything will be alright. Waves speak in compressions and rarefactions, With the wind's invisible exterior, They obtain a glow of hope out of the colorless wind. //Caption *The wind speaks of hope in voice unknown* Somewhere on a seashore, Where frozen stars scintillate And undulating waves produce A soulful symphony, Wind creates an onomatopoeia, Producing soulful yet forlorn eolian.

*The wind speaks of hope in voice unknown* Somewhere on a seashore, Where frozen stars scintillate And undulating waves produce A soulful symphony, Wind creates an onomatopoeia, Producing soulful yet forlorn eolian. The wind speaks of hope in an unknown voice, Preaching the solemn sea waves that everything will be alright. Waves speak in compressions and rarefactions, With the wind's invisible exterior, They obtain a glow of hope out of the colorless wind. //Caption *The wind speaks of hope in voice unknown* Somewhere on a seashore, Where frozen stars scintillate And undulating waves produce A soulful symphony, Wind creates an onomatopoeia, Producing soulful yet forlorn eolian.

Zumi

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// A Sip of Poetry // At times like this, When the tears of the sky won't cease, I take a deep breath, gaze outside my window, And take a sip of poetry out of the cup of my pen. //Caption // A Sip of Poetry // At times like this, When the tears of the sky won't cease, I take a deep breath, gaze outside my window, And take a sip of poetry out of the cup of my pen. At times like this,

// A Sip of Poetry // At times like this, When the tears of the sky won't cease, I take a deep breath, gaze outside my window, And take a sip of poetry out of the cup of my pen. //Caption // A Sip of Poetry // At times like this, When the tears of the sky won't cease, I take a deep breath, gaze outside my window, And take a sip of poetry out of the cup of my pen. At times like this,

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// Our Love- A Withered Rose // There was a red, red rose, blooming, signifying love, On top of my table, besides my journal, where I normally write, It reminds of those unusual and unnatural downpours, And those small, sailing paper boats, Once, I loved to refresh those mesmerizing memories, For my past, with you, was like a red blooming rose. //Caption // Our Love- A Withered Rose // There was a red, red rose, blooming, growing signifying our once blooming love, On top of my table, besides my journal, where my thoughts collide, where I normally write, It reminds of those unusual, non-seasonal, and unnatural downpours, And those small puddles, which become an ocean for the small sailing paper boats, Once, I loved to refresh those mesmerizing, melodious, bizarre memories, For my past, with you, was happy, blissful, growing like a red bloom

// Our Love- A Withered Rose // There was a red, red rose, blooming, signifying love, On top of my table, besides my journal, where I normally write, It reminds of those unusual and unnatural downpours, And those small, sailing paper boats, Once, I loved to refresh those mesmerizing memories, For my past, with you, was like a red blooming rose. //Caption // Our Love- A Withered Rose // There was a red, red rose, blooming, growing signifying our once blooming love, On top of my table, besides my journal, where my thoughts collide, where I normally write, It reminds of those unusual, non-seasonal, and unnatural downpours, And those small puddles, which become an ocean for the small sailing paper boats, Once, I loved to refresh those mesmerizing, melodious, bizarre memories, For my past, with you, was happy, blissful, growing like a red bloom