Bhava

بواسطة ramayantika

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A collection of poems for Krishna as well as writing about my feelings and thoughts, my experiences and memor... المزيد

BHĀVĀ
A Note
Krishna
The Mystical Night
Memories
The Dancer
In The Rain
Words
Look What You Have Done
Dark Is Beautiful
Remember The Old Days?
My Earthly Companion
In A Dream
Feeding Butter To The Lord
Back To the Start
Two In One
Dark
Wrong Place
The End or A New Beginning?
Void
She
Changes
To A Friend
Saptsajya: Ascent
Maya
Insecurities
Letters
Dark
Mirror
In A Forest
Something
Aryam
In The Dance Room
Belle
Dance Of Envy
Alone
Happy News!! 🎉🎉
Child
Start Of Something New
All Lies
Random
Moon, My Messenger
Dreamland
Random 1
Incomplete Yet Complete
Building Blocks
To My Forsaken Lover
Bhava

Identity

95 16 24
بواسطة ramayantika

"Who am I?, " she asks.
Sitting in the corner of the terrace,
She wonders at the distant hills.
Some look distinct while some blurry
Just like her.
Distinct and blurry.

She loves lights!
She gazes at the neon signs as she walks by and lights the diyas in the courtyard.
Yet she feels peace in the dark,
Under the dark sky.

She looks at the busy street,
Witnessing each and every thing.
From the young boy crying for sweets
To the group of friends loitering around,
She sees it all.

Brought up in cities under high rise buildings, she adores the hill and the pond more.
Though logical she is,
She is fascinated by mystery of the universe and
The mystery of Him.

"What purpose does my birth serve?"
She asks again as she looks at the river.
The river does nothing but gently
Lap its waves at the shore.

Is she like the river?
Restless and ever flowing,
Desperate to merge into the sea?

She sits under the starry night sky
And looks at the brightest star
Wondering if she was more than what
They think or what she thinks.

Is she special?
Or she is just deluded by the books she reads?
Or perhaps she doesn't know her own self.

Looks at everything with wonder.
She understands the roughness of the straw bed and the tiny houses.
She feels the joy of playing in mud
Though she has never done that.

Who is she upstairs when she talks?
Why is she so different from the one down there?
Her laugh, her words, her demeanor
Changes up when she is upstairs.
Who is she?

Talks in a voice so different,
Says words which no one understands
Except the range of hills-
Her secret keeper!

She craves for company,
Yet loves solitude.
Detached and attached.
Filled with questions
But answered with silence,
Who is she?

O Krishna! Tell her what is her identity.
"Tell me who I am!" she pleads again.
But the only answer she gets is
Silence.

I have faith in her that she will know.
She will soon understand.
She will soon learn and grow.
She will find her identity
Even in silence.

*****

That's me up there! This is quite different from what I usually write but I wanted to write this from so long so finally penned this down.

Sending lots of love! ❤️
~Krishnakaanta

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