Struggle

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My pen is shaking

I am agitated

My notepad is topsy-turvy

With the struggle

I revere the most

In this bloomy air.

 

The confusion relies

On my pen

Am I writing sense

Where are the words

What come before

And after.

 

My thoughts agree

With the struggle

I revere the most

My pages are strewn

Around haphazardly

To show unity

In the process

Creating the signature marks.

 

My pen is shaking

I am agitated

With the struggle

Feeling the goosebumps

When the nib

touched My hands

In the hope

Of the love.

 

The struggle

To evoke the philosophy

To create fusion

To dwell on the pages

With the same intensity

When I think of you.

 

I revere the most

the struggle, my pen goes through!

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar



PHOTO BY PEXELS

PURITY

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 He peeled his skin, to see if

the blood has same purity as

the redness in his eyes,

the fact is silent

in the moonshine.

 

Purity has which colour

red or white

or is it because of the wine

He coloured himself red, to see if

He feels the purity as

the pure love in her eyes.

 

Felt so lost

to find this purity

was once there in her eyes,

he travelled to mountains, to see if the

he could find that colour

of purity in his own eyes.

 

Purity is playing games

or the game is to be pious

craving to fly to the moon

with her profound purity

still so lost,

to find that sparkle

in the blinking eyes.

 

He pulled his hairs, to see if

the hairs fall like he falls

to find the colour

the colour denied its presence

in front of purity.

 

“No colour can define me (Purity)

I am having colours of my own

keep changing

according to the beliefs 

of the unknown.”

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar



PHOTO BY PEXELS

HEAT

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The sunburns are red

The tanning is gold

The marks are real

The sweat is glowing

With the heat of the town.

 

She is burning

He is burning

To fire the conscious

To light the lamp

In the heat of the sun.

 

The craving for water

To dive into the coldness

The hands are cold and wet

Giving the pleasure of ice

In the heat of the moment.

 

The pressure is on the heels

To stop jumping

To restore some energy

In this heat of the sun

Bright and golden

Glowing like a sunflower.

 

Eyes dare not open

In the shiny effect

The glasses kept me close

Waiting for the dark

To come and take

Me away from this heat

For a while.

 

Yet, I love this glow every morning

The heat of Sun!!

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar



PHOTO BY PEXELS

Be my love!

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Take me into your arms

Forget the world

Lean on my chest

To make a move

Of your own.

 

Take me into your soul

Inhale me inside

Love me as much as you can

Show the world, that I exist

In your own style.

 

Take me into your memory

To create the snapshots

To play with the words

Show the world, that I exist

Through your voice.

 

It’s me, your own poetry

Love and live with me

In the manuscripts

Give me any form but

Show the world, that I exist

Through you and only you.

 

Love me as much as you can,

I am your poetry!!!!!

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar



Personal photo

MY PHONE

 

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It’s ringing

again and again

to coordinate

with the time.

 

The cords

have connected

the right connection

after a while.

 

Its thin body

has flexible touch

often takes me

into the long

conversations.

 

What if, this

thin and tiny

tool escapes

from my life!

 

I would want

to have a taste

of golden era

with lots of

pride.

 

I admired and envied

this thin object

which can access

my experiences

with the names

on it.

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar


Thin



PHOTO BY PEXELS

HE AND I

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He said, “You have tantrums.”

I said, “ I have mood swings

to balance the equation

to turn on the situation.”

 

He said, “You are insane.”

I said, “I use my mind”

to react abnormally

to act abruptly.”

 

He said, “You are beautiful.”

I said, “I didn’t take a shower, today

to turn on your nerves

to meander along the world.”

 

I said, “You are womaniser.”

He said, “Cake is more delicious

With a blend of cream on it

to fulfil the desires

to arrange the order.”

 

He said again, “ You have tantrums.”

I just smiled and cocooned myself

In a fluffy attire

To erase his words

From the conscious mind!

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar


PHOTO BY PEXELS

Stop and Stare

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Stop and stare

At the mirror

Is it the same reflection

when you were guilty?

 

The guilt raised the voice,

“I am not guilty

Of the old sin

Cemented with heavy bricks

Of the cold war.”

 

Stop and stare

At the water

Is it as blue as

When you first dipped

Your hands into the colour?

 

The water filled with despair

Singing the old song

Waving in the rhythm

To show the denial

Of the discolouration.

 

Stop and stare

At the eccentric world

Are they as epic as

The centric ones.

 

Running from the limelight

To cool down

The guilt inside

Craving to be candid

With the leisures of life!

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar


Personal photo taken by me in Mumbai, staring and imagning the world around!

Rapid fire round!

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He said,“ let’s play

rapid fire round

in a mystic way,

close your eyes

imagine the world

that shines up in the sky.”

 

She insisted on the fact

“ why to play this game?

when the glory is all set

to open the wings

of purity and divinity!”

 

Rapid is just merely

An intention of the mind

To start a game of requirement

The idea was to build

A trust of corner

In the beam of light.

 

Is it possible

Not to apply the conditions

Of the round

When the rapid

Was not your intention……!

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar


Rapid


Photo by Pexels

 

Loss and Profit

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What is Loss?

If the loss is

changeable

according to

situations!

The loss is

To be bankrupt

To be jobless

To be guilty

To be forgotten

Or the loss is losing

Your loved ones

In the fight of

Life and death.

 

What is Profit?

Wining a lottery

Lakhs in account

To be beautiful

Luxuries around.

Or the profit is

Having the dear

Ones around

Giving affection

And strength.

 

Loss and Profit

Depend on each other

To compliment the equation

For a luminescent outcome

In the reality of life

To give the luminescent

Mixture in the limelight.

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar


via Daily Prompt: Luminescent

Luminescent


PHOTO BY PEXELS

Poetry to Micropoetry

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Poetry to Micropoetry

“my veins are still

flooded with light

to purify the blood

to pump the words

to flow in a rhythm

to dance with the functioning

of my body

so that the content

should fall in place

giving life to the verses

of my spine.”

 

O! my Micro poetry

you have the essence

of the contemporary

society.

But the ink is fighting

to decide the genre

in a decade 

as the literary world 

denies your existence 

in the world of expression

thinking it’s too micro 

to rejuvenate the rhythm

of the pages of life.

 

Nevertheless, every form of art 

is idiosyncratic in its own

why to collate each other

why not to lionise and fete 

your arrival as the bride 

of the handsome groom

on the red carpet!

 

Copyright Bhavya Prabhakar


via Daily Prompt: Micro

Micro


PHOTO BY PEXELS