Buried under sands, That were dreary and wind blown A jewelled hand springs. Distant blue its own, Deluged by the sandy surf, It still stayed afloat. .
If tomorrow comes, It will be, A harbinger of things new, Ushering in an ardent hope, Unearthing a cache of hidden dreams. If tomorrow comes, It will write new stories, Etching the leaves of time, Erasing the tales of yore, That mean no more. If tomorrow comes, It will heal old wounds, Festering animosity, Now… Continue reading If tomorrow Comes
The power of pink, A cynosure so brazen, Yet love radiates. A very Happy Women's Day to all of you. A salute to the Pink Brigade.
My poetry handlettered by the brilliant Hannah Vizcarra, etredanslalune on Instagram ( https://instagram.com/etredanslalune__?utm_source=ig_profile_share&igshid=irzkkldys28t)
My heart, They peer into And see the hues that bleed, And incandescent hope undimmed, I shine.
The star shaped cookie was an amalgam of all latent dreams. She wished to shine like those bright stars on dark skies. And the heart shaped ones were a cache of her love for the diaspora around. The vanilla essence fired up a luscious aroma as she rolled out myriad shapes. (274 characters) Via: https://wp.me/p2ZDNi-53d