my_cup_of_poetry

somewhere ��

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  • my_cup_of_poetry 5d

    Okay?

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    ©my_cup_of_poetry

  • my_cup_of_poetry 1w

    Hi there ��
    Hope everyone is keeping well.
    ______

    My mother
    loves flowers
    so like every
    spring,
    this time
    too my garden
    is filled
    with
    blossoms.

    Yesterday
    morning I
    plucked a bunch
    of golden
    'Amaltas'
    and carefully
    pinned it to my
    mothers bun.
    She giggled
    and asked me
    not to annoy.

    By evening I
    found the wilted
    'Amaltas' on
    a table and called
    it dying,
    only to be interrupted
    by my mother;
    " All that seems
    dead, is only seeking
    reason and residence
    to live again " ,
    she said.

    Overnight those
    'Amaltas' found both;
    In my journal.
    And this morning
    they're living.

    // The distance between death and life is called survival //

    - sakshi
    ©my_cup_of_poetry

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  • my_cup_of_poetry 3w

    | LEMON |

    The house hushed
    like a little lamb
    As he walked in
    like a lion after hunt,
    Smiling
    Drenched
    In sweat
    He exclaimed-
    "The rally roared
    with claps during
    my address to
    the Labourers,
    And they hailed
    me like a God "

    My docile grandmother
    then offered him a glass
    of cold water and despised
    he ordered her to
    bring Shikanji.

    "The only lemon left
    after pickling yesterday
    was used to prepare
    Sharbat,
    for the panting
    old sewage
    cleaner"

    He looked at
    her in dejection,
    and cried,
    "That lemon
    belonged to me"

    ©my_cup_of_poetry
    _________

    Sikanji and Sarbat are hindi terms for lemon drinks.

    In Mumbai alone it is estimated that over 600 sewer workers die every year. In just the last two years, over 1200 workers have died inside sewer line.
    Amidst this lockdown over 71 migrant workers have died while making their way to home. Old, paralysed, pregnant women and children are walking miles, across states. But yes we do have enough money for temples and detention camps!
    Kudos!

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  • my_cup_of_poetry 4w

    149th post ��
    ___

    To my daughter
    Nora,

    I am at peace
    Under the shade
    Of this huge
    Lemon tree.
    The distant scent
    Of your poetry
    Reaches me
    Everyday
    And I wish
    I would have
    let you hear
    how cattles
    breath,
    and reapers
    Sing.
    But I didn't.

    Your father has
    died several
    deaths but
    perhaps the most
    painful one
    happened right
    inside your
    eyes when you
    looked at
    my coffin
    and didn't
    cry at all.

    ©my_cup_of_poetry

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    "Your father has died
    several deaths"
    _______

    ©my_cup_of_poetry

  • my_cup_of_poetry 4w

    Perhaps!

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  • my_cup_of_poetry 5w

    The clock strucks three
    And I silently walk up
    to my mother ;
    I tell her that I wish
    to write a book, a tragedy
    where I would name the
    protagonist Anna.
    And Anna won't grow
    her hair long for a prince
    to fall in love.
    My heroine would kill
    a king , pin his head
    on to a wall,
    weave a tiara out of
    his blood soaked hair
    and sip wine in
    strange cities.
    I tell her that my mind
    isn't a quiet place,
    that I still scribble
    poetries at midnight
    and more than his paintings,
    Van Gogh's death inspires
    me.
    I bend a little closer and
    reach her ears to whisper
    that her love keeps
    barking at me , asking me
    to not fall in love.
    And that noise doesn't
    let me sleep.
    I am awake since ages.

    The alarm clock rings
    and I wake up ;
    Six in the morning
    And I find her awake :
    My mother!

    ©my_cup_of_poetry

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  • my_cup_of_poetry 5w

    Hi everyone ��
    Hope you all are doing well.

    ___

    The last time a girl fell in love , she grinned like a two year old child . Then she chanted your name in loops and you rested between her lips like a nursery rhyme, never to be forgotten.

    The last time you asked that girl to leave , she started burying parts of herself that were in love until she realised that it was all of her. So then she turned into cold graveyard.

    The last time a girl fell out of love a woman was born. A woman who laughed like a lioness and cried like rebellion. A woman who was a walking revolution with her bangles
    jinggling in the announcement of war. Fear , she carried it beneath her feet.

    The last time fear escaped a woman's being, a mother was born. And she looked like that temple of devotion where you could only bow down and pray like a devotee.

    // There's no turning back in the life of a woman //

    ©sakshi

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  • my_cup_of_poetry 14w

    I was made of loose and pale fabric, coloured in fading red so they kept me separate from those laced in muslin that invited eyes. But one day a
    man in rags came and I was sold.

    Hi! I am a curtain.

    My new owner handed me to a lady who passed me through a thin wire and hanged me upon the rusted grills of a small room.

    The breeze that touches me gently after dusk everyday carries the smell of cigarettes,wine and sex. And nights go endlessly in my forbidden
    world.

    " see that's the star " , I hear a girl saying to the little boy whose mother counted her last breaths yesterday.

    " mummy is there inside one of those stars ".

    " I will catch the shooting stars and find mummy before sunrise "

    " the sun may rise but it would still be dark" , the girl whispered.


    ©my_cup_of_poetry

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    " the sun may rise but it
    would still be dark "

  • my_cup_of_poetry 15w

    Feat. Admin's teeth.

    Ps :- Words and image belong to me ��
    ©my_cup_of_poetry

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  • my_cup_of_poetry 15w

    Before I cease to be an artist ~_~

    ©my_cup_of_poetry
    (P.s :- the words in the image belongs to me )

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