Monday, July 10, 2017




Those muddy patterns,
Splashing the water on my skin
Confronting my raw self,
Became a failure to my dignity.
The stains crawling up my veins,
Losing myself to the undesirable pain
And, making a way to the tunnels of cruelty
I planned not to search for solace in this rationality.
Choosing the momentary prose,
I walked along the sea shore
Instead of accommodating the uncertainty
Leaving behind the false prediction of probability.
The probability that gives a thunder of distress
Awakening me in this petty world,
Caught up in my own choice
I became the paper with the spilled ink.
Being that paper of discomfort,
I wrote with that ink
To create magic in the world of hypocrisy
With this beautiful reason of deceiving.


Her words of the poem on the white paper
Glows like the rainbow in the sky
The only difference that was made,
Is the rain that made it shine.
Unlike the circular motion of the rainbow,
The words were straight in a line
Trying to be different from
That of her messed up mind.
The spilled ink was screaming out of the paper
Pouring out all the emotions,
The pen became the gun and,
The blood were the feelings of her.
Dressing up like a queen
Wandering in someone's thoughts
She stands there naked,
With her soul.
Her soul which higlighted the colours of rainbow
The rays of sun beamed through it
Yet, the soul which was found broken.
Broken into pieces of flowers, which lost the fragnance,
The colours were dull
Like her soul.


In every form
She builds up the nation
That starts from her own creation.
Through different names
That she is called by
Her power is the only choice.
Keeping her head high
She stands firm admits the crowd,
And, learns to fight against the storm.
Pulled down by the demons
That does not let her shine,
She makes her way even in the darkest of times.
The heart beats,
When the pen writes
And, the woman always shines.
Through every day
And, in all nights
She builds up her Knight.
As the time passes
She creates her own sword,
To become a warrior who will never fail.
The battlefield;
That has been associated to men
Now holds the moral of pain.


In this world of flexibility
We are here to create positivity
When the mind stops,
Our purpose is to reflect the imaginary
To look beyond the necessary.
With the sense of procalimity found,
In the world that has been distributed
Where the colour of dust
Loses its way,
Into the veins of disgust.
Soon, turning the matter into nothing
The rust will fade away
And, your brain will think
Ahead of the rationality
In the process of transformity.
Energizing the mankind,
It will go beyond perfection
When the life would meets its origin
The time would not stop, making us invisible
In this sphere is predictability.


MANVI SHARMA. Country of origin – India. Nationality – Indian. Place of living - New Delhi, India. Living life at edges and marking her own dream sequence, Manvi spills her heart on ink with stories that aren't cliched. An English literature graduate, with a zest to write her own vogue, Manvi has accomplished her own piece of phenomenal credit by getting published in three paperbacks, followed by a few online books and magazines. However, comfort to this soul is the tranquility in solitude where winds make the noise, fluttering through her pages, spilling moments of history and anticipations of future, while she writes her heart down with blue on white

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