It hurts when you look at me, and I'm not there.

My entire being hurts, and there is something I can't digest when you don't look at me.

Today, it hurts even more because I am unable to meet your gaze.

I used to be angry and tell the illusion and delusion in me about me never missing your gaze and ascertaining without confusion about how it feels when you look at me, and I never miss it.

But today, a whole of me is very lonely.
And it hurts that I miss all your gazes, especially your special frowning capabilities.
©shivpoetesspriya

My heart doesn't want to be a Gordian knot in a
scamper to solve any problem,  
so it has started acting up fashionably.

Fashionable, the term I thought was your situated
phrase feels more terrestrial here,  
not like tequila imagining a terabyte.  
The enclaving and composing scope of the internal
granite feature  
have begun to learn the preparedness to embrace the feelings of your knowing smile.

This process has made me reflect on the gooiest heart

that keeps remembering your glance.

My inner spectrum feels laughter in the mirth shrub of
elocution,  
so I must admit that it is not about the structure,  
but the snazzier, contemplative, and contemporary
spirit  
it gives me by allowing my heart to feel.

Then I remember the hundredth tension of the
connecting poles  
and the occupied hold of the heart,  
and I want to be your terrapin!

©shivpoetesspriya

A broken heart succumbing to emotional collapse finds solace in its only treasure - the memories.

The fire of hope it always deals with takes on an enthusiastic approach after remembering the sweet memories held within its heart.

In the fire, no relationship dies.
In fact, our mind also never dies!
How could memories lose their essence?

The memories hold serenity and peace,
But ask yourself, are you not feeling helpless due to your circumstances?
Are you doing things not from your heart but for the sake of circumstances?
©shivpoetesspriya

A fieldfare is spotted fidgeting across an invented playing field, filled with its feverish emotions.  

The heart, longing to express a long moment of grief, is simply and succinctly content in its sincere living and honest nature.  

It waits for a heartfelt discovery of a new friend. He catches the bird's eye and feels sadness upon looking into its poignant and overwhelming gaze.  

The bird cries out to cherish the essence of joyful feelings, immersing itself in the soft fibers of love.  

A justified cluster of flowers, moving in a straight line across the field, hears the brief cry of the bird. They wish for a steadfast member of their homes to ask them if they are aware of the need to avoid being swept away by overwhelming emotions, to maintain the balance of their spirited nature, and to prevent a feeble performance.  

©shivpoetesspriya

Somebody is talking about my subject.  
I know  
The subject of love is popular as sustaining...

Somebody is talking about my subject.  
They touch the area of my heart and pluck a flower for themselves, and they are trying to think about my subject.

My subject and I are immersed in our daily talks.  
We see you and laugh.

The last thing I want to say aloud is that I am grateful to laugh alongside my subject.

My subject, I both miss you and love you.  
©shivpoetesspriya

We had a cup of coffee together in our lily garden. Poppy Bird, Mommy Bird, and I were filled with our sweet talk and the small stories we usually shared during our chit-chat at evening tea!

I romped in our garden and shared my relief with the cold wind! Happily, I sat near the swing in our garden!

To feel happy without any perfect reason is a great relief. Smiling in this moment makes you feel like you are your own best friend!

And you always feel like chirping when you are happy!

I can't throw the dry leaves away from the *** I care for during my leisure time at home! This time, I decided to do some creative work with the dried leaves, which had turned pale yellow!

I planned to give them beautiful colors by painting the dry leaves with attractive hues to look pretty in my room!

While looking at the new look I gave to my flowers and the dried leaves, I remembered a conversation I had with my friend Bird the other day! She asked me, "If you are your best friend, then how do you talk to yourself?"

I looked at the bold colors I had given to the leaves. They felt very pale, although they had an attractive gleam!

Oh, this gloominess! It doesn't feel rosy at all!  
Oh, this gloominess doesn't look attractive at all!  
Oh, this gloominess doesn't look loving without the thoughts of your beloved!  
Oh, this longing doesn’t look good without remembering your beloved!  

I felt this and looked in the mirror. The flower *** in my hand was trying to make me see a rose among the hidden stems!

The rose was not there in the ***! The longing didn't look attractive, even with the imaginary rose!

I had other friends kept tied in a silly small cage! I happily freed them and started chirping to see them off! They tweeted back and told me they would see me daily in my flower garden!

I gave them a waving hand as I looked at them flying from my window! Oh, this window helps, I thought to myself, and fell asleep!  
©shivpoetesspriya

You are too good to be a writer.
I love you.
You flourish in your emotions—I just love it.
You are bright in your thoughts—love it, love it.
Extraordinary love, indeed.

In the season I loved you,
I felt it in my heart,
and all the notable faces of fate turned towards me
to see if I had become strong in my pursuit
and how my wheels stayed so stable
despite the thorns on my path.

The cloaks of fate grew eager
to learn of my uproarious skills.
And they discovered that even the dead
had once engaged in worthwhile activities
during their lives.

Their innate selves began to check their own batteries,
and one old cloak, rich with the wisdom of bygone times,
held the middle pages of my book.
She sensed the bloodied tears soaked into those pages
and turned to the next one.
It was not as weathered as the previous page,
but rather a reflection of a broken heart.
The remaining pages of hopefulness held the fragments of that heart,
which never gave up on mending.

So the old cloak rendered her verdict:
When you love, you open your heart
and learn how to love, even if you don’t quite know how.
That will at least lead you towards peace
in the gentle light surrounding love
and will offer rest to your heart.

So the writer I knew truly loved love
with the core of their heart and overflowing enthusiasm.
My heart says—I am obliged and privileged
to have read all of you until this day,
and I will continue to learn from you.

Please accept my heartfelt gratitude,
warmed by the tears of enthusiasm
to immerse your heart in love.

Yours,
A faithful fellow writer,
Shivpoetesspriya
©shivpoetesspriya

The rigidness and stubbornness.
It seems like a waste.

At the end of the day, all its tenants
are galloped by the sorrow.

When sorrowing eyes lower down,
they weep the pain of their heart.

And again, in just a few seconds.
The rigidness.
The stubbornness.
It seems like a waste of its futile, growling, meek efforts!
©shivpoetesspriya

When I saw your face,  
Did I miss the light in your black?  
Did I miss looking at your kindness in the black?  
Did I miss your black somehow?  
Did I miss looking at your heart in your black?  
Did I miss you?  
Did I miss looking at your black?  
Did I miss looking at the color of your face?  
Did I miss looking at your gleaming smile?  
Did I miss that twinkle when you smiled?  
Did I miss you after all?  
©shivpoetesspriya

I keep my heart racing for you.
But why did you leave me?
At this tender moment,
Why did you leave me?
At this soft juncture,
Why did you leave me?
When I wanted you so much,
Why did you leave me?

It is true,
some gems are forsaken.
But if you see clearly,
It is obvious,
you would see luminosity
in some piece of darkness.
That side of your sight,
Yes, there
you would see the slightest
tint of luminosity.
I call it my hope.

Why did you leave me?
But I see my hope dwelling in peace
and cycling through all the growth.

Why did you leave me?
I want my luminosity back.

I want it.
I always want it.
©shivpoetesspriya

The bond pulls me so close to you.  
I remember you, as if you were so familiar.  
Since when did I become so close to you?  
Since when did I feel this connection so deeply?  

Looking closely at your face, I find myself crying.  
Since when?  

You appear so near, so vivid in my thoughts.  
Since when did you become my savior?  
Is it all me, or the reflection of you within me?  

I'm afraid of how much I might cry.  
At what closeness to the edge do I want to fall?  
Is it going to break me into pieces?  

Are you going to appear so close to me?  
So close to me, can you tell me that?  

Since when did I start recognizing this unfolding?  
©shivpoetesspriya

Why the Realm of Tears is Different?  
Always very unpleaded,  
Raw, the intent of emotions that carry within themselves and flow off with wounded feelings.  
But these unpleaded tears fall from the pleaded heart, showering the wisps that show the ruins of a wounded fleck.

Why is the realm of tears always different?  

When I say these words, it is not the words that form the structure for these emotions.  

The raw tears,  
Unpleaded they are,  
Honest they are.  

They are felt in the deep asserting realm inside the existing realm.  

Why are they so honest?  
Raw and  
Unpleaded.  

I think of wrapping their emotions in words to tell their plight.  

But their realm cannot be caged in words.  

They are felt.
With heart.  
In their natural realm.  

Why are they so different, pure light with some pain,  
Yet flow unpleadedly with a pleading heart?  

©️ shivpoetesspriya

You are my world.  
I found you in my emotions.  

The gleaming shine my heart tries to hold onto is flying away.  

I'm supposed to ease my lyrics like a safety glass.  
Can you see me through this window and ask me to join you?  

But you were left behind on the track.  

I felt the gleaming shine return to my heart.  
It fixed my safety glass.  

I see you across the same junction now.  
Shall we walk together?  

©shivpoetesspriya

O emotional and special pieces,  
I don't want to forget all the parts that I value.

I think I have lost the ashes and charcoal of past emotional dealings of my heart.

Sometimes, the coincidences of our situations leave me feeling helplessly lost.

When you are dealing with struggles, I may not fully understand them as I don't have your share.  
And I'm dealing with mine!

I want to listen to you when you need to talk.  
I wish I were always there to listen when you need to talk!  
I think our internal decoration needs more understanding between our levels.

Sometimes, it feels sad.  
When I want to smile and help you, you have your bitterness to handle.  
And when you are ready to extend your hand to me, I have my bitterness to handle!

I do think that our internal decoration needs more understanding, and I know that we are likely determined to support each other through our struggles.

Are we becoming the ones who are losing all the remnants of past emotional experiences while dealing with our difficulties?
©shivpoetesspriya

Did you catch a tear while you were looking at me?  
Do you know how much I miss holding your hand?  
Did you miss me while you were talking to a friend?  

Do you know what song I sing when I feel you looking at the stars?  

Oh shining little star,  
are you away?  
Are you away?  

Can you take away my sorrow  
with your fairy hands?  
Oh shining star,  
are you away?  
Are you away?  

This poem sings a song.  
Are you away  
and not listening?  
Are you away?  

Oh sorrow, did you see the star that’s away?  
Oh, that’s away.  

Can I hold you and cry?  
Aren’t you my savior?  

Can I hold you  
and cry?  

Aren’t you my savior?  
Oh,  
aren’t you my savior?  

Is this another piece of a poem  
that I am writing?  
Is this piece in vain?  

Tell me, oh savior,  
can I hold you and cry?  

It is an embrace of everything that can be received.  
It is a special embrace of both your joys and sorrows.  

I hope you get plenty of light and happiness.  
©shivpoetesspriya

An evening wonder was filled with my questions:  
Was I a fan of our school subjects?  
I recalled sitting at the corner of old times,  
Having no base with all the naivety that hadn't explored enough to be beyond naivety.  

I tried raising a question to myself with the benefit of the doubt:  
What if I were a fan of any of my school subjects?  
Maybe I was, or maybe I wasn't.  
But in that maybe,  
Maybe I made efforts to try to understand the lurking theme of connection while I changed the chapters one by one.  

But this reopening of castles of old beginnings,  
Here and there, asks me today,  
Did we ghost each other?  

Did you ghost me?  
Did I ghost you?  

So this old time memorizing,  
Even though I figured out how kind and loving you are,  
Alas, the big thing is that there is no friendship between us.  

All the razors of words and tongues that didn’t and couldn’t express the words we should have spoken made the adjoining softness vanish as no feelings ruled.  

So this reopening study  
Makes my low chin observe with stroking fingers.  
Even if we are fans of the subjects, like we are physics and chemistry,  
But there is no friendship between us!  

This hits differently, but it is a truth of the unspoken textbook of this context.  

This.  
Turning the pages sometimes tells us.

A scoring album,  
A sketch art album,  
An album that shows the state of mind,  
Keeps varying,  
Showcasing different mindsets,  
Changing emotions  
That stroke with the hues of colorful exchanges,  
Without letting them get trapped in the myriads of journeys.  
These varying emotions and thoughts,  
Echoing from the heart's knots,  
Keep showing the frequency of intangible artistic scores.  
©shivpoetesspriya