Terracotta Love

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My Best Friend’s Debut

My best friend, Nandita, always had this certain spark in her that was beautiful and would surface time and again through things as simple as her toothy grin. Now that spark brightens up the world through her poems. Her soulful and honest poems never to fail to leave me with a sweet after-taste. They take me through the depths and corners of all kinds of emotions—love, pain, happiness.

After having discovered a creative outlet for her spark only a year ago, I can proudly say that she is now a published poet. Her debut book is set to release on June 24th (Thursday) but it’s available for sale on:

http://www.amazon.com
http://www.amazon.in
http://www.googlebooks.co.in.
Kindle version available as well. By the way, you can read some of her work on her site (mananunleashed.wordpress.com) before it closes down.

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Her House of Glass

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Through the tinted glass,
a hazy world stares;
While piece-by-piece
her house of glass she builds.

“A dream for a piece of glass”
to the Dream Keeper she pawns.
“I’ll buy them all back.”—
her grieving heart hopes.

Beyond the tinted glass,
a hazy world waits;
While day and night
relentlessly she seeks.

The secret that will
the “spell” undo.
Perhaps, a key that will
her reason free.

Within the tinted glass walls
she lives and knows—
Both dreams and glasses
easily shatter.

“Miracles do happen.”
she finally asserts.
“Like water into wine once turned,
so will my glass into diamond remold.”

Beyond the tinted glass,
a hazy world hopes;
If not a key that will her reason free,
a miracle that will her labor crown.

–RS
Copyright livingwithdifferentshades 2016
All rights reserved

As the story dies

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I barely recognize you today.
Maybe, Time can really dilute or erase everything.
Or maybe, it’s me
or just us.
But you’ve been fading.

You must have meant something to me;
my mind refuses to recall,
my heart, though,
feels a gentle tug
as I look at your blurry self in the crowd.

Time stops for me now and then;
very, very brief stops
like today.
As if to point to the trees, the sky, and the lanes
who look like they are in mourning.

That’s when I see you,
much closer than the last time
to that dreaded Whirlpool of Oblivion;
where I must have drowned;
not so long ago, in your distant world.

As you move closer to the Oblivion,
I look around at the trees, the sky and the lanes.
And I know they mourn us not,
only the death of what we once brought to life—
our story.

–RS
Copyright livingwithdifferentshades 2016
All rights reserved