Prishha Sharma

appreciating art, literature, music and wasting ink :)

[prishasays]

You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality. You are what the poets are afraid of. The darkest shade of red hues. Sonnets and words through this pen native in your language. You are mist in this forest I am willing to not escape but stay. What a wind is before a thunderstorm. Cold and comforting. Take me away with your winds. Take me away from all brains and blame, all morals and ethics, all the hurt and grace. A knitted memory left to be completed later and forget. You came like a spring sun. Forty days and forty nights felt like a storm when it was just drizzling all this long. When shall i expect comforting rain when summer is on its way. All these rhymes shall linger like fragrance from your childhood. Like the earth after rain. Like your favourite perfume that i love lingers in my essence of memories. Memories of what cold breeze feels on face, of fitting face in neck, arms wrapped around in sleep, the art of lips speaking a subtle language loud to us. I am fluent in language I don't recall leaning. A language still unknown to me. My beloved, you are full of muse and I am full of word. Wish I could pen them down in the right rhymes, at the right time.

[prishasays]

All the love notes in my hands, February ends here with me sitting beside an empty seat which longs your presence. I couldn't find a better place than march to burry my love for you. I stand here with letters of apologies to myself written behind crushed letters i wrote mourning your name.

[prishasays]

Its april and i couldn't yet burry my love for you. I fear the blooming flowers on grave. As i sit here under the starry night, i wonder will i revieve flowers that would bloom this spring or would i water the garden where i buried all the heart shaped symphonies i sang.

[prishasays]

The summer ends with the hint of warmth from june. I sit here and look at the gardens that bloomed. Your voice echoed in my garden, watered the grave to revive my symphonies again. You sow the rose seeds back in may. How could i not make garlands for you my love, for my graden's longing and soul was in you. I stand here yet again with the letters of remembrance singing your name. But i still wonder how long shall this garden bloom by your name before it dies for someone, once again.

[prishasays]

It's October and cold. The love was taken away by all the monsoon storms. The summer's gone so the warm hues from june. I stand here helplessly, as i watch my spring flowers wither before my eyes as i mourn. Garlands by your name lay beside my foot, ready to seep in the moist monsoon soil and woods. I am trying to burry the letters of your remembrance, that keeps lingering like the warm scent from your childhood. This garden dies mourning your name, for you never arrived to water them anyday. "I don't have enough to water" - 2 gardens at the same moment, you forgot to say.

[prishasays]

It's January and i haven't heard from you in months of three

[prishasays]

All the love notes in my hands, February ends here with me sitting beside an empty seat which longs your presence. I couldn't find a better place than march to burry my love for you. I stand here with letters of apologies to myself written behind crushed letters i wrote mourning your name.

[prishasays]

Its april and i couldn't yet burry my love for you. I fear the blooming flowers on grave. As i sit here under the starry night, i wonder will i revieve flowers that would bloom this spring or would i water the garden where i buried all the heart shaped symphonies i sang.

[prishasays]

The summer ends with the hint of warmth from june. I sit here and look at the gardens that bloomed. Your voice echoed in my garden, watered the grave to revive my symphonies again. You sow the rose seeds back in may. How could i not make garlands for you my love, for my graden's longing and soul was in you. I stand here yet again with the letters of remembrance singing your name. But i still wonder how long shall this garden bloom by your name before it dies for someone, once again.

[prishasays]

It's October and cold. The love was taken away by all the monsoon storms. The summer's gone so the warm hues from june. I stand here helplessly, as i watch my spring flowers wither before my eyes as i mourn. Garlands by your name lay beside my foot, ready to seep in the moist monsoon soil and woods. I am trying to burry the letters of your remembrance, that keeps lingering like the warm scent from your childhood. This garden dies mourning your name, for you never arrived to water them anyday. "I don't have enough to water" - 2 gardens at the same moment, you forgot to say.

[prishasays]

just when i think i have them. the words have dispersed again. come back, please, i beg of you. please don't make me chase you down. i need you more than ever; i'm chasing scattered words. and just when i think i've grasped them, they're drifting away through my fingertips like smoke from open hands and distant tongues. i'm digging through crumpled paper, smudged ink and words that waver. i'm witnessing the world i have created behind metaphors crumble before my very eyes. my escape shatters into echoes i cannot catch. i wait beneath their orbits, longing for a satellite strong enough to translate the silence into speech and give me back my voice.

[guulabii]

i think love is revolutionary because when done right, it allows for accountability, for growth, for healing, for laughter, for joy, for connection, for touch, for coming home. maybe it is foolish of me, even a little stupid to think of it as such but when done right, when honoured, when fulfilled, when prepared and boiled and served well, it truly does magic, it truly changes lives, it nourishes, it feeds, it gives hope, hope, so much of it.

[prishasays]

For every footstep to cross by my door , i wished it was him to knock by each time.

[prishasays]

"Dancing with Siva", Satguru Sivaya Subramuniyaswami

[letsbeapoemtogether]

"How cruel to be touched by want, but never held by love."

Abhilasha.

[prishasays]

All the love notes in my hands, February ends here with me sitting beside an empty seat which longs your presence. I couldn't find a better place than march to burry my love for you. I stand here with letters of apologies to myself written behind crushed letters i wrote mourning your name.

[prishasays]

Its april and i couldn't yet burry my love for you. I fear the blooming flowers on grave. As i sit here under the starry night, i wonder will i revieve flowers that would bloom this spring or would i water the garden where i buried all the heart shaped symphonies i sang.

[prishasays]

The summer ends with the hint of warmth from june. I sit here and look at the gardens that bloomed. Your voice echoed in my garden, watered the grave to revive my symphonies again. You sow the rose seeds back in may. How could i not make garlands for you my love, for my graden's longing and soul was in you. I stand here yet again with the letters of remembrance singing your name. But i still wonder how long shall this garden bloom by your name before it dies for someone, once again.

[prishasays]

And then it was silence, silence and peace, a sense of calm yet anxiety. Acceptance came through the window of wisdom, the widow of pure sight and observant eyes. To be loved like a habit and not a chore, a breath and not a sigh, a song not a noise, an oath and not a whisper. It was relief, for her words wouldn't weight over them, for she wouldn't recite her sonnets again, and the melodies she hummed wouldn't be echoed in their streets late at night anymore. To not watch the clock late at night for a ring again. Oh to be forgotten like your favourite sweater you once wore everyday. To never have completed that knitting project you promised to continue daily. Oh look how her life's been! To cook but never served. To wish and never fulfilled. To read but never read to. To love but never loved for. Afterall she was finally relived... Was she relieved though? When it was silence she had to force for her peace?

- p

28 jun 2025, 12:14am

[prishasays]

you are everything i could want in a person but i'm not about to force-feed you my love. if you could take a moment to offer me some affection, i extend my hands as if i were pleading for your expense, though in truth, i am yearning for your love. i look through the library of our memories trying to figure out the exact moment it went wrong. our love was inscribed in pencil, and as the years have gone by, it has begun to fade. i can scarcely recall how it all began.. my tears stain the pages and erase any remnants of the love that was written, lap up the were made from moonshine and stardust. i have you blocked now just to crumbs. i thought we keep myself sane but deep down i wish you'd find a way to call me. i continue to maintain the illusion that you are still a part of my life in order to preserve my mental well-being.

[prishasays]

you waited for me to capture you in my poetic lens. i waited for you to show me this deceptive delusion. this nostalgic ache is back, and i know what's coming next. i think you do too, so let's play pretend for five more minutes. can we do that? for both of our sanity to stay intact. to care and love each other, even if its just pretend. what am i meant to do when i'm keeping you afloat from drowning but i dont know how to swim my love, as i may have sung to you earlier in the notes of my sonnets. Let's stay in this moment of time, even if its for a blink of an eye. I wonder how much the intensity of loving you would stab me. Wounded to death or martyred to a new beginning. Let's pause in this moment sweetheart. For tomorrow may bleed with red ink or shower rose petals. Watching you over from behind or holding your hand beside. Let's breathe, let's just pretend today's the forever we've longed for. Breathe, for you my love belongs to me in this moment of time.

[prishasays]

Yet again my melodies echoed in the rainforest but not your ears, yet again i stood in the middle of the seashore waiting for you to arrive like sunlight when it's midnight. Yet again i felt like disappearing into the air and make sure your scent does not linger like past flowers from your life that you still cherish.

[prishasays]

All the love notes in my hands, February ends here with me sitting beside an empty seat which longs your presence. I couldn't find a better place than march to burry my love for you. I stand here with letters of apologies to myself written behind crushed letters i wrote mourning your name.

[prishasays]

Its april and i couldn't yet burry my love for you. I fear the blooming flowers on grave. As i sit here under the starry night, i wonder will i recieve flowers that would bloom this spring or would i water the garden where i buried all the heart shaped symphonies i sang.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Ann Packer, The Dive From Clausen's Pier

[prishasays]

I loved u like it was your mother tongue while your loved me with gibberish whispers in a language i don't understand yet. I wish i didn't had to translate my soul for you. I wish you tried to learn the melodies i hum. Melodies i wanted to sing but u weren't into music. I kept yelling at forests just to hear my voice back again. Maybe its just me who thinks a lot about people and bonds like it'll save me from all the highs and falls.

[prishasays]

Oh to be loved like someone's safe place, not just their temporary escape, to be loved and fought for, not just let go of when it gets hard, like the first and only choice and not like an afterthought, to be loved like a habit and not a chore. To be loved and understood, even in silence. To be remembered about and not forgotten, to love amongst the storms and silence. To be loved in the quiet moments, not just when it's convenient, to be loved and wanted for who you are, not for what you give. Loved like the last page of a favorite book, like the warm moments that make us smile when we recall them on a sad day. oh to be loved, just for simply existing in their world. To be loved and known like a poet... not just for the surface level beauty, but for the depth and chaos hidden in between the lines. And oh! To be loved in a way that doesn't feel like waiting for a goodbye.