Smruti Swarupa Mahapatra


I have got words in my soul just like arts in the shades of poetry
An old school with an young heart
I am a dreamer, neither lost nor found, just waiting for a story worth dreaming for
In short, I am just a perfect mess

Message from Writer

From my truthful heart flows my love.... With my pen I speak it all. My pen , the extension of my soul. My pen is my voice, the passage of my heart, of my every thought, of words just whispering in my heart, off words I’m scared to confess. They say, pen is mightier than a sword. Yes, through you, I can say everything, Word for word.

Challenge Completed

August 14, 2020

Moving in the forest like in the fantasy, helluva
I just wanna fulfill my desire of werifesteria.

In the place full of hideous witches,
Having it's gnarled limb stretches.

Black claws scratching the side of a old house, crouching
Serving as a warning to anyone who ever tried approaching.

The place full of old noble giants, far above low
Keeping an gentle eye over the goings far below.

In the place where lives my true confidants, the dumbs
Never failing to listen even the trivial of my problems.

The noble giants too sway in the music,
The mint belle swing in mischief, so frolic.

The gentle wind flirting with the new claws,
Silently whispering, 
The world is beautiful, just don't see the flaws.

Adorning the claws, it's ornaments dangles,
Blooming shyly, like a bride's red bangles.

Last delicate pearl dropping from the new green blade,
Giggling with the wind and appearing like a clear jade.

The noble giant sings the half sung song,
Unsure of the melody which is strong.

I love that delightful hour,
When the Earth, laughs in flower.

When the golden red hell fire carpets the grass,
The earthiness somehow anchors yet propels.

The old and weak scarlet maple hands of the upright soldiers,
Standing, till the shedding of last piece of golden carnival clothes.

The golden snowflakes waltz to join the mosaic of the Earth,
Like a serene music, soothing in the most beautiful facet.

The brown lady taking off all her everlasting green adornments,
Seems like half eaten Belgian Pralines dripping caramels.

The time when the pristine nature looks somehow pitiful,
But for the eyes of a poetess, breathtakingly beautiful.

I wonder, under the blanket of snow forming a breath-taking view for the soul,
Does the tall ancestor has been painted by a passing artist with charcoal?

I wonder, the delicate papers of life adorned in silver finery,
Does their gentle swaying gives everyone a beautiful scenery?

I wonder, early in the morning when a thin layer of glass covering the tree seems to grow,
Doesn't it feels like an awkward teenager having, storms of emotion standing in the snow?

I wonder, the limbs which were adorned with vibrant color of autumn,
Now when covered in unblemished white layer, don't it feels numb?

I wonder, the hands of the old man that is extended since long ago,
Does it also shiver while catching the small silver flowers of snow?

I wonder, the lives standing in the fall of white and in the neighborhood sends frissons of joy,
Does it also, like me, see those wintry dreams with limbs under the blankets which feels so coy?

I remembered these while looking into the distance,
Where stood the dead skeletons of once beautiful green,
Lining in the horizon like foot soldiers ready for battle.

I loved the green glow they send into the ether,
Sensing their calming perfume, I always took a breather.

Their limbs were spread into the embrace of the Earth,
Their arms ever upward embraced Garden of Eden.

Arms stretched upwards I used to try to reach the above awning,
I loved the leaking rays of sun from the clouds of green. 

Stood in front of me is a movement of the whirlwind,
But the look of the wicked witch made be spur winged.

But it used to get me completely tangled,
Protruding it's vines which dangled.

Under these boughs I used to feel the breathe of the Daemon,
I used to feel it is creeping in my veins, the beauty of His creations.



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  • August 14, 2020 - 8:49am (Now Viewing)

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