Himanshi Sharma
Abstract
Poetry is a blank paper
Made to fill our emptiness.
Poetry is a tree
Which grows higher than
The soul can hope &
The mind can hide.
Poetry is a vast universe
Full of creation
As old as ages &
As young as the dawn.
Love
Magic
Nov.1 Book
In The End
Poetry
When a tree falls in a forest Does it make any noise? When a tree falls in a forest Does it make any noise?
Those depths perpetuated life in me, And I saw myself getting 'Reborn' Those depths perpetuated life in me, And I saw myself getting 'Reborn'
The mind is a mindless writer, It writes everyday... The mind is a mindless writer, It writes everyday...
So, the debate between friendship and love flares up again; It’s been quite long, with the situatio... So, the debate between friendship and love flares up again; It’s been quite lon...
Lovely... Lovely...
Playing with words.. Playing with words..
But fate had something different written. But fate had something different written.
How and when was the "Search of self", easy? How and when was the "Search of self", easy?
While we are small we say I want to be older, As we get older we say I want to be younger... While we are small we say I want to be older, As we get older we say I want t...
Long long years after thousands of flowers will bloom on this strange island with a golden color. Long long years after thousands of flowers will bloom on this strange island wit...
But what of the humans dying so???? But what of the humans dying so????
Under that Bodhi tree of life,... Under that Bodhi tree of life,...
Together we'll paint the planet! Together we'll paint the planet!
Nice... Nice...
They were searching for something, In the garbage heap. They were searching for something, In the garbage heap.
And now though strange, we want the Mondays back Because we only pine for what is not and then wish... And now though strange, we want the Mondays back Because we only pine for what ...
She didn't question what she felt, Her fascination revolved around "the why?" She didn't question what she felt, Her fascination revolved around "the why?"
No one will ever know. But this was no soft sinking into oblivion. No one will ever know. But this was no soft sinking into oblivion.
A doctor with a big heart... A doctor with a big heart...
However much we dissect time We do not reach its heart. However much we dissect time We do not reach its heart.
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