Neha's Notebook

Time and time again, people have wondered what love is. Sometimes we think that love is romance, sometimes we think that love is devotion and loyalty and faith. Sometimes we think love is sacrifice while sometimes we think love is eroticism. Everyone has a different definition of love.   Sometimes we believe that love is about our relationship with another person and sometimes we believe that love is about befriending ourselves and our deepest shadows.   In my opinion, love is like a butterfly that flies from flower to flower. These flowers are our thoughts and butterfly is our point of attention. Our point of attention travels from thought to thought throughout the day and all the time.   Love is also what causes the butterfly to fly from flower to flower, what causes it to select a flower and then move on to another flower and so on.   Just like a butterfly is born from the metamorphosis of a caterpillar, love is born out of a series of metamorphosi...

Poetry calls me to take a journey, Each poem wants to take me somewhere but in the end I find myself reaching at the same place for, each poem stems from this place of my heart which people call by the name of love and I like to call by the name of pain. Sweet pain. Poetry.

Redamancy Where sky pinks into dusk Where it settles into moon's silvery husk Where there is blush of a crimson bride Where the flutist tunes are like pearls on a ride I'll meet you there where sun meets the sea Where all is eros, all is redamancy

Love is the clasped string of present moment in a songwriter's rosary of time-space Holding together the beads carved with sewholes of duality Moment to moment it embroiders the intricate beadwork of my changing personalities. #vss365 — Neha's Notebook (@Nehasnotebook) August 18, 2021

Before all creation & doom In grey-sand of moon A poet with a weepy frown wrote a lovestory on blue dune Next, at peacock's tune Darkness kissed a star the star fell from moon Fell in my notebook's tress as if telling me to revive its lovestory with darkness #MoonMystic #vss365 — Neha's Notebook (@Nehasnotebook) August 10, 2021

    folded in the arms of her beloved, the infinite sky, the moon seems to blush a quite these days   Earlier it was silver white, But it appears to be the colour of a rose purple-pink nowadays…   sparkles oozing through her rim like an embellishment tucked with precious gemstones, freckles of stardust shimmering like a frilled silverthread ribbon, like a silken tapestry fluttering at an invisible tone   as zillions of tiny little stars dance to a silent melody, the moon herself spins around, round and round to the sky’s parody, singing lores of love, telling tales of the ancient wild, in poetic sounds   a mysterious enigma of romance, pulsating in the chambers of her heart rhythms of quietness chiming in her veins delicious sweet flutes playing inside her, part by part   this is a poem of her romance, but don’t take it to be romantic anyway it is not romantic, not at all, you will come to k...