Weaves Poems - Poems about Weaves

In this tiny corner of random order, where life weaves its thin thread, There exists a vast universe of chaos, a sea of darkness and mystery that surrounds us, All people feel that chaos, a silent presence that shadows the edge of consciousness, But some hide from it, building invisible walls and refusing to look at it. These are...

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In a corner of the world, where silence weaves its web like a spider in the night, Lives trickle away in lines of systematic renunciations, like rivers slowly retreating, Each step backward is a knife plunged deep into the flesh of attempts to live, And each unspoken whisper becomes a weight pressing on the shoulders of dreams yet...

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In the depths of dreams, our story weaves like a tapestry of stars, She looks at me, and I feel myself melting like a glacier under the scorching August sun, Her laughter is an echo of bells in the air, filling my chest with a symphony of sweet pain, She reveals the hidden realms of her soul to...

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Under the sky that weaves its shadows on the land of forgotten dreams, I wonder, what is life? A question that rolls through the streets, Slipping into silent rooms, seeking answers in lost eyes, Like stars in the darkness of night, reflecting in deep lakes. And wisdom, like a comet piercing the abyss, whispers to me, Those who feel lost,...

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In the depths of the night, when silence weaves webs of memories and stars slip across the sky like tears of a lost love, Between two kisses that embrace a single dream unfolds a tale of blue and purple, A stellar bird sings, a ballad of madness and forgetfulness, Under the diffused light of a neon painting shadows...

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How I wish to be the bird that weaves dreams in the branches of time, silent, Fluttering butterfly wings around your aura, dancing in your light, To be the petal that feels your touch like a sunrise birthing the day, To be the moon with which you string words under the mantle of night, The tree where you hide...

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I stand at the edge of time, where yesterday weaves into today in an eternal dance, I gaze upon the uncharted path that stretches like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted by my steps, The wind whispers secretly, like an old confidant, of a future lurking beyond the horizon's line, Where unspoken dreams take shape and color...

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The setting sun weaves a poem, blossoming unsung trochaic along the river basin (Nurulhuda Junction. Teesta) Sometimes it feels quite an estranged thought to realise that living is a mundane day to day thing to sustain. The welfare causes are demanding all those intricate , subtle personal delicate feelings, into a powermonger possessive expositional ownership, for no...

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In the nights when the moon weaves its silver web over the gardens of my blossomed longing, I await you, beloved, like a rain of stars in a desert of burning solitude, Come with the balm of your love, divine nectar for my soul, thirsty for affection, To embrace my being in your arms, an unyielding fortress against...

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In the corner of the sky, the sunset weaves its fiery mantle, Write, poet, write, traveler among the waves of time, Stars extinguish and are reborn in the eternal dance of the universe, Write as if you were a prisoner of fate, with a heart between the bars of longing. The governor of destiny is gone, pardon is a...

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In the enchanted night, when the moon weaves its silver mantle, The insomniac wanders through the labyrinth of his arcane thoughts, His last refuge, a crystal castle of eternal consciousness, Rises above the sleeping world, a mystical beacon in the darkness. His gaze, a magic wand that splits the veil of night, Reveals secrets hidden in the scrolls of the...

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In the depths of the night, where the moon weaves dreams from silver threads, I find myself in a labyrinth of the soul, a realm of shadows and light, Where generosity and fear intertwine into an ethereal tapestry, And my deeds are echoes of hidden truths. In a garden of illusions, I sow stars of hope, But I wonder if...

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In the deep night, when the moon weaves silver threads over the sleeping earth, I wander through the old alleys of memory, where the shadows of the past merge with the clouds of the present. Encountering a verse from a mysterious and forgotten book, I feel the cold penetrate deep into the marrow of my bones, And no flame, no...

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Some days, God weaves a tapestry, Life's circumstances furiously knitting. Other days, leaving things to ourselves, She does needlepoint, while sitting....

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On the pathways in the valleys, where the sun weaves with the eaves' shadows, April's flickers spill to adorn the pale oases. Winter's shadows are extinguished, broken in the wait for buds to bloom, Melting away in the golden dawns, lofty beneath the proud morning's loom. The industrious rays of the sun begin to sprinkle golden threads Over the endless...

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