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Urva Patel Poem
I ate a tangy orange today—
its honeyed nectar pulled me back,
to the orchard, where the air danced
with citrus and sunlight.
That tangy, sweet fragrance
brought back a rush of memories:
childhood days of spraying peels,
stinging our eyes, saying, “It’ll make your eyes brighter,”
each sting a playful dare.
I see my mother now,
drying the peels on the windowsill.
What spell was she crafting,
what secret magic lay hidden in those husks?
The orchard is no longer just trees,
but a portal to travel in time.
Its fruit holds the echoes of my memories,
each bite... a step closer to home.
Copyright © Urva Patel | Year Posted 2025
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Urva Patel Poem
Either the sun is broken,
or someone has stolen it.
The feeling of comfort,
of warmth,
is rare these days.
I find myself longing
for the shades of summer,
where shadows of people
and things
made the world more real.
Now, mists have taken over—
the views from my windows,
a magical backdrop
for dreamy photos.
I took a walk
in the misty rain,
its tender touch
washing away the paths,
erasing old impressions.
Misty drops clung
to bare branches,
sparkling like crystals
from a realm of quiet magic.
In the silence,
I heard the sound of mists
battling the light breeze,
a pleasing symphony,
until the silence shattered
by a passing plane.
My mind snapped back
to harsh reality,
to the memory
of a landing plane
where many souls
were taken away.
I imagine their relief—
the hope of reaching,
of arrival—
stolen in cruel waves
of burning fire.
All their stories,
their hopes,
their dreams—
vanished in the smoke,
a fading echo
in the sky.
My heart sobs,
but still throbs
with the pain I imagine—
the ache in the souls
of those left behind,
their love still burning,
their grief a shadow
that feels more real
than the sun.
Copyright © Urva Patel | Year Posted 2025
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Urva Patel Poem
What a luxurious question I wonder,
Or is it ?
To take a pause leave the day unclaimed
No ticking of clock,
Over your head-
Unbothered by other’s agenda,
No login on time,
Or leaving the house on ungodly hours,
I get to choose,
To curate my day-
I wonder-
If I am found by this question,
Would I treasure it?
Or would I procrastinate my life away?
letting the time slip through
like a water through cupped hands.
Our minds so conditioned,
to dance with the tick and tok of the clock.
Suddenly, unrestrained.
Dumbfound,
Like a drunkard lost in a room full of time.
So I ask again,
what do I do today?
Do I seize, create, become?
Or simply linger in the beauty
of having the choice to wonder?
Copyright © Urva Patel | Year Posted 2025
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Urva Patel Poem
My boat sails off on a lovely day,
the future unknown as it drifts with the tide.
A storm rises, ferocious and unrelenting,
dragging me to the bottom of the sea.
I feel the weight of the water,
the finality of sinking—
I believe I will never rise.
Out of nowhere, a brush appears,
a great, shimmering stroke of light.
I grab it, and in its touch, I feel peace.
The storm dissolves like an unfinished story,
and my boat sails once again.
The deck blooms with flowers,
wild and vivid,
as though the brush carries the colours of the earth.
It is a magic wand,
painting skies in hues of amber and lilac,
waters in swirls of teal and sapphire.
I let my boat drift with the flow—
no resistance, no fight.
In my hands, the brush feels like hope,
like the quiet promise of something waiting,
something tender,
small, and infinite all at once.
But storms never truly leave.
They return,
stirring my boat,
changing its course.
This time, the storm pushes me
toward a place I once dreamed of—
soft, fragile, a flicker of warmth,
so long buried I almost forgot.
I row toward it,
in the hope of a quiet, golden pause.
Amidst the chaos, the brush disappears.
I feel the void,
but I keep rowing and rowing,
my arms aching against the waves.
The stars whisper above:
Keep going. The universe hasn’t forsaken you.
I row, still searching for the glimmer of a horizon.
Exhausted, adrift—
until the brush returns.
Its weight in my hand feels familiar,
its magic undeniable.
Once again, I paint the skies,
fill the waters with colour,
and guide my boat toward the dream—
delicate, waiting,
alive in ways I never dared imagine.
Copyright © Urva Patel | Year Posted 2025
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Urva Patel Poem
I woke up from a warm summer dream,
Winter winds were blowing away the stillness.
Bare branches danced with a quiet scream—
Once again, the world feels empty.
The earth shivers under the blanket of snow,
Hiding the path I once walked.
Dreams melt like frost beneath the pale morning sun—
All that was there is gone.
But even in frozen stillness,
The river flows quietly under the ice,
Carving its way forward.
Even in the silence of snowfall,
New hopes are forming quietly.
Once again, the earth waits,
Knowing spring will come.
The moon shines above the frozen fields,
Whispering promises of tender warmth.
The cycle continues,
And once again,
I hold onto the hope of blossoms—
Of trees painted with pinks.
Copyright © Urva Patel | Year Posted 2025
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Urva Patel Poem
Ah, you are so young still,
too tender to see how the storms are shaping you.
These trials—though heavy now—
are quietly teaching you how to rise.
Do you know, even now,
you are already on the right path?
One day, you will stand fierce—
undaunted, unbroken—
no matter what life dares to place in your way.
Your strength is already blooming.
Copyright © Urva Patel | Year Posted 2025
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