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Ananya Bhaskar Quote - And then writer in you is so homesick of pain, that you plead your wounds to bleed and ache.

And then writer in you is so homesick of pain, that you plead your wounds to bleed and ache.

Related Topics

Ache Blood Home Sick Wound Writing Yourself

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Rest your head on his shoulder more often. Earth blushes when a snowflake gently dozes off on it.
ANANYA BHASKAR

Earth Gentle Head Snow Yourself
You left my home and suddenly I was homeless.
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Break Up Home Myself
And the biggest irony is you spend a lifetime finding someone to love and then die learning how to unlove them.
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Big Finding Irony Learning Life Love Time Yourself
Unlike our flesh and bones, our souls always share a common religion. The religion of art.
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Art Bone Common Flesh Ourselves Religion Share Soul
You can see heaven or earth in her pupils when she’s smiling, and happy for real.
ANANYA BHASKAR

Earth Eyes Happiness Heaven Reality Smile
Poetry is an eulogy, sung for hope and love.
ANANYA BHASKAR

Hope One Liner Poetry Sing
I started painting the touch of your voice, and ended up writing a love song.
ANANYA BHASKAR

Love Myself Paint Song Start Touch Writing
She’s never silent, you can always listen her soul speaking the tongue of poetry.
ANANYA BHASKAR

Herself Listening Poetry Silence Soul
I hope my poem touches your soul and tickles your feet. As it is a river, river of my molten heartbeats.
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Heartbeat Hope Poem River Touch
Exist so loud that even if you die tonight, your deeds illuminate like stars.
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Death Existence Illumination Loud Night Stardom
Your lips taste a lot like petrichor, on my rainy days.
ANANYA BHASKAR

Days Lips Rain Taste Yourself
Fear people who dare to walk with their chest open, despite of having a heart bruise by love.
ANANYA BHASKAR

Bruise Chest Fear Heart People Walk
Ever since I met you, love wore the shade of your eyes.
ANANYA BHASKAR

Eyes Love Meet Shade Yourself
You’re breathed all over the walls of my lungs and I don’t know how to breathe you out.
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Break Up Breathe Memories Relationship Wall Yourself
Let me be a poem freely hung in your diary. Like the moon, on the night sky.
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Diary Freedom Myself Night Poem Sky
Worship her for the way she rolls her sleeves up and hums the silence of healing.
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Healing Herself Silence Way Worship

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