Sanjana Kumar   (The Cold air.)
6.5k Followers · 285 Following

Personally, I like a chocolate covered sky.
Joined 8 December 2017


Personally, I like a chocolate covered sky.
Joined 8 December 2017
7 JAN AT 15:11

with seven thousand
chants of colours -
one off every hidden surface
of enamel on your teeth.

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6 JAN AT 21:39

the life line,
the line that rings in my lover,
the line that holds a currency in silk threads, the line that narrates a wind gasp from the far west.

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5 JAN AT 23:27

- too afraid to touch the shore,
mark its title on a finish line.
The poem drags itself back to the
core, and laps up to the sand again
just so you can play your game of
crisp touch on it's fluid edge.

The poem calls itself a gentle
uprising inside your very throat.
It gurgles out the sunshine like the
ocean foams up in joy at the sand's
feet.

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30 SEP 2020 AT 0:34

/Things I didn't know I loved/

I grin, with my teeth exposed instead of gritting them. I sparkle in laughter, with the sunrays lending honey to the empty space that has dust dancing inside it, like my laughter holds it in place with puppet-strings.

(Caption)

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15 JUN 2020 AT 1:38

Tomorrow Deserves to be Young.

A poem on loving.



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26 APR 2020 AT 21:40

Sometimes the love is harsh, it's the sun's love.
But I'd rather wave my arms a little more mellow, look the giver in the eye, than to droop my eyes down lower to the ground. Sweet sweet mother earth, she holds me and yet I must pay my homage to the colour I see on my skin.


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22 APR 2020 AT 0:06

In a hidden corner of the universe, the sound of a snail moving and moving away is still distinct, as if time really did it the honour of standing still and the dew drop decided to lie down gentler than usual, on the big leaf you caress.

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2 APR 2020 AT 11:26

I don't smile at them often. But sometimes I must. And sometimes I must acknowledge how I envy the dainty cycle of seasons, the back and forth to grey clouds, to red headed migratory birds calling at my window even when the curtains are drawn.

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30 MAR 2020 AT 20:34

There's something almost
petulant in the crisp summer
evenings.
The way the sun looks stark
orange against a bored sky.

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26 MAR 2020 AT 21:03

You know too much. About me.
About the sun and her flowers.
About how the spiral of hope makes
room for itself amidst the petals.
I look up at you. And I can look down
at us, at once almost. We're happy.

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