'Simplicity defines me, and yet I contradict its every aspect.'
Natasha lives, loves and laughs! : -) Forever chasing her dreams, some of which now find life in her poems. more »
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Natasha Sharma Poems
I must not write a diary, For then somebody will know; I will speak of you in my poems, Where, with rhyme, love will flow.
Elements of Love
If I were Water, I would wash you up on the shores of the past; Where memories would fly by- some slow, some fast; Alas! I am but me,
Elusive are the spaces where peace rests, What has Man gained after his troubled quests! He burned the World he set out to revive, Nobody wins a war, some just survive.
If I close my eyes, the night won’t be gone; Deep in the woods, there will be no dawn; I have journeyed far to lose you to the world, With memories that often break into a song.
This emptiness that I feel everyday, The journey of pain is still underway, The troubles I bear, why should I say! Things look so sullen with shades of grey;
The ink that traced my fondest thought, And carved in words what my lips said not; Lay frozen in the winter snow, My feelings ran wild, but none were caught.
Sometimes the faces change yet it feels the same, A new desire rekindles an old flame! Space and Time play a game with you, The present seems blurred, it's déjà vu!
In this world sublime, Beauty is frozen in Time. Above, the sky dazzles in light; Below, the colours seem lost in white!
I treasure those moments frozen in my heart, When I believed we would never part; Alas! Ages between us Time has swept, A promise was broken, a promise was kept;
As I See It
I watch people running an unknown race, I see them rise and sink to alter the pace; Changing with every season, Knowing not for what damn reason,
If only I could see you again, Love would be such a sweet pain;
The Evening Sky
On the evening sky the memories run, Chasing the moments that never begun; A picture perfect paints my heart, Tending to love is more of an art.
With racing steps and flying hair, Against the wind, without any care;
Your hundred faults I wish to learn, Hoping that one will make me turn; Towards a world where we can never meet, Where our seeking eyes can never greet;
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
I must not write a diary,
For then somebody will know;
I will speak of you in my poems,
Where, with rhyme, love will flow.
Lost chances will be tried again,
And with the pen in my hand, we may win;
In a world which is not to be,
Being together will not be a sin.
I will pour my heart in every line,
To every word I will be true;
If anybody asks for whom I write,
I will just smile and picture you.