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The Sunflower

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You rise with the hunger of a thousand dawns,   gold spilling from your throat,   your face a furnace,   Your roots clutching the earth   like a child’s fist around a secret.   The sky leans down to listen.   You do not beg for light—   You command it.   Each petal a blade cutting through the gray,   your spine unbending,   even as the wind hisses through your leaves.   At dusk, you bow,   not in surrender,   But in devotion.   Your seeds are promises   whispered to the soil- "One day, I will stand this tall.   One day, I will burn this bright. Until then, I kneel beside you,   learning the language of light." © Meghna, 2025, All rights reserved.

Death: A Gentle Love Song

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You come like dusk, so soft, so kind, A whispered call—I leave behind All weight and pain, all tears and fears, To step into Your light. Not sad, not lost, Your love is the only home I’ve known. One last breath, then sweet release, A quiet hush, a perfect peace. The peace I have longed for so long! Oh Death, you’re not the end, but the final place, An ultimate Romance with my sweetheart, God! Oh Death, you’re just Love’s open door, Where hearts return, and ache no more. © Meghna, 2025, All rights reserved.

Flowers and God: My Divine Tapestry

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  In fields of gold, where light descends,  A breath of heaven softly bends,  To touch the petals, delicate & bright,  A whispered divine hymn In morning’s light!   O Flower, child of sacred turf,  You are the fingerprints of God!  Each hue He dipped in celestial dew,  And brushed with love to bloom for you.    The rose, aflame with crimson fire,  Burning with the ardour of desire, Not earthly love, but purer still,  A testament to Heaven’s will.    The lily, robed in spotless white,  Stands chaste beneath the Lord’s own sight,  A mirror of the soul made clean,  Where grace and mercy intervene.    The daisy, humble, small, yet free,  Lifted up its face in ecstasy,  As if to say, "Rejoice! Be Glad!  The smallest things make God rejoice!"   And violets, in shadows deep,  Where weary hearts might pause to weep,  Are tokens of His tender care—  That even sorr...