They Misconstrued My Softness As Weakness, Perhaps Oblivious That Even The Softest Of Waters Can Burn,

And how easily we claim our love to be unconditional while knowing at the same instant that the greatest basis for loving someone more than our lives is to make ourselves exist.

Shayan Das

Maybe I love her eyes more than anything else in the world 'cause they add testimony to my existence every time I look into them.

Shayan Das

The best way to see Van Gogh's "Starry Night" is to stare at the center of the spiral for 20 seconds and then look at the painting.

Success to him was to relish the failure of all the inefficacious attempts that altered forms (in the shapes of disheartening remarks, abominations, taunts, agitation, maladies and envious faces) faster than seasons but couldn't resist him moving.

Shayan Das

I discovered self-love that very day when I extended my arms to embrace your delusional form and ended up embracing myself.

Shayan Das

Would you rather loose your ability to write or your ability to see?

And here comes one, an ineluctably lethal 'would you rather' question. Tbh, at one moment I thought of leaving this question to corrode in one corner of the mailbox but anyways here we go. Well, frankly speaking, it depends. But for time being, if there are no other options available I'd go for losing the ability to write (well, I guess it doesn't mean losing the ability to read as well) 'cause losing the ability to see 'fore turning even 20 would seemingly arrest the continuity and occurrence of some major things. For one moment I can stop appreciating beauty through my art but never in life through my senses.

Appears like asking someone if they would rather die or be dead. I dunno. Thanks for asking though!

Fall Poetry Recommendations 🍁

To Autumn by John Keats

My November Guest by Robert Frost

Fall, leaves, fall by Emily Brontë

Autumn by John Clare

End of Summer by Stanley Kunitz

Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare

Sunset to Star Rise by Christina Rossetti

First Fall by Maggie Smith

Ode to the West Wind by P.B. Shelley

Autumn Song by W.H. Auden

Tell me not here by  A.E. Houseman

The Wild Swans at Coole William Butler Yeats

Japanese Maple by Clive James

The Beautiful Changes by Richard Wilbur

Among the Rocks by Robert Browning

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost

Beyond the Red River by Thomas McGrath

September Midnight by Sara Teasdale

Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

A Reminiscence by Richard O. Moore

It's September by Edgar Albert Guest

At the end of the day, the only thing you'll sigh over after making a poet fall for you is that you could not become his first love.

Shayan Das

"Like a young sapling, my child", beamed the mother and went on further with a sigh, "As if you are a freshly sprung plantlet of rose, I'd water you, assume every minute necessity of you as my own, and defend you from every ruthless squall until you bloom to your fullest albeit the only flower I receive in my lifetime is at my funeral".

Shayan Das

I stumbled upon you by accident and now, with a minute and half, I love you?

Your words are what I will look for in everyone from now on to stumble across love.

Thank you so much for writing this! This means a lot. Wish you a great day/night ahead <3 ⁠