Dahlia (unblossomedyet)

Dahlia (unblossomedyet) Poems

Dahlia (unblossomedyet) Biography

Never knew that writing will become my passion and full of great fun helping me add wings to my musings and eventually build up my own kingdom of musings: Dahlia's Wordscape. I was busy with other priorities in life including earning a reliable living until that final calling as i often refer it as. It all started initially with mere scribbles but in due course it seemed that I was writing from some inner drive force, not of myself but through myself, Perhaps that is my inner self without which I would not be here. It is as if the universe made my way for me to find this passion and manifest myself more thoroughly through it. With time, I evolved as a content writer, Poet and drafted creatives which became my own way of spreading love and happiness across with the help of my pen name 'unblossomedyet'.)

The Best Poem Of Dahlia (unblossomedyet)

Nest Of Memories- An Ode To My Ancestral Abode

Seeing through the bio-scope of time, a house did stand,
A testament to a bygone land.
A hundred years of history, where generations thrived
Tale love and unity that truly survived.

Within its walls, stories did unfold,
Of births and marriages, cherished and bold.
A joint family's unity, strong and true,
In that ancestral house, memories grew.

A giant mango tree in the backyard's embrace,
Withstood cyclones, a symbol of nature's grace.
Its sweet fruits, a gift to us each summer,
A taste of joy that nothing could encumber.

Beneath the surreal breeze, a swimming pool serene,
Opposite our home, a grandeur unforeseen.
A witness to the dreams our forefathers held,
In their hearts, a vision of beauty compelled.

Venetian blinds, resilient through changing skies,
They whispered tales of the past, where time flies.
Antique construction, a rarity to find,
A marvel of design, forever entwined.

Intricate patterns adorned the ceiling high,
A testament to creativity that reached the sky.
Marble cut teak wood tables, memories of youth,
Witnesses to growing up, glimpses of truth.

An English black oscillating clock stood tall,
It's ding-dong bell echoed, embracing all.
Every hour it chimed, a melody sincere,
It's echoes still ringing, forever held dear.

The vast terrace, a portal to the night's embrace,
Where twinkling stars painted the sky's face.
Now a forgone memory, lost in the flow,
A cherished place where dreams used to grow.

Yet, alas, the house now stands in ruin's grip,
A dilapidated shell, a sorrowful slip.
Modern towers rise, rooms perhaps like a pigeon hole,
Replacing the charm that the past behold.

But in my mind's eye, I close my sight,
And see myself, a child of pure delight.
Playing with my sister and friends, carefree,
Hanging from windows, playing crocodile in the sea.

Life was simple then, filled with innocent frolic & fun,
In that ancestral house, under the golden sun.
Though it stands no more, except in memory's keep,
I'll cherish its essence, forever mine to reap.

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