_aradhya

liittle sister of @amulyafreelancerr on Mirakee♥️ 'sup? just a fifteen year old.

Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • _aradhya 4h

    @writersnetwork we talk about you behind your back.

    @_guts_ xddd

    Ps- this is getting more likes, than my other posts! Waah!

    Read More

    .

  • _aradhya 4h

    I was literally thinking of ending this with a heartbreak. And then Willow started playing. So, you can't really blame me now, can you?

    I wrote this while listening to @_rainfrost_'s playlist. And it worked magic.

    @writersnetwork repost bhi kar do :")
    @mirakee #pod

    @_guts_

    Read More

    If walls could talk

    If these walls could talk,
    You would know all about
    How I started to smile wide
    Looking at the glass screen.
    My fingers typing fast,
    The walls reading every conversation
    Hearing my low giggles
    And only my giggles.
    You would know
    That there was once a time
    When the Devil's hour
    Always made me feel poignant
    And melancholy used to envelope me
    But now the devil's hour
    Actually brings me joy.

    If these walls could talk
    You would know all about
    How I slowly began to fall in love
    How I slowly started to feel elated
    How this broken world
    Didn't seem broken anymore
    How the light that was lost in me
    Wasn't really lost
    But just with someone else.
    You would know about
    How thankful I was
    For patiently waiting
    For happiness to come and find me.

    If these walls could talk
    You would know all about
    The way I transformed
    From a hopeless lost person
    To a hopeful traveller.
    You would know about
    Why talking to you
    Was my favourite thing to do.
    You would know.
    You should know.
    I think you already know.

    If these walls could talk,
    Or even if they don't
    You would and should know
    That this girl who thought
    She was devoid of love
    And couldn't find it
    No matter how much
    She would search for it,
    Started to disbelieve what she said
    The minute she stumbled
    Upon you.

    If these walls could talk,
    And even if they don't
    I know you know
    That I'm so madly in love
    With you.
    It doesn't matter
    If these walls talk
    You would still know
    That you are the reason
    For my existence.
    It doesn't matter
    Cause you see it
    In my poetry
    Bits and pieces of you
    Or sometimes
    Just you.

    It doesn't matter
    If these walls talk or not
    You still know
    That I love you.
    And I know too
    That you love me.
    ©_aradhya

  • _aradhya 1d

    These days are so clouded nowadays and on some days they are so clear, absolutely plain blue. But whatever day it is, it doesn't affect the aura of the forbidding air inside my house. However, what does affect me, are these calendar dates and clocks. These calendars, these dates, the hour hand, the minute hand, they make think about what my mother said.

    She said, "Life is too short to count days and hours, just live them instead of counting."

    I hate to admit, but she's always been hypocrite. And for the first time, someone being hypocrite was something which that someone did with a good heart. She expected me to be something she couldn't be. While all along, she had always counted days and hours and minutes, just waiting for the time her soul would be liberated. Excruciating? It is. Especially for a daughter who was fed with lies told by her mother. Especially for a daughter who found out that the opposite of those lies was residing inside the person's soul. The truth was in her. The lies are in me.

    Both implanted by her.

    It's funny how I came across a point in my time where I was doing the opposite of what my mum told me. I am in my twenties and I look at the calendar, crossing the dates inside my mind, not even one date worth looking forward to. Yes, not even anyone's birthday (including mine, especially mine). Then I look at the clock which is placed very close to the calendar. I count the minutes, the seconds passing away. I wait.

    What do I wait for? The same thing my mother waited for. Redemption. Redemption from this chain of delusions I'm stuck in. My thoughts can either be my well-wishers or my worst enemies. Since the day I read the note she left on the kitchen counter, my thoughts became numb. They were neither enemies nor well-wishers. And that's worse.

    There's a time when both the calendar and the clock harmonize with each other perfectly. It's when the the hour hand strikes 12 and lets the midnight hour take it's place in the corners of my room. And a new date is there on the calendar. You see this might happen to you as well. But my midnight is way different than yours.

    And I don't blame you. There's no one to be blamed. There's nothing to be blamed. I just have a memory, which is so deep that every midnight makes me have a flashback of that day, the memory in my mind more vivid than ever.

    You see, an hour after my mother left, I found a note on the kitchen counter. It was 1 am. My mother left at midnight. So I hope you understand why I look forward to midnights. It is because the just-turned adult inside me (who was still a girl starting her journey) needed her mother to be by her side. I can't really blame mum. She went through a lot. And she made me go through it, without even having any intentions of doing so. But she did. She so did.

    Do I hate her? No. Do I love her? No.
    Do I need her? Yes.

    I guess that also provides an explanation as to why I wait every single midnight for her. I wait for these calendar dates to pass by and these seconds to tick away. I wait for the day she would come back. I'm full of hope yet hopeless. She was the reason why I locked myself in a prison of those lies fed by her, and she will be the one who will be my redemption.

    Today's day is full of bright sunshine. It's amazing to see a rainbow today. Alas, the note in my hand with my mother's handwriting brings me to the same place.

    "Life's too short to count days and hours, just live them instead of counting." How?

    - Aradhya

    What a mindless write-up. I don't know if this makes sense. Does it?

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

    @_guts_

    Read More

    Calendars and Clocks.

    Do I hate her? No.
    Do I love her? No.
    Do I need her? Yes.

  • _aradhya 2d

    It was 3 am. It's always 3 am, when I find myself searching for the torn pages of my diary on the line of whose words were written in the blue colour of the ink. The time I wrote this, this blue colour didn't bring sadness to my heart, but rather clarity, for I was a writer who wrote truths, not the kind of lies which gave false hope to the people who depend on me for showing a path to them.

    Now the blue ink brings nothing but sadness. Maybe that's why, I try to search for those pages, to feel the same ink, trace my fingers through the page and feel the exact thing I felt in that time. People say as you grow older, you attain maturity in thoughts. But to me it seems like, I'm finding myself in more twisted and tangled threads of uncertainty and confusion, where I can't write clearly.
    Because I myself am not clear. I'm becoming devoid of things which brought me happiness, of my truths.

    I filled myself with these lies. And every 3 am, reminds me of the day I wrote the first piece without even knowing I was writing. It was a rant. A diary entry. I was small, innocent, someone who made a lot of spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, but more importantly, I was true. Now I feel like I cheat my pieces, the only thing that was my escape from this world, is now trapping me in a world of it's own who's creator is me. I weaved it with a web of lies.

    Suddenly I remembered today, that those pages of my diary were torn and thrown away by the part of me which forgot the other part of myself. I threw the torn pieces from the same place where I found myself standing a few moments ago. The edge of the skyscraper.

    And just then, I mumble these lines to myself,
    "On days of cotton candy skies, and nights surrounded with crushed blotted papers,"
    I try to go on, the true part of me is pushing me to go on. And I go on, mindlessly yet being mindful at the same time, a beautiful irony enveloping me. I go on and say, "I find my truth in conflict with my lies, and they are in war as I stand at the edge of this skyscraper."

    It suddenly hit me. The lines I just said, rhymed. They had a part of me in them. I rushed down, blinked my tears away and took out my old diary from which I had torn pages. It broke my heart little to see only five of the pages being there, but I pushed the little heartbreak away, and I wrote. I wrote these lines.

    For the first time, in what seems like a lifetime, I found that the blue ink of the pen doesn't bring me pain anymore. It brings me redemption. As I write each and every word, I entangle every thread of the web of lies I created. I find the pages. I cannot touch them, but I know what was written. I remember the texture of the page, I remember the words, I remember the ink that brought me happiness.

    I had started writing in pencils, because I didn't have the courage to use pens. But today I used a blue coloured pen. It brought clarity. It felt good.

    It felt free.

    And as I'm crying and smiling at the same time, I'll just end with the same first two lines I mumbled on the edge of skyscraper.

    On days of cotton candy skies,
    And nights surrounded with crushed blotted papers
    I find my truth disentangle my lies
    And the war which started at the skyscraper, ended at the skyscraper.

    - Aradhya

    This piece is inspired from a write up written by @_guts_ whose title is the same as mine.

    The two lines, "On the days of cotton candy skies, and nights surrounded with crushed blotted papers" does not belong to me. It was written by @_guts_
    Rutvi, you write amazingly. And I always wanted to write something on these two lines. Also, surprise.

    @writersnetwork hi, i miss you, show me some love?
    @mirakee
    #truthc @writersbay

    I didn't re read the post, typo errors and grammatical ones, please mention or ignore. Thank you.

    Read More

    On Days of Cotton Candy Skies

    On days of cotton candy skies
    And nights surrounded with crushed blotted papers,
    I find my truth in conflict with my lies
    They are in war as I stand at the edge of this skyscraper.
    ©_aradhya

  • _aradhya 3d

    What good is a day
    Which at the end of the day
    Leaves me astray
    With this bitter feeling of dismay?

    What good is a morning in that day,
    Which makes me long more for the night
    And as night sweeps in my way
    I cradle it only to see the same morning light?

    What good is the afternoon in that day,
    Where every meal I eat is just a reminder that I'm alone and it makes me mourn,
    About how lonely I am in this world, where people I loved never wished to stay,
    With a girl so gloomy, so now I'm left feeling forlorn?

    What good is the evening in that day,
    Where every hour is just a bomb ticking away
    Waiting for my breakdown in the quiet hours of the day
    Making me realize that I will wake up to yet another day
    Which will make me question again,
    "What good is a day,
    What good is a day?"
    - Aradhya

    Wrote for a prompt given by @writersbay #pbegc

    @writersnetwork @mirakee

    @_guts_

    Read More

    What Good is a Day?

    What good is a day
    Which at the end of the day
    Leaves me astray
    With this bitter feeling of dismay?
    ©_aradhya

  • _aradhya 4d

    This is a rant which I wrote a few days ago on the night when I found out people in my family and my neighbours being Corona positive. I felt so scared and disappointed and the feeling of "ah shit, here we go again" came. So I decided to write. For it was the only sane thing, as I've mentioned in the piece as well, around me.

    Also, for people who knew I'm gone, I'm back!

    @writersnetwork just letting you know.
    Will read everyone soon, I promise. I love you guys.

    @_guts_

    Also for someone who's coming back after around 8 months, Mirakee Ka interface bohot change ho gaya hai!

    Read More

    An Anxious Rant

    I feel something in my throat. Everytime I swallow the water that comes in mouth accompanied with my hands wiping my tears and the water from my nose, I feel something which can't be explained but only be felt. I know it can't be articulated, yet here I am with my diary and pen for it is the only calm and sane thing in this world around me which seems to become more and more chaotic and negative as each day passes.

    It's like negativity and dubiousness and deprecation is pulling me towards them. Everyone is going through something and it's so hard to find someone who is mentally happy nowadays. Everyone is going through some shit. And somehow, that's the only thing which provides comfort now.
    Isn't that sad?

    This is like deja vu. I've seen this happening. As every event is unfolding itself piece by piece, it's like an updated version of what happened last time. Just when everyone thought that things are gonna be okay, a second wave hits us harder than the first one. And it's happening in the exact same steps it happened earlier. The only difference is, it's worse.

    Every conversation I encounter with people has some part of the C word (that's right, saying the word is itself a feeling of discomfort for me at the moment) or death or someone in family being Corona positive. Oh shit, I just said it.

    My chest has started to feel heavier. I try to breathe in and breathe out, close my eyes and think about the good times. But who knew nostalgia could hurt as well? The good times were the ones where this feeling of confinement was absent, where the sudden realization that things are way worse than last time is absent.

    I hope everything is okay. I hope everyone is alright. I hope a light is visible soon to guide all of us through this time.
    But tonight, I accept my fears, my anxious thoughts and my overthinking mind. My pessimistic side is starting to reveal itself now, it speaks to me.

    Tonight, just for tonight, with my uterus becoming heavier, my period pain combined my morbid side presented their thoughts to my already anxious self. For the first time in a long time, breathing in fresh air felt suffocating.

    Tonight, just for tonight, I am going to let my pessimistic side think. Just for tonight.
    ©_aradhya

  • _aradhya 30w

    @zohiii happy birthday re❤️

    #zohiiikabudday

    Read More

    Happy birthday Zohiii!

    A soul with so much of subtlety yet a little bit of craziness lingering around him. His aura is an enchanting one, and you would definitely feel very good if you'll talk to him. But if you try talking to him about something that is completely senseless and stupid, he will present you with facts and questions that will prove you wrong, and might even offend you. (Believe me, I've seen it happening XD)

    He has this incredible art of writing in such a manner that the person who reads him is left gaping in awe (at least that's what happens with me).
    Talk to him for a few weeks, and you'll learn the style of "Apun" (Believe me again, apun ne dekha hai).

    Cherry on top? He's an equally sweet and caring friend when it comes to standing up for them or consoling then. He can listen to your rants for so much time and won't even complain. You can also go and vent to him and talk about your mistakes without the fear of being judged. And believe me, he'll give really good advice to you.

    And if you haven't read him or talked to him yet, that's a bummer. Honestly.

    His one liners will make you think a lot about everything around you. Actually not just one liners, his long posts as well. He has a heart of gold, and he'll stick with you if you promise to stick with him.

    Zohi, happy birthday. I decided to stay till 23rd because I knew it's your birthday, and I really wanted to be there in the hangouts group to celebrate. You are, undoubtedly, one of the most amazing people I have met, a writer whom I can look up to and admire.
    I knew we became good friends, when you shifted from Aradhya to Ari, and I, well I always called you Zohi, but nevermind XD

    Ps- yes! I'm bad at birthday wishes, thik hai? Deal with it! Huh.

    Pps- tera birthday toh acha man rha re, who knew we'll call and wish you raat ko 12 baje. Uff, internet Friendship goals (too cringy? Koi ni)
    ©_aradhya

  • _aradhya 30w

    The title should actually be, "फ्रोस्टी के पॉटरहेड्स" ;-;; but the title is too long for mirakee ;-;

    Get ready to be emotional! * Evil laughter *

    Ps- comment section will make me cry. Stop it, frosty ke potterheads!

    Read More

    Frosty ke Potterheads

    ***
    Velo, you taught me how love is a beautiful thing and that if you and your significant other are strong, you can get through mountains. So, stay strong like that, okay?

    Zohi, I vented to you once and you told me about my mistakes. You're an honest and a very good friend. I wish there were more people like you. But I guess, the most precious jewels are the most rarest to find. * Yes I called you a special jewel *

    Ketki, you are just amazing. Your paintings are something which makes me a lil bit jealous of you. And of course, I wish i could turn this text into purple. Stay the same re.

    Shadi, or Shalinee, or Shasha, thora online aaya karo. You're an amazing person, inside and outside. The fact that we both are Team Damon, is I guess the first thing we found in common. Stay the way you are!

    Sakshi, you are a Ravenclaw, and I guess that's what makes us similar when it came to songs and movies and whatnot. I have always admired your writing. Ps- I wrote that tell on tellonym when velo followed you.

    Mihi, kya bolu re? I never thought i would find such an amazing person like you. A perfect amount of craziness and subtlety lies inside your soul. You're sweet, amazing. Ily, you know that.

    Ashu, or wait, Ashupuff, yeah that's better. I feel so blessed to have met you. You are also one of the strongest people, I know. A considerate, caring and an amazing writer, you truly are my Mirakee best friend re.
    ***

    I don't know what else to say about them. Because they are legit the most craziest set of people I have met on Mirakee. Sometimes there's a "scathing" silence in the group, and sometimes, everyone goes crazy and start messaging at the same time.
    I love them! And since I'm going on a long hiatus, what better time and better way to dedicate a post. Because it's never late to tell people who you admire, that "You mean the most to me."
    There are certain other people here too, but these people are just my daily dose of entertainment XD they even made me go into this habit of using "XD" emoji. And the kind of memes you'll find in our group, uff, sometimes the elders will forget that there are 14 year olds and then say, "Oops sorry". Told ya, crazy.

    So frosty ke potterheads. I'll misssss youuuuu guysssss bheryyy muchhhhh. I'll come back in April/march with a smash and disrupt you life. Forever. And. Ever. And. Ever.

    Love you guys!

    - Aradhya

  • _aradhya 30w

    Now I'm searching every lonely place
    Every corner calling out your name
    Tryna find you but I just don't know
    Where do broken hearts go? Where do broken hearts go?
    - Where Do Broken Hearts Go, One Direction

    I think I've "mistaken" Soulmates and Muses to be synonyms.

    @writesnetwork kyu? Koi aur username nahi mila kya? Thank you for the repost ;-;;;;;

    @writersnetwork

    @mirakee #pod #writersnetwork

    Read More

    Muses.

    Where do all broken hearts go? Maybe they go to a place where all the broken muses are lost. And they search for their other halves in the melancholic lanes. Oh did I just reach a realization? Are those broken hearts, broken muses, searching for their other half?

    We bump into other halves. Different shades come together. But not every shade of colour forms the perfect hue. The complete hue.
    We bump into other halves. And when we bump, we go into this slow motion I think. In that slow time, we create moments of love, see dreams of an 'us' and build our future. Then in the same slow motion, we see the built futures crumbling down to pieces, the thought of 'us' disappearing and moments turning into memories. Then we break. And the slow motion ends.
    When two different muses bump into each other, they break like glasses. Some leave scars, some leave wounds. Some leave relief, some leave regrets. Some leave the question of "What if I didn't say/do that" or "What if I'm overreacting".

    And while we're struggling with our own uncertain thoughts, retrospecting our decisions and the other muse's decisions as well, we find our other half muse. Some find it very early but realise late. Some find it very late but they realised early (just scared to make what is called the first step).

    And you'd think that most of the times it would be people who have the same likings and interest who would fit together. Well, yes that happens but not most of the times, it's half the time. There are people who are completely opposite to each other, and when they find each other, they find their incomplete selves whole again. The both cases are fifty-fifty, you can say.

    Where do all broken hearts go? Where do all broken pieces go? Where do muses go?
    We scatter ourselves, with the hope of finally finding that one thing which would help us find redemption from these heartbreaks.

    Where do we reach? Is the destination worth it?
    We reach in the embrace of those other muses. The ones that fit perfectly with each other, like a faultlessly beautiful hue. And is it worth it? Oh, with the kind of patience you have had, I think it is.
    ©_aradhya

  • _aradhya 30w

    Ahhh, I don't know if this makes sense. Random scribbling.

    @writersbay #atticc

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

    Read More

    Juxtaposition

    /Consumed, desolated
    I wander like a spirit
    In these lanes of memories
    Inside my mind/

    And I wonder
    if all the juxtapositions
    That I've boxed up
    and kept in my attic,
    Will one day come alive
    And entangle me
    With threads of uncertainty
    And confusion
    And chaos.

    /Consumed, desolated
    I run like a sprinter
    Away from all the demons
    That are coming to catch me/

    And I notice
    That I'm stuck between
    What ifs and what nots,
    Decisions I could have made
    Decisions I could have prevented.
    Looks like the juxtapositions,
    The ones in my attic
    In those once-lovely-now-forlorn gifts
    Which my mother
    Gave me,
    Came alive after all.

    /Consumed, desolated
    I'm not fighting anymore
    I sit on the sea shore
    Watching the gentle waves/

    And I guess
    The greatest juxtaposition
    Never lied in the attic
    But it lied within me.
    I think that
    It lies within all of us
    But it takes several incidents
    And just one moment
    To realize it.
    I guess
    This is my moment
    And this is my juxtaposition.

    /Consumed, desolated
    I wonder if my existence
    Is itself a
    A juxtaposition/
    ©_aradhya