Miraquill
©_mysoul
_mysoul
learning how to love myself~~
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Just a world of four walls,
uncanny feelings, hysterically unknown self,
and the same cup of tea.
Tirelessly search the rudimentary base for living.
Nothing beats this heart faster,
as if it knows the commotion in its way,
Unclear vision and the same ordeals,
Is there any hope to this sinking existence?
The roses in the garden, and the colour of this dress,
loose its colour too.
Faces that meant happiness, dont exist today
The teary eyes have cried oceans,
Is there any hope to this sinking existence?
It is another same grudge,
every other day, tied to my hopeless soul,
Smiles that never costed a penny,
today ask for one.
Laughs that comforted yesterday,
today search for a reason.
These eyes that convey redness, talk more.
Sugarcoat this soul, spoil it with love,
spill sunshine to this dark home,
just give it some hope.
Another sinking existence.
~Kashish
(_mysoul)
P.s. its been long right? -
I've grown up with just dealing things with kindness, and to speak up when you see things getting wronged. But they taught me to trade tears with beautiful sceneries and find escape in that plethora of soltitude.
I even believed that.
Wasn't sure if falling in love with something so passionately would let these eyes see it torn betwixt the lost chapters of want-to-live and want-to-die.
I even believed I was wrong.
Everytime I started to figure out the worst puzzles of life, they crafted my mind with just one answer, be the way T-H-E-Y want you to be, always justifying with words that bleed these ears till date.
I even survived that.
And even when this didn't seem enough, they tightened up to throw this little piece of paradise to survive more thunderstorms, probably some inhumane act.
And they feel, you still are wrong, you do wrong, when you've survived hailstorms and didn't let these roots loosen the grip even back then, why today would you? It always started with them, thinking about how they see, how they'd act. Always compromising your presence.
//Life isn't built up without catastrophes and a little bit of cold. But it isn't also letting yourself go through things that hurt your existence. Stand strong before the stars align you to collapse forever.
I wish "they" know.//
Kashish
©_mysoul -
Loving deeply is like,
fragmenting pieces of your own
expectations,
Always asking for more.
©_mysoul -
.
©_mysoul -
I've loved the little aroma that has the audacity to lift up your mundane coffees. Isn't it?
//Isn't it how we love to expect but rather nothing to accept!//
Life, expectations and acceptance have always made huge contradictions to the chatter my mind invites.
Its obnoxious how mouths full of flair invite you with a juxtaposing action. Like, everyone you know ready to comfort you with words but nothing in action?
This makes me sob over ideally me trying to mend broken hearts with nothing but just actions, which never were traded but of course mistreated. We claim for, people not standing by our side even when we are not ready to accelerate it through acceptance.
Neverthless, how you felt those chapters of life would stay forever are left back in ashes?
How those everlasting pictures that were once your epitome of friendship is nothing but a memory? There is a million to feel, but a fraction of it to purpose.
Likewise how we feel that something or someone lasted longer than our lost hopes?
~We feel, we expect, but rather fail to accept.~
Kashish
©_mysoul -
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Even at times when we dont want to, we come across acquaintances of lies? Pretty fun how we allow it skim through our honest skin.
~Its all a lies darling.~
@writersnetwork #pod
@mirakeeShe owns it like her catastrophe,
and bleeds her wounds deeper at nights,
She rests her ink on the domains of the owned skin,
she still believes in falling stars,
she isn't sly but hurt a gazillion of times.
You wonder those pages,
She left blurred,
She witnessed it all and allowed it for once.
But why did you?
Why, you kept silence and served her lies,
Didn't you see that in her eyes?
She still looks at those empty skies,
grumping for those wasted days,
She carries her soul at the cliff, weakly tied,
in awe, to serve those pretty lies
aging a slanderous trust.
But I wonder how long would she pretend,
All she knows is,
//Its all a lie even then.//
Kashish
©_mysoul -
//Forevers are like buried petals in your old books,
Irresolute yet appealing.//
©_mysoul -
I scampered oceans to find light
In your materialistic heart.
Wonder if I travelled too far
in search of my lost scars.
©_mysoul -
.
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I turned a blurred mystery back in my raw gardens,
It took me a minute to hold on myself,
What a jerky turn did my feet rest into,
Would I just brag about the sand weeping in my hands or rather nurture the sapling of only hope that arrested my body,
What was it?
It has been 23.4 hours past it,
I still am recollecting the bits around,
A million miles of brokenness and a trillion breaths I revisited within the moments.
After being 24 hours harsh on myself, I turned around and looked who and where I made myself fit into. It wasn't pounds of jealousy or lost focus. All it was just insecurity. Something to be deprived of, something to loose a feel of, a "high" or even that esteem.
And I grabbed myself a cup of warm water and sat on my ramshackled chair, laid my head on the white furnished desk and rested my weakened palms.
That moment had a momentum, it made me reciprocate a lot of things.
The world had never seen it easy, never do I expect it would, it just taught everyone to be with the flow, to come and to survive; and in this battle of surviving we forget how much hollow the insight of a person becomes. Maybe it was you too today, being harsh on yourself; but in this battle of you and the world never stop plummeting against the odds.
There are 1001 lies and a journey of discovering what people want you to become.
Im still covering my wounds, wrapping it up in a blanket of the boundaries they admire me to be in,
Finally facing the existing cultures of this adulthood, of how some unsaid words build a trash in your head.
I walk past the road, sobbing with the only piece of torn handkerchief realising the testimony of this "Realistic" world.
-A tale of a new period
By Kashish.
@writersnetwork #pod @mirakeeA tale of a new period.
©_mysoul
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daphnae
22w
Read MoreI can't do anything but contrast the days then, how self loathe was the only thing I could reach in order to feel the skin over my bones getting moist, and now when a genuine laughter is not enough to reflect the peace binding the overwhelming bliss in my heart. I watch myself preparing through every possible collapse from ending my life those days and I flinch today, with so much pain and fear, that what if a single thing would've gone differently. The knives I've been honing at the backyard, those are buried deep beyond my reach tonight and I know for a certain reason that I wouldn't ever try to unfold the layers of my struggles and his. Struggles to keep me happy, in peace, and loved.
I know what it's like to lose everything and still have a spark of hope in the heart for a miracle. I also remember how I threatened myself into not believing in miracles of universe. But the skies unleashed the last prayer I would make everyday, in front of me: him. He is just an ordinary boy you'll find, obsessing over football and curling with good sense of humour until you learn his heart, full of things I never expected to feel home to. A heart I could connect to in a beat, but only realize after, months after. Less of a heart, more of my prayers and dreams. Brown eyes, I've met only once, but enough to make my days ahead, the days I know will be abandoned of his presence. How time and secrets laced our way to each other, how my heart finally reached him to kiss and breathe euphoria into. He has been someone I've looked upto on days when I never felt like opening my eyes. And every moment he has been with me, we have binded another eternity of love. He made me hear smiles over phone calls, made me fall for songs which I thought left my side ages ago, made me fall for myself amidst every bad decision I end up making. He showed me every inch of my heart, of myself I forgot or never knew existed. The places I shut myself up in, he held my hand to face them and take them in without fear and I couldn't believe when I finally could go to the terrible corridors of my life without feeling pain. He made me alive all over again with nothing but his presence over the phone. He made me feel the strength I always carried alongside, kissed my soul with every appreciation I starved for. And the day I voiced my love for him, I failed to show or talk about how much I did. But with each passing day, as my heart grows love for him a bit more, I know I would make everyday count into him and into us. I knew that one day, when I grow to be the woman he truly deserves, would be the day I will say to him "Hold my heart forever as you will, have my soul intertwined upon you, and I promise you the day I would be scraped out from the mortal world would be the day I will be yours forever, if not now, if you wish."
©daphnae
Is something evident? ;-;Only once in a lifetime or less, the universe makes you collide with the most of beautiful of miracles that existed within and if anyone asks me about it, I know now, every atom of my body would point to you.
-
daphnae
19w
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"30 April, 2019
The creaks of the door I just flung open amplified in beats until the migraine took over the nerves of my brain. I aimlessly groped for the light switches
and there you go - unfiltered specks colliding my eyes with severe headstrain. This is how I knew the intoxication drifting away, And I knew what's next - GUILT. I look over the floor strapped with used and unused syringes, the broken vases and each step into my own house felt like a hell in my alternate universe: my unmade bed, torn curtains accelerating every spin in my head. I lay in my bed, as it is, tracing my moments here with my family. Reliving my happy moments with them only makes me bigger of a monster after everything I've put them through. The stains of blood near me are old, contrary to the pang in my guilt-loaden heart. I wish there were words I could speak to voice the shame I brought into myself by throwing away the only people who taught me how to love. But nothing, nothing in this world or beyond would ever suffice for what loophole I've trapped myself into, dragging them along:
'Aaruhi,' I called, 'I'm hungry.' Through the curtains of the kitchen I could watch her frowning over the phone call. I was buzzed and so she knew it. I scream her name, she doesn't even look back. The blood in my nerves bursting, I watched her hazy face- her lips mouthed my name as if it was sinned. The rest of what happened is clouded at the back of my mind. The only thing I remember was the blood on my shirt and her head flooded with the same. My daughter screaming "mom" resonates my ears with tremendous pain now. I remember picking both of them up, the horror in their eyes. And I remember everyone's eyes following me as I run on my way to Vinesh for a second dose and rest of what I don't remember anything of."
It has been years since my first
addiction campaign and my journey
through the nightmares of cravings,
guilt, pain and loss.
What I held onto, when I screamed
and whimpered along my way out of it,
was my family- my wife and my daughter
who I wake up to every morning now
and utter one single word "sorry".
I am proud of myself for pulling it through
my phases of pain and distess,
for being able to brim smiles over their faces.
And all along I pray for the addicted souls
for their peace in moulding their way out
of this vortex that rips us of every shred
of love or humanity we are capable of.
©daphnaeEXCERPTS FROM THE DIARY OF A DRUG-ADDICT
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Love is not magic but the random lines you said to me in a conversation which grips my mind on random sundays while watching myself smile to the mirror or the sky. Caressing the eclipsed corner of the moon, I pluck words you gifted me: to make it know how it feels to be incomplete and admired, flawed and loved, scarred and appreciated. I gasp at how you take me to the highest of clouds. This is how I know that after you leave nothing ever will be enough. One day, when they would offer me the whole world, even then i would look at the stars i lost you among and smile. A smile screaming at their faces how you are always enough, beside me or not. Love is not magic but the way your eyes escape my grip, then curving up the corners of your lips into a smile I would die over and over again to watch. How everytime I replay that moment, I feel myriads of stars which I outgrew inside my ribcage sing in collision.
The way you've listened to me: like no one else ever did, made me want to be myself after ages of trying to fit into this unworthy world and standards. The times when we can't be with each other,. I don't complain about them. 'Cause you make me feel like I've had more than enough while I still yearn for you at the same time. But every moment with you feels like an overwhelming lifetime. You make me go around the world in minutes, discover myself like I've always wanted to. You wait for me, and this whole time I just know that I have found the real person. Like other lovers, I won't complain you coming late into my life because we both know how perfect was the time when I first fell into your arms.
The things you say, the way you say it- you make forever seem so simple and true. And it always seems as if I'm someone you know like the back of your hand. The songs that you just send to me out of the blue, the love songs or the songs which describes 'her' like the most beautiful, delicate thing in this world. Apart from your arms, i dwell in those- with all of my heart warm and full. And at that moment, I crave all alone to get this delicate just so I could match the lyrics but also because I know you'll hold me with little more love and never let me break. And this is how, I love you a little more with every piece of my heart you put back into shape.
©daphnae -
fireblast_
10w
S O C I A L A N X I E T Y
I haven't done anything wrong, but I'm guilty. I'm guilty of breathing, of taking extra space at the bus station, of eating more than others at the family gathering, I'm guilty of picking the prettiest dress and still feeling insecure when a group of more pretty girls shows up. I can't stop thinking that I know a lot about science and psychology, but I'll forever remain a dumb kid who seems to forget every word of her mother language when someone asks her a question. I'm guilty for reaching college a little late and having everyone's eyes fixed on me when I enter, I'm guilty for feeling that every whisper is about me. I'm guilty for watching people cry and not having enough courage to hold their hands or hug them tightly. I'm guilty for feeling that everything I create is incomplete.
Some nights I can't stop thinking that nobody knows my favourite colour or that one song that always makes me cry. Maybe there's no way out, but I don't know what to do with the hunger in my eyes for things my body wouldn't allow me to be in love with. To have someone who asks the questions, and I answer, unapologetically, recklessly. To write and be written about.
©fireblast_ -
fireblast_
7w
Artists have the constant need to communicate something unexplainable. To have people who know them through their characters, to look at life through their eyes, to express things that people are terrified of explaining. They have this constant urge to expose their wounds or to conceal them. They paint a language of their own emotions, no matter how trivial or empty, they make silence as if it could be spoken. They make every tragedy sound like poetry. They want to be heard but will leave as soon as you learn the sound of their voice. Every art is the proof that it's not about the things they see but what they feel inside.
©fireblast_ -
Morphean musings of mine
Meandering on mesmeric murklings
Malefic marks on my mind
Mimetic like minutiae of mare
~ O moon my mind is shredded like thy mangata ~
©ak_anjali_daydreamzz -
btslove
4w
Read More#simile
@writersnetwork
Thank you so much wn for the repost ����
I'm grateful ��NIGHT BUTTERFLY
Like an ant revolving around orbit,
Cradling five year old blonde book,
I spiritless sitting on wine chesterfield
Staring at Big circle of wall clock
and sharp needles, that trick my eyes
and walk like a voyager standing on a boat
and touching very cleverly
horizontal lines of hope
from his finger tip.
Too timid whispers came from me
like a soft feather trying to kiss my forehead,
Perhaps they trying to wake up
someone who is sleeping inside me and
watching an enthralling daydream.
Faster than my blinking eyelashes
a tangerine hues start stretching his arm
around my daydream,
Flamingos standing on one leg staring the sun
like Anthurium flowers drinking sun rays
My Proliferating wishes again waiting
for Zero o'clock
like running white needles of black clock
they are also desperate to see
the blinking stars of daydreams
in my eyes,
Where Fireflies are flying with zephyr and
sleeping on flowers like Butterfly
~"Butterfly of night".
/I'm not a poet,
I'm poetry
that roaming on grey pages of poet
And flying around the bizzare ending,
like a night butterfly/
☆btslove
5:08 pm
27 October 21 -
What dies before death?
Equality dies before death
when a handful of criticism
is thrashed upon young faces
who aspires to be the change
their fierce eyes behold honestly
they strive to become an alteration
their vision is as clear as the skies,
in monsoon after a heavy rain
while sacks of tribute
are bestowed upon old diplomat
who believes in duplicating everything
rather than offering opportunities
to fresh talents
whose duty is to dominate the decent,
disguise truth, display dishonesty
Authenticity dies before death
when folks who are supposed to
chase passion
possibly run behind fashion
rather than listening to the inner voice
bringing out hidden talents,
they choose to copy celebrities
follow craze, live in an illusion
Compassion dies before death
when some children sell balloons
for little coins,
from what they reflect
it's their source of food
while some idiotic fools,
bargains for some rupees
even after having a sufficient
amount of cash to pay for it,
Humanity dies before death
when peace walk towards the end
of the horizon,
violence comes back with strength
while wars knock on the gate of rivalry
anger opens the door
destruction saunters hand in hand
©fairytales_
2078/06/01
2:50 p.m -
I'm painting my nights with happy lies
Holding tightly a cracked brush of emotion
I smudged my feelings in naked canvas,
With the blue hue of betrayal until
Anxiety gripped my impatience soul
I played with shades of colors,
The way grief flirted with me,
Mixing dark blue in light red
I created tones that reflect
The color of my heart,
Grey like a pink
©fairytales_ -
What do you do when you first wake up?
I feel guilty about living one more day.
©fairytales_
