Miraquill
so many stars are twinkling
in this world, yet here's me,
sitting all alone, gazing those scars;
the blinding light you radiate
every time I see you, I fall in love
with you again and again;
I love darkness only because of you,
every little thing over years summed up
to create a story, maybe not romantic
but a horror one, keeping us awake
all night; trust me I travelled through
many paths - known, unknown, light, dark
- but I don't know why I found my home in
you, your encouragement is the best gift I
ever received, all those nonsense talks
mean so much, all those rotten jokes;
if one day my life leaves you,
don't misunderstand me as my soul
will never leave you
©agile_dreamer
agile_dreamer
~virago
-
-
রাতের কথা বলব কারে,
শুনবে কী কেও ধৈর্য ধরে?
ব্যস্ত শহর স্বপ্ন দিয়ে
জাগিয়ে রাখতে চেয়েছিল মোরে ।
অল্প আলোয় গল্প শুনিয়ে
রাখতে চেয়েছিল মা যে ধরে ।
কোই? পারেনি তো কেও
রাখতে আমায় শিকল বেঁধে ।
অচেনা পথ চিঠি পাঠায় রাতের অন্ধকারে,
সেই চিঠি কে সঙ্গী করে চললাম চাঁদের দিকে ।
পথ কী পারে পথকে ভুলতে !
এই বিশ্বাসে চলি তাহলে,
ঠিক দেখা হবে, গানের ওপারে ।
©agile_dreamer -
agile_dreamer
23w
wet midnight thoughts,
woven into faint dreams,
welcomed the lovers' night,
cupid played by moonlight
©agile_dreamer -
look,
the stars
are still there,
why aren't you
here?
©agile_dreamer -
long-lasting smiles are those
which come from within,
short-staying laughs are those
which you never owned
©agile_dreamer -
The questions you asked me at midnight
are finding answers in my soul.
©agile_dreamer -
agile_dreamer
26w
just when they
switched off the light,
I saw you
shinning bright;
the candles never
shone like this before,
it seemed that my
lonely ship found a shore;
seconds turned into minutes
minutes to hour,
all thoughts sweetened
which were once sour;
broken wings healed and
waited for command,
all hopes which once
ran away, summoned
©agile_dreamer -
Permanent light
I will
light the lamp
which will warm you where
my shadows won't reach you in dark
midnights
©agile_dreamer -
agile_dreamer
29w
Read More
We are nothing but stories the moon weaved for the ocean just to extend the night, to spend a little more time.
Night Stories
and the night came again;
tired souls resting under blankets
challanged the cold to try its best;
some busy with their dreams,
worked all night just to make
that little difference;
some eyes waited for someone
to sing them lullabies,
some with broken hearts
are moaning over memories;
some with hopeful eyes are
enjoying it with long drives;
some with disgusted faces
are waiting for sleep
to enter their eyes;
the moon told these stories
to the ocean just to hold him
for a little longer with no reason.
©agile_dreamer -
agile_dreamer
33w
Read More
#monostich
What! EC(12)!! ��
Thank you so much @miraquill & @writersnetworkBlooming love
the flowers of love, bloomed happiness in the dark trees of pain
©agile_dreamer
-
symphonygaps_
15w
Read More#girl
What! EC(11)
Happy happy ☺
Thank you so much @writersnetwork
#sg_l
~ every soaring bird has a story to tella girl
as a girl she was born
with curses all around;
looked down by everyone
she grew up with sun
with thorns everywhere
she picked her life's tragedy
wrapping it up with melodies,
created a story of fantasy
don't tell me what you did
for her cause they're all on behalf;
if ever the light stops shinning
believe me you won't be blamed
for there was no hope but only fear
but the only request she has for you
without any clinging satire,
is that if the light shines brighter
then you won't come to beg further
for any share cause that's her -
All that rage is not beautiful. It's just a beating heart, pulsing pulverized addiction, pumping grief into our bones. Flashing flesh flexing against your collarbone becomes a hand around a throat, becomes a fist through a wall, becomes a body in the ground. All of this, the tide will bring on as the moon watches through unfinished binoculars. All of this will come and swallow you like a shot of vodka, but that comes later. For now what you have is a halo around your head and sin in your eyes. For now you are a perfect cherry-colored deity with movements so light and translucent you might as well be a dream, or cigarette smoke. A spasmodic broken promise, the echo of an archived angel, a eulogy to violence, you are a magician on a tightrope and you will see me in half. Love will kill me because it is the sun, because it is rage, because it is a beating heart. If love is really waiting I won't slam a door in its face. If there's a light at the end of this tunnel I won't turn it off this time. I won't ask any dumb questions like "When is it my turn to be sane? Can I expect to breathe? To be forgiven? Is it cold where we're headed?" You'll shoot me a graveyard grin in the rearview mirror and toy with your lighter. I won't bother asking who's in charge.
What I am trying to say is God is a teenage girl with a zippo lighter. What I am trying to say is the girl is a gun, a double-edged sword-a lover and an executioner. I turn destruction to creation over and over again. I turn love into death, over and over and over again.
©_chrysanthemum_ -
queen_butterfly
15w
Read MoreShe is oblivious to even the slender, trivial echo of everything serene and sultry. In the mouth of hunger it's all desiccated, stale and homely. Delusional winds are stinking of everything she has already inhaled, bogus cold shivers are proliferating into goosebumps and her sanity is staggering on the brink of its hundredth collapse. The untangled past angst and quietened / stifled trauma is what her breaths have been reeking of and her poems are high on. Her indecisive inner voice and intrusive thoughts are severely drunk on potions and they think, her mouth bleeds all that venom and her hands are poisoned, unfurling the head damages and decrepit stitches at the bare touch and gaze. Her ghastly but desparate and wrecked aura anyway enchants the frigid icy but flimsy, loathed organs especially the one beneath their chest. She is done getting told to muster up/ take the plunge/ breathe deeper but no one underscores the betrayals, shoots away the heartbreak bullets, slashes out the sword of love shaped as defilement in the air. She is an imperative yet derelict excerpt of an unfinished lady, walking down the imperial staircase just to run into an unexecuted-nerve racking self at the other end. Her foot marks seem to be of a forsaken foot shielding enduring a self-stranded soul, a dysphoric dimension, h̶e̶r̶ ̶b̶o̶d̶y̶, that imbricates itself over the dejected layout where the extra edges are close enough to every branch of death paving its way through life in search of a monster in her wildness that's asleep for a few sad nights and some low spirited hours, the uncanny scraps falling off the cut out, fearing every far off, yet to ensue, yet to be true, a̶n̶x̶i̶e̶t̶y̶.̶
Her lungs echo every ounce of the soaked-suppressed-sad familiarity and suppression is sharp-spired-tipped, suppression is dissecting, suppression escorts her lungs. Her lungs are dissected and all they now want are cigarettes and breathlessness so they can smoke out everything she has violently gasped and choke on everything she has wildly loved, so they can decay to death.
Bold of them to blame her and cigs.
~A girl's last blunt.
©queen_butterfly
#girl
EC��Her lungs have been dissected by everything
she violently gasped and wildly loved. -
queen_butterfly
19w
Read More
��:���� ����
The wet bathroom floor desires to flush me down my own disgrace, for the warmth of collapse because I've been frigid in the arctics of blood dripping off my nose, choking my own throat with capillary cracks finally developing into ruptures. I want to sneeze out the breathlessness and weep out everything that's stuck in my eyes and head like memories but my lacrimal glands are only proficient at unfettering blood than tears. I've swallowed morphine for the lungs but it's never enough, they have a majestic retort for all the cocaine my mother wished I had burnt but I rather gulped. My pain ran away/ abandoned me, wiped me off like a stain because I am a hopeless romantic and
[I held it too tight / for too long ]
My shadow stranded/ evacuated my body as I reek off destruction, swallowing a handful of hallucination and now I am a lonely phantom traipsing over all the past remorse, souvenirs of my sins, echoes of my perpetual ache stitched within my chest, watered by my ingested tears, growing all over my rib cage like hyacinth.
I found my home in delusions and grave in realism. I want to decimate it, tug my grave and let death be the only escape. My nails are scratching the mirror because there's nothing left to scratch my own self for, I've fed on all the decaying flesh. I want more of everything and less of everyone. My rib cage is macerating and the stench of it calls out the microbes and reduces the human in me.
[I am me? or I was me? ]
I am becoming an idea, a theory / spectral / phantasmic / corroded extract of death and angst, with a disembodied voice. I am a fallacy, the final illusion of the death domain I forever itched for, I am a royal massacre of all my living odds, where I've a mansion thronged with chimerical-soft death futon to destruct myself on, but I want to be the hazard, I want to die on the roads.
©queen_butterfly
#desire #ceesreposts
EC! Much grateful��.
-
No one notice your sadness until it
Turns into anger, and then you're the
Bad person. -
each verse written with care
needed a page to preserve it,
only page I found in those lonely
nights were you, who stole all of
them, to recite someone else
©symphonygaps_ -
star bathed moony night,
yet I'm here alone, gazing scars,
onsra reaching every corner of mind,
passed chilling currents for the heart,
words left alone in dark waiting for
souls to fill them up with hope
©symphonygaps_ -
sukhhi
21w
আবেগ মোড়া স্নেহে গড়া
ছোট্ট একটা বাড়ি
এই ভালোবাসা দিয়েই হোক
আমাদের সংসারের হাতেখড়ি।
(Rima Ghosh)
©sukhhi -
ulti_ginti
21w
Kacha badam kacha badam.
I mean bas karo
Pakne do ab issko -
when the world's sleeping,
there are these moon bathed souls
lighting lamps of hope
©symphonygaps_
