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  • alicedmello 56w

    Truths and lies

    Burried lies and hidden truths are
    like superstitions that we abandoned
    but still live in fear of.

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 63w

    Meet me halfway...

    Then few days I want to shout it out loud,
    tell them I'm not walking half way.
    I don't know how that works,
    I don't know how people function when their bones feel heavier than gravity.

    But I sit myself down,
    I tell myself that noise wouldn't help.
    That,
    silence would also sink.
    And I,
    would never know how it works.

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 74w

    बात अब पुरानी है।
    तू किसी अनजान शहर सा है अब,
    गैर सा।

    सवेरा यहां,
    तमन्ना ओर मौत के बवाल में
    अक्सर मसरूफ लगता है।
    ये शहर दिन होते होते,
    खुद को खुद से जुड़ा कर बैठता है।

    यहां की शाम और रात के बीच
    क्या जन्नत, क्या इबादत?
    सब काफ़िर - मैं काफ़िर।
    उस रात का भी दिल होता है,
    और उस दिल को आराम होता है।
    बर्बाद सितारे थामे हुए,
    बिन बैर, वो गैर शहर
    पल भर अपना सा लगता है।

    बस इतना ही,
    फ़िर रात ढलती है।
    सितारे सब धूल,
    मेरी हथेली खोल उड़ने दूं?
    हमराज-हमदर्द सुबह होते ही छूट जाने दूं?

    बात पुरानी है,
    तू दूर है किसी अनजान शहर सा।
    पर ये इश्क़ आज भी करीब है,
    अपना सा।

    आज, इस इश्क़ को खत में लिख कर भेज दूं?
    लिखावट में कुछ शिकायतें भी समेट कर भेज दूं?

    बता तो,
    नाम पता, क्या लिखूं?

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 76w

    And when love stays in a different city,
    you've got words.
    Words played along the tune of midnight,
    and sweet sunlight.

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 82w

    Oh you ignorant people,
    I know what you look like.
    I know who you are.
    You, a bended moral.
    You, a principled pretence.
    You, a thick skinned saint.

    I have heard you say
    that people shouldn't
    carry those burdens that
    don't belong to them.
    And the bridges that are
    meant to burn, don't need saving.
    You always have a twisted theory
    about saving, don't you?

    You could have said something
    nice to the old man who was
    failed by his family and friends.
    You could hold that girl's hand,
    and tell her it would all be okay
    before she jumped off the building.
    You could have taught that kid
    how to be brave
    before he was bullied.
    You could have stopped
    that man from beating his wife incessantly.
    You could save them all!

    You look through your screens,
    double tapping the kindness posts.
    Shit commenting on memes
    that make fun of people.
    Colour, race, gender and profession,
    you could make a joke out of everything
    in name of humour.
    But do you put on all the shoes?
    Did you calculate the damage
    you were causing with single clicks?
    Insensitive isn't enough of a word
    that can hold the half of you.

    All of this,
    but you clearly don't understand saving.
    You are the ones who see the smoke escaping through windows,
    and yet you let fires consume the house.
    You are the bad ones,
    and you failed.

    Because a culprit lights the matchstick,
    a victim collects the ashes,
    and amidst all this,
    humanity suffocates, burns.
    Humanity that belongs to you,
    you ignorant people.

    ©alice

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @writers_paradise
    #mirakee #readwriteunite #writersnetwork #musings #thoughts

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    All of this,
    but you clearly don't understand saving.
    You are the ones who see the smoke escaping through windows,
    and yet you let fires consume the house.
    You are the bad ones,
    and you failed.

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 83w

    And then you toss
    away your pain in a corner.
    Dust by dust, life piles on it.
    But then one day
    someone shows up with a showel,
    they dig through the earth
    to find that pain.

    That pain, sits there
    ready to bite them.
    As if it has homed you,
    as if you belong to it,
    only to it.

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 85w

    To Jack Dawson,

    Poor artists with luck win tickets, women and love. You said, "I'm the king of the world." Indeed, you were and who cares if this king and his journey was short-lived. You painted my heart in equal colours, of love and of freedom.

    Oh the romance, it just makes this generation seem a little more hopeless. People here don't find love in broken things. They don't rescue Rose, they don't drive to the stars, they don't understand love and freedom. Or maybe, it's just that love itself is freedom.

    I love art, and your drawings were like a poetry. You said you were lucky with French girls, but the thing is that they were lucky there. To be portrayed like poetries. A silent cry on lines running on their cheeks, a chaotic story draping around their skins and everything on the canvas. Your art was wholesome.

    I wish I find love notes like the one you wrote, "Make it count. Meet me at the clock."
    Jack, I swear I would make it count.
    After all, you taught Rose how to fly, and everything that wilted her came to an end.

    You brought her the blossom festival, in shabby pants, with spiting games, and a merry dance. She stripped off her insecurities, and you made sure to keep her warm. You showed her the freedom she deserved.
    Rose a blooming lady in grace, and you the artist. No Cal could cage her anymore, could he?

    You had her, she loved you more than her life. She couldn't let you go, and she jumped back on the dying Titanic. She had finally learned to make her choices.
    And when the ship cracks into two pieces, my heart sinks.
    How can a dying person talk about hope?
    How can a love be so perfect?
    How can death look so beautiful?

    You start to freeze and love stands still, Rose and Jack. A love story I found happy even as a kid. Strange, a child doesn't interpret tragedies like that.

    So Jack, someday I hope I slip like Rose. In right arms, right ship, and as she said, "I'll never let go, Jack."
    I'll never let my love go,
    but I'll always set it free.

    ©alice

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @mirakeeworld
    #hollywood #movies #writerscommunity #pod #titanic #thoughts

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    “Promise me you’ll survive. That you won’t give up, no matter what happens. No matter how hopeless.” — Jack


    To Jack Dawson,

    Poor artists with luck win tickets, women and love. You said, "I'm the king of the world." Indeed, you were and who cares if this king....

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 85w

    You drew a star on the wall,
    down the thickest crack and named it death.
    A little above that star you painted a messed structure with black paint.
    Such clumsy things you were!
    You smiled and called it a black hole.
    You pointed at the centre and said, "Nothing is all we have,
    nothing is all we become."
    All your fingers, eyes, toes, questioned the human existence.
    As if they had journeyed darkness all at once.

    You held the balance between heaven and hells, you hung to your side and smiled again.
    I could see you.
    I could hear you.
    But I could not explain most things back then.
    The thing about the design of our universe, that it's a place where forgetting is easy.
    A place we engineer and fail badly.
    And even if we had galaxies to choose from, we'll want this one.
    The one with faults.
    Where all of this is a consequence of living, loving, hurting, and wrecking.
    And that when we wish to ride a weightless conscious with sorted signals, we end up with growing pains on flattened world and knotted ends.

    I still have that star on the cracked wall.
    And when I look at it,
    I wish I could correct your smile.
    I wish I could tell you that it's okay to be forgotten.
    It's okay to be nothing.
    I wish I could recreate that day.

    I saw you,
    I heard you that day.
    But I feel you now,
    through the cracks and the paint.
    So now when the rivers dry and the colours of this sky die,
    when this life walks away and this soul knows no way.
    I'll draw a star next to yours.
    Beneath the black hole.

    ©alice

    #galaxies
    #pod #mirakee #writerscommunity #writersofig #thoughts
    @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    The thing about the design of our universe,
    is that it's a place where forgetting is easy.
    A place we engineer and fail badly.
    And even if we had galaxies to choose from,
    we'll want this one.
    The one with faults.

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 85w

    The rivers will run dry when our love ends,
    dusk to dawn all birds would mourn,
    God and wings bears all pain.

    ©alice

  • alicedmello 86w

    You've made it to dawn,
    let go the moon.

    ©alice