29th October �� instagram - anshikainks (new)

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  • anshikainks 19w

    Poetry fits my knuckles
    As a hymn to a restless vagabond,
    A tender home to hurricanes
    Before dawn, till I uhtceare
    And start painting panegyrics
    On whiskey or rum,

    Melted doldrums and dregs of
    Scribbled eternities mock my
    Vitriolic rhymes,
    Dead autumns await the forthcoming
    Catastrophe of resurrecting pantomimes
    That kiss my graveyard's dykes

    Deceased constellations
    orbit my Cadaver, rejuvenating stars
    Elflock my epitaph's lines,
    Begrimed quills wrapped into
    Wads of derision
    garnish my corpse's shrine!

    -A N S H I K A

    #wod #pod @miraquill @writersnetwork

    Words used - uhtceare
    And elflock

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  • anshikainks 20w

    He paints saffron skylines
    through the edges of his eyes
    with dead birds
    hovering over the horizon's blood,
    where pale rainbows
    die on the water's cheeks
    and the boats carrying
    the ashes of life
    tumble over ocean beds

    The sky merges
    Into the shades of grey
    and the sand digs
    the voids of seas
    petrichor chokes
    the tranquility of waves
    and lust begets cataclysmic rain,

    Ripples breathe their last on
    beaches' hourglass
    and fireflies steal the night's stars
    moon weaves mangata on floors
    where parachutes catch fires
    and melt doves and moths
    with a candle's heart and
    lovers burn in meteor's sparks!

    -A N S H I K A

    #pun (maybe) #wod #pod
    @miraquill @writersnetwork
    Thank u for EC(5)����
    My first ever pod ��������couldn't be
    happier thank-you so much @miraquill
    Thank you for the kind repost @writersnetwork

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  • anshikainks 20w

    @miraquill @writersnetwork
    #wod #poverty
    I tried :)
    Also thanks a lot for 400 followers ��
    Thank-you for the like WN����

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    P O E T

    The lines lack
    the dust of mind's shrine
    though they leak ostentatious
    spaces and gaudy commas;

    Words drought my thoughts
    into veneer of deserts,
    though the ink floods
    cyclones in the pages ;

    Those petty metaphors
    shall never satiate
    the yen of a lone poet
    and my own thirst!


  • anshikainks 22w


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    Even when life shall kiss you silent death,
    I'll make you scream last goodbye!

  • anshikainks 22w

    @miraquill @writersnetwork #line (maybe)

    Thank you for the like WN and EC(4)����

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    W H Y

    Plagued by the rainbow of
    Translucent tears
    Those that reflect thousand
    Intensities of misery,
    Borne out of others' glee,
    It cuts my cuticle into perfect irk,
    Why am I not their breath's note?

    Isn't it piteous that I longed to be
    The first metaphor of their poem
    While for them I am just a fill-in simile,
    Why is there not a single heart
    That beats with my symphony?

    I fancy to be the blood -draped star
    That would fulminate its lacunae
    To fill someone with its voids
    So that they sync together

    But for them I am
    One of the many strings of Guitar,
    They need me for the perfect euphony,
    But there are other frequencies
    That surpass mine,
    Untuned melancholy

    So after all, maybe, I am just a star
    In their galaxy,
    Moreover, I ain't the reason someone is a poet!


  • anshikainks 23w

    "This lake reminds me of Veronica,her blue ocean eyes and the sparkle in them whenever she would sit by the lake. I feel her here more than anywhere else. Her cerulean eyes would calm the convulsing waves and her chuckle would paralyze the swirling ripples.Her rage would bring tides to her knees and her tears would commence typhoons where they fall.

    She would pen about tragedies and heartbreaks all the time sitting there and I would grumble and groan. I used to ruminate on the amount of anguish she had stored in the cracks of her heart and the way desolation manifested itself in the full stops, pauses and semicolons of her rhymes.

    I wanted her to scribble fairy tales and poems that carried my essence , stories that had happy endings. Instead , she would jot down some bleak metaphors and impotent hyperboles that would bring the reader's eyes in tears.

    And now after all this time, I think she was fair. She wanted me to rescue her from the gloom that was shredding her skin and consuming her bones. She wanted me to just sit there silently and decoupage the ironies of her tales until the day the waves carried her away..... "

    "This lake reminds me of Veronica..... "

    -Anshika ��

    #storytime #wod #pod
    @miraquill @writersnetwork
    A read please ����

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    Her cerulean eyes would calm the convulsing waves and her chuckle would paralyze the swirling ripples.Her rage would bring tides to her knees and her tears would commence typhoons where they fall.

  • anshikainks 23w

    She Paints
    Is the
    An world


    Flutura and Around
    It orbit

    her wings
    fading her
    hues with
    their maimed
    Meta- morphosis


    Flutura - butterfly

    #pictorial #wod
    @miraquill @writersnetwork -thanku for the ��

    Not even pictorial (I guess) ��

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  • anshikainks 24w

    (seventeenth page - 17 year old me)
    #choose #wod
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    The rose petals in my journal
    have dried into shades of brown
    And your photographs in my drawers
    Haven't tasted air for years now,
    The withering dahlias on the
    Seventeenth page knew
    The stalks that nestled them
    Would be their doom
    But they continued to self destruct
    Themselves with the unnamed shades
    Of love;

    The fringes of love letters are but
    Reduced to tassels now,
    And the envelope you kissed and
    With your cherry lips,
    Pukes out memories

    Each alphabet overlaps
    The margin of the other,

    Like we intersected time
    And managed to collide our nostalgia
    By crushing the world betwixt us

    So that only we could
    break each other's heart


    The ink stains the pages
    Of your absence,
    It used to be my home once
    Whilst I floated on moments,
    But when the moments turned into memories
    And memories a meagre grit in time,
    It drowned me in it
    and swallowed me whole,
    Macerated me in the same arms
    She used to breed my poetry with!

    -A n s h i k a

  • anshikainks 24w

    I borrowed a handful of blue sky from my last lover and it crumbled in my hands, tainting my cuticle teal with the leaked melancholy and vehement tears;

    Where the sunlight pierced my skin, sunflowers rooted the burns, bleeding cloudy lacerations that mirrored his smirk,

    Where the diaphanous droplets of debauchery overflowed his lacrimals, like the two clouds that collided and poured all the murk,
    My pupils knitted the dreams of chastity like the immenseness of the ether unaltered by the miniscule fragments of life;

    Where the specks of twilight puckered his face, I drained his darkness and transfused it to saturate my voids ;

    But all that I have been left with is a handful of sky,
    His sun-kissed letters that weep goodbye!

    #prose #wod
    @miraquill @writersnetwork -thank-you for the ��
    Kuch b likh Dia��
    Kyuki Post krna tha
    Temp ��

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  • anshikainks 24w

    An echoing cavity submerged in gloom,
    Dreary chambers of this dusky room,
    Shimmering green with the laden moss,
    Untouched memories, tucked up thoughts;
    Ripped up curtains, rusted railings,
    Staring souvenirs, reverberating ceiling,
    Summoning me to untangle the knots,
    And take a voyage to my past;

    An aging box embedded in web,
    Caught my sight of all the rest,
    Vintage hues and faded silhouette,
    How my fate wove an abstruse mesh,
    Throbbing heart opened the mess,
    And lost the way to the button named suppress;

    A faded photograph of long lost mother
    Holding hands of my brother,
    Triggered my senses to fight
    Numbed up conscience teared to plight,
    The frilly frock she presented on my birthday,
    Glistering it's shine to this very day ,
    The heavy heart that stored it away,
    Shouting vainly," why didn't you stay?"

    // How some children store their gloomy past in the farthest corners of their childhood,
    No box is strong enough to hold those memories //

    #attic #wod #pod
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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