"Artemis" only exists within these poems. She was written by them. മലയാളി. ✨✨

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  • artemiswrites 22h

    How to cook a perfect Concotion of Imagination : A simple recipe

    To turn any bland idea into a work of art, you need to blend in generous amounts of Imagination. Follow this simple recipe to cook your own Concotion of Imagination, guaranteed to transform all your ideas to Artistic Delights!

    1.To cook Imagination into existence, you'll first need to rid the corners of your mind of skepticism and cynicism; these two leave stains that are tough to get rid of, but with a little wipe of Magic (they come in little bottles that you can buy from your Childhood), they'll disappear. After all, Only a clean kitchen can birth good food!

    2. Now that your mind is clean, scoop in a few spoonfuls of curiosity; you can borrow it from kittens and primary school classrooms. Curiosity looks like a crystallized rock sugar question mark. Let Curiosity dissolve into Caramelised Questions.

    3. Now that your Curiosity has Caramelised into quizzical beautiful amber, you'll need a pinch of a colour that doesn't exist, a colour that the childhood version of you, thought of. You'll easily find this ingredient if you scour through your memories, they come in threads that resemble saffron spice. Add a pinch of this colour to your concoction.

    4. At this point, your mixture should start to look like your favorite season, and should smell like petrichor and apple blossoms in Spring. Let this mixture simmer for a few minutes before adding the next ingredient.

    5. Now, pour a few spoonfuls of the games that you used to play when you were young, with all its made up rules. Your concotion will, at this point, start to look like the frolicking waves of an ocean.

    6. Your mixture is almost done! For the final touches, you need to add a few slivers of the bedtime stories that your grandmother told you, a few drops of your happiest memories, one pinch of your favourite book and a note of your favorite song.

    7. Your Concotion of Imagination is done! You can add this to any of your ideas to turn it into a work of art that the sea would sigh over, and the stars would dance to!

    8. Store your Imagination away from skepticism to make sure that it doesn't spoil. You can also use Imagination as an antidote against monotony.

    Happy Cooking!

  • artemiswrites 1d

    Sea Song

    When the moon flies at
    full mast, and when silence makes
    noise, you can hear the
    sea hum brine washed words that wash
    ashore with the sea born wind.

  • artemiswrites 2d

    Lothal is a famous Indus Valley Civilisation site in the Indian State of Gujarat. It is one of the oldest ports known to Man.
    @writersnetwork #historyseries

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    A noon day Sun beats down
    relentlessly on the ruins of
    Golden brown they stand,
    walls worshipped by

    looted by Time;
    the magnificence of the port
    torn down as if by a
    king dividing his spoils of war
    among his

    Lothal sings a sad song
    when you hear it
    the first time;
    the tune, haunting, the lyrics, archaically melancholy
    but if you let the song
    seep into you,

    You'll slowly see Lothal
    revealing its beauty,
    like a shy wilted flower
    that still hasn't forgotten
    the meaning of the word

    You'll see tall ships lining
    its ports,
    You'll see streets abuzz with
    busy happiness,
    You'll smell fragrances lost to time...

    You'll slowly begin to see

  • artemiswrites 3d

    @writersnetwork #pod @mirakee #mirakee
    @writersnetwork Thank you so much for the repost ����

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    The pepper creepers have borne fruit.
    Life green pearls
    sleep snugly
    in leaf lined cradles
    until their sleep gets disturbed
    when they get carried
    away in wicker baskets,

    They lie in the Sun,
    their greens blacken;
    their bodies now covered with
    ridges that resemble
    a once river watered land,
    now parched
    and they get ground in
    large mortars
    by deft hands, to powder,
    destined to add
    colour to cuisine.

    Pepper has turned the wheels of history,
    they are the heroes of every old
    Spice Trade story,
    but to the creeper, the birth of the Spice
    is but an act of
    Cradle Robbery.

  • artemiswrites 4d

    Iridescence finds
    a home in night black feathers;
    Crows bask in the sun.

  • artemiswrites 1w

    @writersnetwork #mirakee #writersnetwork #pod @mirakee #memories

    @writersnetwork Thank you so much for the repost.
    This poem is about something that is very dear to my heart ������

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    My childhood memories are shelved
    not in a carpeted corridor of my mind
    that I visit only when circumstances drive me to,
    It is placed in an oft visited chamber of my heart
    as familiar to me as Family.

    My childhood memories is a well thumbed volume, coming apart at the seams,
    Magnificently shoddy with overuse,
    It is a pebble worn smooth by the currents of my

    These memories are painted gold by
    colours that only Childhood can reveal,
    they are populated by fairytale characters gently taking my pudgy hands in theirs and leading me to places where even the colour grey is as
    beautiful as stained glass windows of a Chapel.

    My childhood memories are a world of their own,
    A whole Cosmos made of me, and so entirely
    mine as the poetry that I write,

    A Gulmohar tree that cries Red keeps vigil
    in a quiet corner, the breeze is marked by sharp
    hints of shoe polish perfume and orange candy,
    Wrong spellings and invented languages
    drape themselves luxuriously against
    notebook lines, in this world where
    Imagination and Innocence are
    King and Queen.

    My childhood memories is not a place
    that offers me the luxury of getting lost
    when I feel like I'm getting too found for my comfort,
    It is a place that I carry with me everyday,
    It is in fact, my home.

  • artemiswrites 1w

    Can we go through an Indian Summer without ceiling fans? This poem is a celebration of all that they do.
    @writersnetwork @mirakee #ode

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    Ode to a Ceiling Fan

    Attached to the ceiling firmly,
    like an oak tree with roots that go deep,
    with spokes that come in threes, fours and fives,
    when you spin, with the fast twirls
    of a ballerina in a music box, you
    rid my rooms of the Summer that lingers
    between the curtains and floorboards
    and usher in cooling winds that September
    would vie for,
    After a warm, tiring day, you envelop me
    in refreshment reminiscent of
    a Monsoon rain in green fields and glasses
    of ice cold orange juice,
    and though you are seldom noticed,
    Dear Ceiling Fan,
    You make the monotonous mud of summer
    easier to trudge through

  • artemiswrites 1w

    Moonlignt is liquid gold and viscous silver,
    Moonlight is a memory left behind by the sun
    to remember it by,
    Moonlight is a love letter written across the sky
    for the sea to read and
    Moonlight is an utterance
    of Hope when the night gets blindingly dark

  • artemiswrites 1w

    I think
    Jasmine flowers are but Roses of love
    that the Earth gifts an ever giving
    Monsoon bearing Sky,
    and Roses are drops of the Sun put on
    display by the plant, to thank the Light
    for the banquet it offers, every day;
    One, fragments of the Moon,
    Another, mirrors of the Sun,
    they are both words of gratitude that
    the plants utters every Blooming Season.

    I've always thought of
    Apple Blossoms and Cherry Blossoms as Sisters,
    They both blush in the same
    cotton candy pink way,
    both of them are perfumeries and both
    of them become
    baubles of red fruit.

    The flowers that perch on cacti,
    I think of as islands of delicacy
    surrounded by thorny seas,
    though not praised as much as other
    blooms, they are
    chrysanthemums and sunflowers,
    if chrysanthemums and sunflowers
    dared to bloom even when stifled
    by prickly thorns,
    Cactus flowers are the strongest
    for it takes strength to be delicate,
    even when surrounded by
    things that cause pain,

    It takes strength to remain Flower
    when you could easily resign and become Thorn

  • artemiswrites 1w

    In these hills, even silence has an echo of it's own.

    Silence's loud screams
    reverberate across the hills,
    and settle down like heavily light clouds,
    freely bound by the dark light of a
    vibrant grey sky,

    Sometimes, the cacophonous symphony
    of a rainstorm, that comes like an
    expected surprise
    brings vivaciously deathly winds and
    leaves still life behind.

    These hills untouched by treading feet are
    foreboding homes of
    lively death and deathly life that coexist in
    symbiotic disharmony.