ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 11 April 2021 09:35 am ( Sunday )
It is implausible to fathom out how the moon is never relished to its enigmatic extremes ;"specks of imperfections are sewn across its form too" they say . And I die a little in awe how it's fractions are assembled to flare a little brighter oftentimes when the stars aren't abundant to enshroud the emptiness of the sky .
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 7th April 2021 20 : 56 pm ( Wednesday )
Evening everyone !
I don't know from where to start , I'm somehow , lacking enough words to say what I wanted to tell you all . This day already is the one I cherish the most . And now I've found many other reasons to do so . This year was the second time I celebrated my born day with you guys , and let me tell you , it keeps getting better and better with each passing year . You all , you've actually spoiled me so much with your wishes and your gifts that now I cannot even think of a 7th April without you guys . Thank you people , you made my day . Truly . No exaggeration, no sugarcoating , receiving your gifts was the best part of today just like it was the best part of previous year . No matter how many times I mention it and no matter in how many ways , I still feel that I'm not doing justice to my admiration and adoration for you all .
So let's keep it simple . Thank you everyone , it was the best birthday of my whole 19 years . And the credit goes to you my darlings . I LOVE YOU ALL ♡
I wanted to give you all something , even if it is not enough . Just to inform you all , this day also marks the day I completed 3 years being a part of the ARMY fandom , or better say , family . I just completed my first ever story ( which was a BTS fanfiction ) . So I'm putting a snippet of my favourite chapter from it for you all to receive it as my gratitude . Take it as a way I'm sending my deepest gratefulness for you all . The name of the story is "A STROLL IN SEOUL" . I hope you like reading it .
Also , if you want to read the whole thing , just search up the name on Wattpad and you'll find it roaming around there .
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 6th April 2021 19:07 pm ( Tuesday )
~// , //~
My ears can still hear the leftovers of that bleached laughter we dissolved into last year , as it reverberates within the four blemished walls of the now abandoned home . My vision is still calloused with the salty stains of tears that got evaporated with apologies and forgiveness before an unfamiliar gaze could scrap them off . My breath flinches when the lamented aroma of evening coffees and burnt morning pies touches it and I can sense my stitched bronchioles denying to accept a little more of the whiff as my lungs continue to pull it all in .
The grieving tissue under my feet bleeds as I step on a fractured vase that's not even there . I don't even look at the wound anymore . "Let it stay there . Untouched ." So I let my blood contaminate the white floor . "Maybe that will catch your attention ?" Friction sandwiches between my fingertips rubbing against the faded section of the farthest wall and my gaze lingers there a bit more , the nails from which our pictures hung , still intact . And I catch myself straightening the invisible dusty Victorian frames – clearly too bulky and old for your memories , but resembling a speck of dust beside my recollections .
My lips tremble and the air knocks out from my hungry lungs when truth drags me towards the door , consequences too willing to slam it on my face and submerge the rusty keys some thousand feet under the land I had once sowed your favourite daisies on . "It's all dispersed here ." Mumbles my greedy nostalgia . "No nothing's here. It's all abandoned now !" Howls my malnourished reality , stomping on the saplings of pretty lies in front of the home , now set ablaze in front of my eyes . I'm yanked away from it . And the rage of my reality haunts me to the point I don't dare to even turn around and look back and see what lives and what dies .
They say when we look up at the stars , we're actually peeping into the past . And the juggernautic aggregates of gases and heat – holding potentials to mollify even the coldest of hearts – might have been buried dead long before our vision could settle on them , comprehending their presence in a sky dressed in blacks . Isn't that's how we search for those wrinkles of giggles , stuffed with breaths of wickedness we have fallen for in people who once seemed home ?
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 3rd April 2021 10:15 am ( Saturday )
April always mothers the most delicate blossoms , blanketing the numbness the winter's snow melts into . Maybe , it was the spring chorusing of your arrival under it's light breaths that guarded the month from being ripped off by the icy cold winds sent forth by the concluding months of the year gone by , that once appeared too earnest to keep playing it's trickery throughout the year .
Oftentimes , you've mentioned , how you're not good at expressing whatever saunters past the folds of your heart . But the tiny tokens of love , dipped in the tender sentiments of a beauteous friendship - your messages and your compliments mumble about - makes me question if that's really the case ?
( Or am I too lucky for recieving them secretly ? )
I've discovered how there is something so divine about the people who claim to be at fault for not being able to express what they feel . Because everytime their words accolade you , everytime you catch them red handed scribbling little poetries for a human heart , you realise how they've plucked some of the stars they're made of and have willingly presented them to you after wrapping their admiration for you in them .
Maybe all of this is the reason why our messages are my safe place huh ?
No matter what kind of day is all set to wretch my emotions , reading our clownery chit chats and your little compliments below my proses makes me feel that I'm someone to be cherished as well . It's been less than 365 days since we welcomed you into our home here and even lesser since I came across a lost pal in you . But see your impact you wondrous woman ! You were one of the few people I forwarded a letter to when a desperate 2021 knocked on our doors and even now , I'm penning down another one as you're gorgeously growing up .
I feel blessed to have you as one of my crazy companions here . And this is a heartfelt desire of mine that we remain like this throughout the coming years too.
I'll visit my birthplace for sure someday and out of the blue, will surprise you by knocking at your door in Assam , carrying a foolish smile as always . And we will have a splendid meal of some good fish curry together !
Just wait for that day ! ( Closing my letter with love ...)
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 28th March 2021 10:26 am ( Sunday )
The dwarf freckles dusted on her cheeks , just below her hazel eyes - mimicing preserved globes of honey that oftentimes remain just a secret behind the bulky frames of her glasses - are drenched under the shimmers of the morning sun today , that plant a kiss on them everytime she squints looking up . They look as if God has Himself watered the seeds of an infantile intimacy there that carry the unwritten love letters of her hidden admirers her smile has left behind .
And why are the seeds of this intimacy scattered across her cheeks ?
Because the earth underneath our dirt laden shoes is heavily littered by the debris of an undeserved distaste . And love craves for a safer haven like an exhausted old couple taking a shade below a tattered roof during rains . Sturdy saplings of affection grow from her cheeks everytime her soggy eyes fail to confine her emotions - something she's unapologetically guilty about . Flowers blossom into life beneath her eyes everytime a chuckle breaks free from her lips .
And I just make a fool of myself everytime I sit down to let my thoughts run astray . "Why does my gaze settles upon her even when I'm sitting below the stars on another night devoid of the moon ? Damn ! she's beautiful and all this fragile heart of mine yearns for her to realise it someday . Someday ."
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 21 March 2021 10:50 am ( Sunday )
Something is always so intricate about lazy cities hushed under dark nights . Mud and dust caked under your shoes , you linger across the places of visits – it has gift wrapped for you – under the command of a blazing sun . And in return , you hold your breaths as silent applauds and let yourself get taken away – like soulless leaves under the vivacious gush .
But when night takes the reins and the crystallised city lights grab the chilled palms of moonbeams to lighten up the path of curious city dwellers and worn out pedestrians , you feel like with every tiniest step you take deeper into the heart of the city , your heart drums under the ribcage a bit faster .
( in the name of completing an year at the place I truly belong - ARMY Chatroom ) #bts#ARMY#ARMY_ROOM
mismatched pair of eyes hunts for a homely presence the delicacy yet robustness of emotions melts away the outlines of any audacious harshness the aroma of cookies baked by two calloused hands blurs away the reeking brutality of the day
my vision claws into the earth for phosphenes lost from my eyes , here they lie
a dusty wooden shelf pressed into a corner dressed up in coffee and tear stained books carries tales that put the world into shame pictures of ancestral memories reeking of long lost loves draped into old vintage frames
my lungs expand into space for the breathe I had once held here it belongs
midnight poetries scratched across the blemished blue walls that ricochet the darling melodies suspended in midair
my footsteps trip on this scathered ground for the dwellings my fictionalised fantasies have built here it assembles
/here it is , the home I yearn for/
"ain't we all are just tragic little stories , searching for snuggly accomodations in historical manuscripts , engraved upon people's hearts ?"
And we come to wrap seasons in blankets of doubt only when it's December , when all the while the parched autumnal leaves will be sandwiched between the crispy pages of our diary , bookmarking the day we last dared to scribble a poetry because that day , winters had knocked on our doors . These dried leaves , acknowledged as 'appealing' only after losing the skin that had kept them alive , do not smother only the rough paths , but their beauty blindfolds our eyes too . And we fail to learn , every year , how autumn is the graveyard of summers .
The leaves that once fluttered in air drenched with invisible droplets , under the 12pm sun , are lying dead on the roads now , screaming with pain under the worn out shoes of that destitute traveller who once seeked a shelter under them , but now forgets to stop for a second and pick a handful of them , to bury them deep when the verdant weather passes by .
And December ? It has always been an eunoic folk , ready to be announced as "tyrannic" for the sake of October . Snow sprinkled from the sky blankets every path the parched leaves breathed their last on , hushing the mourns of the mother tree , who watches her children lying dead underneath . Watch the snow making sure the autumnal breeze that once shook the branches a bit harder don't remain questionable anymore .
"Perhaps you , my love , has a little more of December and a little less of October than all of us ."
~whelving the pointing fingers deep ( wrapping up the year )
Do You remember that lovely yet funny poem Tae wrote for his brothers “IT’S NOT A BIG DEAL!“ I hope you laugh a lot after reading this too….
[ IT’S NOT A BIG DEAL ]
It’s too hard sometimes, you were right when you wrote about the pain of your heart shattering into pieces, I feel that right now, weak and unhappy for reasons I don’t know.. Yet, its not a big deal .
Our lives have changed a lot, forced to live indoors , staring at blue screens for hours, days and weeks , instead of at those autumn leaves that fell for the zephyr , a now at the snowflakes welcoming the December .Waves of hope and joy of a new year . But, its not a big deal.
When I’m writing these words, my heart finds solace in the aureate glow of the memories we shared. People who failed to see what you are - friends, classmates , all those who said that you are either too much or not enough , wasted too much of their time judging you, and yet you let them take over your dreams? Your happiness? You know its not a big deal.
You are still that young girl with those jewel eyes that sparkle and don’t you worry about those tears, you will smile through them like a winner, embracing the falling confetti. Isn’t it so strange , our whole life we try to be as real as possible , but end up being fake, worthless and lost. Still its not a big deal.
But there were times when you told me, “Its alright . You will be fine !” and it did . So I’m rooting for that strong girl who taught me to look at the world in a better way . So let people create chaos and destroy themselves . Its not a big deal .
//You are alone in this mess Angel . But we all are alone, fighting our insecurities and embarrassments. It's not a big deal . I just want you to know that, no matter how hard it was, it is or it will be , our plan is to fight// ( together……forever……) We are we are forever bulletproof!!!!
The way your fierce essence bestowed warmth to every single part of a cold body which was nothing more than a dead house of anxiety. The way you embraced darkness to reach the light. I have admired you, for what you are, for what you were. I will always admire you for what you are yet to be. To overcome the fear don't run, don't hide feel the fear, walkthrough, sink in fear and burn the fear.
If you win, Sun wouldn't mind giving you the first glimpse of dawn every day. If you lose, delightful yet spooky dusk is always yours learn from it, Every ceasing sunset leads to the path of initiating sunrise. You who made a cloud of imagination on your own which rains the tiny drops of love and bucket full of confidence. After being entangled with inner demons and outer world. You came out to be the strongest women whose tears are the pearls of the ocean.
You became that love , that you never received. You made love yourself .Love isn't easier to be made for oneself . It takes strength , it takes time , it takes a pure commitment . Love is angelous , it has to take in pain to make love . And to prepare love for oneself takes loneliness , care and faith , faith to support even when our shadow goes missing . Fears abvolate when you love yourself . Doubts drown in the ubuntu of self love .
This kind of love , the self love feels "heavenly" when it is received from "a stranger called ( y o u )" You make yourself a heliophile . You're precious to "the one's" who found you .
//A 52-hertz whalien left alone// still alive with some hope diving along waters It's tears unnoticed , but they're ! Actually ! We love it ! We're just like the blue whale , belonging to the same specie , we know eachother
~~ A golden spring seasoned by magical winter wonderland ~~
You're the realest person alive , while walking on the clouds or while tears brimming in your eyes . You're that flower that people don't chose , that won't get to be trampled , that won't be the "proof / sign" that's (t e m p o r a r y ) You're that flower , that God made to stand high on the mountains , that the God himself shall smile at and be happy seeing you progress . He's happy seeing you fine in storms , warm in winters , merry in every phase of life . You're not meant for wordly pleasures and signs . You're not meant to be known by others .
You're meant to be known by the God ( who made you - to live ). You're made as the star who won't fall or won't twinkle . You're the sun meant for galaxy .
// A sun's never meant to be dark if the galaxy is wrong , there shall be another galaxy that's waiting for you to shine upon //
( To the girl who flips the pages of her favourite stories under the moonlight , who traces the outlines of dragons between the clouds , who giggles when a shooting star escapes her sight , who secretly believes in magic , who dreams , this is for y o u )
There are times when I'm guilty of wondering about the slight hint of foolishness caked on your heart , the kindest of its kind . Your innocence treats the world thinking it to be blessed with a heart like yours , pumping every second to keep the endangered beauty alive . You pour gallons of water onto the rocky paths , patiently waiting for it to turn green someday . But the idea of benevolence has somehow lost the audacity to bloom and breathe in open , it secretly mumbles how it feels safer wrapped around your soul .
Your eyes can't see the people they truly are , the reflections travel a bit deeper into the icy layers of millions of hearts , landing directly on the person they have the potential to be , but don't have the courage to become . With a trembling smile , you break parts of yourself , offering them till the day they make you feel empty , forgetting to stitch you back. That mind of yours goes on searching for angels inside demons , leaving them to wonder how a good heart knows so much pain . Little do they know ...
We all enter this world slightly marred , slightly broken ( stepped on blooms with awkward smiles , looking for a glue , they have named as / love / ). You've pushed , wept shattered , stumbled , they called it a disaster , the worst of its kind . But everytime my vision falls upon you , I find the audacity to call you beautiful , "cause you're !"
Stomped on flowers , smeared with the dust sticking to our boots , still manage to grow . So will you .
These people , this world , what if it fails to see the beauty of your thoughts you've weaved into garlands ? Don't you see how it is still busy in collecting the fallen petals , still learning the alphabets ?
When your numb fingers will travel through the tangles of your hair strands , when a chuckle will leave your parted lips while you watch people falling in love , when your boots will crunch the dried up autumn leaves and you'll pick a handful of them , breathing their faint aroma , listen closely to the tune they'll play .
//That day , the masked singer will be unmasked again and the world will come to learn , who were you before they broke you and who you chose to become when your own fingers stitched you back//
December is here , cuddling it's children in his bare , icy cold arms , the children he has fondly named as Winter Gales , Snowstorms , Dewdrops and Frozen Clouds . These kids find their simple childish pleasures of life by making the sun their own , it's warmth they've madly fallen for and leaving the world and all of us beneath them shivering before cuddling the warm blankets and smooching the cup of hot chocolate .
What wicked folks they're !
Ain't this month a bit mightier than the other elevens , courageous enough to announce how the once awaited year is finally ready for departure when the month , itself comes to a halt ? December knocks on our doors and in its welcome song , we all sit down beside the fireplace to count the days remaining in that year , the days which will never knock on our doors again , our huffed breaths slowly promising some festive carols on the 25th . But wait , we don't start the count from 1 do we ? It goes something like this …
31 , 30 , 29 , 28 , 27 . . .
And the day we reach at day 1 , we stop midtrack and take a look back at our snowy and clumsy footprints we have imprinted on the diary pages of this year , some stumbling , some confident , some lazy , some careful , others a bit careless . The footprints recite tales of unfulfilled or fulfilled desires , unappreciated or appreciated accomplishments , unwiped or wiped tears , inaudible or audible laughters and starting the clock again , from a pair of zeroes , we start the count again from 1 .
There's a tender hint of beauty hidden deep within the icy layers of December . In between the nostalgia of a long gone autumnal gush over deserted roads that waltz alongwith the abandoned crimson leaves and the long awaited spring that unfolds the dozing off flower buds , there lies this season , the / w i n t e r s /
Hope might look frozen , but it is camouflaged in the warm cup of my mom's tea , in the lovingly knitted sweaters and mittens knitted by my granny , in the soft furry blanket my dad wraps me up at night , in the wintry white snow that makes me shrug off my love for the bright hues of spring , when the frozen snow dazzles under the fragile icy sunrays and lastly , / in your pen and your soul that is adorned by the power to stop the beating heart and is clothed in a kindness to make the numb heart beat again . /
What are you my love ? Are you a mere human walking along with us , tracing the rough paths of life or the safest shelter for kindness , love and a power to move the world just with your scribbled poetries ? To be honest , I'm in favour with the latter a lot more .
You complain of blue ink spilling all over your dress or stopping your thoughts on the paper mid sentence . I know the poor thing well . These consequences result from its astonishment when it inks your thoughts . Look at it closely , ain't it a bit nervous ? Nervous to wonder if it is brave enough to present a piece of your thoughts , a piece of you , in front of this world.
This month couldn't be more kinder when it offered us one of the greatest poetries , that being / y o u / And I'm left to wonder , if you're another of December's daughters , hidden from this cruel world by the fatherly protection of this month or are you his secret inspiration and the reason even the icy month looks so appealing . ( I'm left to wonder )
My hands that once carried the fallen dried leaves of autumn are now waiting to get mositenend with the coldness of winter's snow . Yes , it's freezing cold , but your words and your smile warm it all . The world might be feeling fragile under the frozen sky , but oblivious it is to the fact that all of us are homing inside our hearts , / a small sapling of beauty / that is slowly growing to unfold itself
~ when the warm months of spring will knock on our doors again
~when the sky will wake up again opening the doors for the sun that will drench the sleeping pansies in its warm love , cooing "rise and shine my darlings"
~when the sunbeams will knock on the doors of the butterflies again
~when the flowing river will look welcoming again
~when the skin on our bare arms will be burning underneath the sun , but we will continue to dance again
A small flower of hope grows in us , a bigger one of love grows in you . // Just like December , you're a crystallised apricity too //
~ From your beloved , ARYA ______________________________