Mirakee
Irony
Funny,
I missed being heart broken.
I forgot it meant feeling alienated from the world.
©atrisia
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-
atrisia
7w
Read MoreI was hoping I only suffered heart ache from someone I knew loved me. But i'm stuck at the opening stanza of what I imagine would be a great poem
-
atrisia
76w
Illusions
So much fear
So little need for it.
©atrisia -
atrisia
77w
Dreamy
It's like I got lost in your eyes
and have forgotten to remember to exit.
Do I need saving?
©atrisia -
Goodbye
I love you
I hope I forget how to
©atrisia -
atrisia
79w
Stab
Back stabs have the some challenges as scrubbing your back..
Its hard to pull the knife out,
just as its hard to get not sprain your arm trying to scrub it.
©atrisia -
Silence
One day you will enjoy the silence too
The sound of heartbeats and air being sucked in and pushed out of you..
And maybe there will be white noise, loud machines running past you, or birds chirping noisely around you.
But silence is internal, it's not something the world gives you.. Its something you demand and start to create.
©atrisia -
atrisia
89w
Read More
I was trying to define depression, but I realised this was mild depression so basically sadness.
But even a little drop of sadness can weigh you down like an anchor.
May God rain down healing. To better days.Words
Sadness: (n)
A state of mind.
The silence art of breaking down and
Maintaining unrivalled composure,
Because, for some unarchived reason
you believe.
you are being human is being immune
To assholes and pain
and weakness is the inability for stream to flow upstream.
Or you think pride is suffering quietly. -
atrisia
89w
Read More
Happy one day, sad the next. This coin won't stand on its end and balance emotions out. Only God can. And He will
Windy day
It's like I hit my head and lost my mind
Made you up with a right type of love for me
But now my senses are coming back
And you make sense but you are fading
And Tuesday is a passionless work day
With a single hopeless recurring thought of -
'why am I even here' ringing all of the corners of my existance
I have lived better days
©atrisia -
atrisia
90w
Read More
Written after Nova M Lebohang, poem titled, 'for a girl who fell in love with a natural distaster'
"... women like me fear silence... "Silence
Quiet is when there is nothing to say...
When the moment is so rich...
It's enough,
and patience neednt be activated.
Silence, is when there are questions
and there are answers
in the some room/space,
but for one reason or the other.
(usually because of some sort of fear
or worst,
the absence of empathy)
they do not meet each other..
©atrisia -
atrisia
91w
Read More
When you have too many ghosts in your closet. And the same one keeps poking it's head..
To Eminem, here is to cleaning out closets.
©atrisiaDisconnected heart.
When he rips your heart out of you
—then thinks about it,
attempts to put it back,
decides the moment is too awkward –
because he realises he doesn't know –
which cables go with which ones,
so he really can't put it back anyway.
So he just...
Walks away.
And you let him.
And those are the good ones
The ones who try to stick it out.
Don't ripe out hearts,
take them out like
a child with OCD
unwrapping a gift.
Save a life.
Time heals wounds,
But I can't be bleeding all the time.
©atrisia
-
lost_in_translation
106w
I've been touched before,
I know what skin feels like,
When it touches you with selfishness,
When hands take what they desire,
And give only guilt in return,
So my love,
Don't touch and take,
Let your fingers be soaked in love,
And let me revel in your light,
Let your kisses dispel my darkness,
I've been starving all my life,
Fill me with your essence,
Turn me into you,
Make me yours.
-Kkomal Siingh
©lost_in_translation1432 -
lost_in_translation
104w
We feel love in our veins,
The same pain coursing through,
Like lava that burns and destroys,
I seek comfort,
In the way that you look at me,
You make poetry flow through my fingertips,
And I love to bask in your light,
Your shine makes me glow,
Like the sun creates moonlight.
-Kkomal Siingh
©lost_in_translation1432 -
lost_in_translation
107w
Find me,
In the ruins of my thoughts,
Digging through rubbles,
To find some semblance of who I used to be,
Find me,
In between the darkness and the shadows,
Looking for some hope,
In this dark and dreary world,
Find me,
In the spaces between your fingers,
Locked in a content embrace,
In arms that I call my home.
-Kkomal Siingh
©lost_in_translation1432 -
Rain
You have rain outside
and a window to
watch it through,
You have no business not being in love with the world,
you've your own world.
©sameenaparvaiz -
lost_in_translation
139w
I don't know if it's sad or funny,
That when love leaves,
I can't even cry anymore,
Every rejection just feels like a dart,
My heart is no longer fragile,
Your name mingled with others who came before you,
And became another scratch on the already cracked surface,
I've become so damn masochistic darling,
Love breaks my soul,
And all I can do is laugh.
-Amairaah
©lost_in_translation1432 -
hridayee
141w
Read MoreWhen the sky turns black,
And the stars spread their hands with diamond rings;
When the world is engrossed in a deep slumber,
And the city lights a little more dim;
I place my footsteps on the moonlit ground
And flutter my impaired wings.
Wandering, dancing and living a little more
Until I feel the sunrays kiss my cheeks at morn,
That once was fragile and gentle
Now made firm yet strong
By the questions they smear it with.
For there lies an obscure veil over eyes
Adorned with images of a "perfect someone";
I failed to be.
So, I retreat into a dark corner of my darkened world
Where I was taught with well-groomed norms:
Not to question but to conform.
To curious hearts with malign blood:
"How do you define beauty?"
Masks with myriad colours trying to fit in?
Or the soul deep within flesh and bones
Untouched and pure longing for love?
My face is a blank canvas
Not to be drawn but to be colored.
As I stand infront of the mirror
Sharp echoes luminate my reflection.
For every time I heard those
I died a little more.
In an idyllic ecstasy when the night calls
I bloom gracefully like a wild flower
On the lap of the nature surreal
For every time I cried a little more
I had the warmth of a home .
©hridayee
@writersnetwork #home
Imagesource: PinterestAs I stand infront of the mirror
Sharp echoes luminate my reflection.
For every time I heard those
I died a little more. -
A Poem's Breath
We leave them
like little children,
unattended, our poems.
We form these words,
breathe emotion in them,
give them a name,
smile proudly when others
tell us how beautiful they are,
and then, we forget.
We forget them and move on
to the next and the next...
and the next.
But they grow, our poems,
like us, sometimes with us.
With every reader that touches them.
Reaching out with curious fingers
for ideas they weren't born with.
Go back to a poem you wrote
a year ago, or two, and see
how much more they are now,
how they speak differently,
a poem you wrote about a girl
resonates perfectly for
another you loved after.
how they no longer just mean
what they did at conception,
a couple of decades and
a father's poem
becomes the son's.
They evolve, you see.
What you thought were the
cornerstones of the past become
the roadsigns of your future.
So if you ever find yourself lost,
a dead horizon looming dangerously
ahead, don't look ahead, look back.
We don't realize
the road to our future
sometimes needs a
detour through the
alleys of our past.
Anguisette -
iwrotethatforyou
148w
Read MoreCONTRASTS
Life and I have always had a war raging amidst us. We never were friends, though we smiled, embraced, chased eachother for a company. But, we never were enemies either though we complained a lot about eachother.
But there was something. Something so awfully exciting about life that made me love her. But not all that glitters is gold, as the saying goes. It had bruises which brushed my skin to turn it into scars. It had a murky voice which couldn't sing along with me. It teared me apart when all I had gotten a chance to feel happy for awhile. And it, somehow, loved death.
When I was little, I saw her fleeting in the air of innocence. I found her in the mud art we made, in the calmness after the rain, on that tree swing we swung together.. And in the ounce. Goddamn ounce of time, I saw her turning into a demon, I thought never existed in reality.
And now, all we do is push eachother apart. I raise, she pulls me down. I raise again and smirk at it, making her realise that she doesn't control me. I fall for a heart, she churns it. She makes me twist and turn and snatches my sleep. We know we need to glue every piece together since no one else would do it for us. But alas, we got our own egos sitting on the thrones of destruction.
Life and I have a relation which sounds a lot like love. Sadly beautiful. We hold onto eachother, we do take care. Sometimes, we fight and yet we ache. Other times, we smile but our sad eyes cry saying it can't be same again. And in the end, when the clouds are grey and the wind stops to groove, I lay down beside my life, while we weep, how in the world something could turn so miserable yet it's worth every pain to save it. It's worth everything to love it even though, sometimes it's hard for her to love me back.
©_shweta©_shweta
-
chudley_cannons
149w
On Writing A Novel (And Not)
The prologue is an old bookmark pressed between yellowing pages, forgotten.
The papery terrain is a makeshift canvas that your hands will destroy one day.
The words are garbled out of your mouth in a never-ending fleet of lies --
you have broken sentences for chapters and unhinged ramblings for a pretentious dialogue.
You have soft light filtering through the old curtains, landing on the bridge of your nose and the creases around your eyes -- you have stories for incidents that never really happened.
Those silhouettes marking the evening sky are the ink blotches left in the wake of an unfinished poem. On most days, you have much to say and not enough words to work with.
You have scribbled notes slipping through the cracks between the pages; there is a pastel pink sky that is cut open by wayward branches and a meshwork of leaves, and you are quietly breathing through it all.
The end is decidedly mundane.
You survive.
- Abha
©chudley_cannons -
Maybe the waterfall
silently chants your name
How else can it be so soothing?
-BanaNat-
©TheInkPot
