Goodbyee :) see ya all in a better world! ~ death has finally won my soul/heart ~

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  • ayesha_ahmed 5d

    #wild #wod #ceesreposts
    @macabre @maiatamarain @murryben

    Tsundoku is acquiring reading materials but letting
    them pile up in one's home without reading them.

    Komorebi is a Japanese expression for the
    sunlight as it filters through the trees.

    incomplete - the rest metaphors are at the lakes
    where all the poets went to die.

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    I would grow a couple of mothers and
    komorebi symphonies for my tsundoku love.
    Riches of autumn poetries are high in my spring stealth cry
    some wild sunset hues will masquerade my sunken apricity.
    - Ayesha || incomplete

  • ayesha_ahmed 1w

    Edited and completed ✌��

    habibi - beloved

    #love #wod #ceesreposts
    @writersnetwork @miraquill

    @murryben @maestral @shadowofthoughts
    @macabre ❤️

    thank you for the like @/writersnetwork

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    ~ Habibi ~

    Falling in your soul to throb with poetries

    Your dulcet zephyr flows
    coruscating the thorns of my roses
    Your tinsel eyes jealous the stars on
    the canopies of my love poetries.
    You always remains my forelsket
    even when the feiullemort leaves
    bid ode to the breaths of my springs.

    I fall like cascade in your soul,
    to throb with poetries
    Your emulation on moon's scars,
    and on every twilight aubade
    with my nascent shades of love
    whisphers the melodies of our tangled hearts.

    You are the colour of each star
    I have engraved on my soul
    you are the marmoris that shines
    on my thousand sunken oceans
    your eyes are the ones with
    which i wish to see the sunrise blee.

  • ayesha_ahmed 1w

    In the patio of my suburb poetries

    ~ Summer's Metanoia ~

    I saw the moon drunk my wounds and the scorched azure precisely creasing his adamant flaws, fifteen shades of summer's metanoia to go down with sunsets,
    Three quarters of acronym love and rest some embers of spring aubade in the patio of my suburb poetries.

    I saw the moon enthrall my blind heart and deceased ink of the remugient abscond poetries cherishing my empty clementine in winter serenade, Some twitches of memories basking under the flirting rue and the rest some shelved harbingers of the next spring in the patio of my suburb poetries.

    I saw the moon scour my soul with his scar's folklore and fine metaphors in sunlight tailored reminiscence imitating canorous stars. The conjuring paintings of halcyon without canvas and half sepult swathe of dead flowers echoing for the empty cadaver body in the patio of my suburb poetries.

  • ayesha_ahmed 1w

    #grandma #wod #ceesreposts
    thank you @/writersnetwork ❤️

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    Periwinkles - Evergreen Bloom

    ~ Yarns in cookie jars ~

    I am here midst the periwinkle bushes, nana's little evergreen forever. We probe some poems in the moist soil , She blossoms my favourite violets, albeit she will guise her wrinkled scars and say; sweets, don't you get scared when it's cold. I will feed her evermore purple and white little blooms, till she bakes me cookies when I hide under the sheets in winters.

    I will gather some of our whelved proses and stack them in her kitchen to reach the cupboard where she hides the cookie jar. I would open it and there are needles and some yarns and threads, then I would fall, I was falling in the hiatus.
    I walked some quarters of my spring ahead, I am tip-toed over the fallen leaves and now I am beneath the metaphors that nana and I burried for our flowers.

    // and half the cold I have become now. She has fallen like stars, and just as she weaved me cardigans, I will crochet our little periwinkles in her left wrinkles. //

  • ayesha_ahmed 1w

    This poetry is a reference to -
    Due to some kind of suffering that is unbearable,
    we start growing different people in ourselves
    and make scenes (that never happens in real life),
    a whole another life.
    When one continues to do the same regularly,
    it becomes so much that they see their
    imaginative selves in real life, and they can't stop
    thinking and imagining even if they are doing
    work like cooking, writing, walking, playing..
    they just can't stop. and they become something
    or somebody else..

    They (here) are - Different people from my another life
    (hey, this thing is serious, ik it may sound stupid to you)

    Edited and completed ✌��
    I spent hours on this.

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    One more wisp got pierced in my soul last night

    ~ Champagne Poetries ~

    They went down collecting sunflowers for my spring succour,
    I was buried for a night to set my sun and rise the moviescreen metaphor(lie)s.

    Cherry wine and tulip kissed handwritten letters, those which darkness threw at the balcony of my moon, I was shredded for a summer while.
    I am somebody else, I don't remember myself in my mother's lap or Nana's eyelash kiss.

    I heard the last weekend's odyssey ( I tried to seep into my scars) whispering in my dad's baseball talks, one more wisp pierced in my soul. I close my eyes, here there are, different selves, emulating to be daffodils - herald of my (never)blooming springs.

    They will continue buying couches for my pregnant rue and I will be a feuillemort prom date with poetries in tuxedos. I am not myself - I heard my sister crying behind the curtains of my prose's euphuistic halcyon.

    I am imbued with some kind of death that imitate my breath. I am saturated with spitted love and spilled ink - I am a different myself. They will thrust my soul down on sins and praise my God better than my sophomore tantrum days.

    They cwtch my champagne poetries anew, and I am so sober my existence is vague. I know they will linger like poetries in autumns, and my darkness will remain sequin as they overcast my nightskies.

  • ayesha_ahmed 3w

    ~Unaddressed letters ~

    Zakhmon Mein Ranjishe ha
    (there is resentment among my wounds)

    aaj siyahi kisme chapae
    (what should be cloned today?)

    sanjh ya shab?
    (sunsets or nightfall?)

    khazaan ya sarma?
    (autumn or winters?)

    bemukhatib Baharein phir
    dobaara raaton ko aaludgi se chamkaegi
    (unbloomed springs will again bright up the nights with lies)

    sitaarein bhi siyahi mein machlenge qaid zanjeero mein
    (shackled stars will balter in the darkness)

    Andheron pe likhe nazm ki tafseer bhi kya deinge
    (what abstract should I give for the midnight written proses?)

    chand phir bhi dhake rahenge
    (the moon will stay obscured)

    Yeh sanjh bhi nahi dhalte
    ke seher se kuch gum baat lein
    (This sunsets won't set so that some greive is shared with the rising sun rays.)

    lafz shab-e-habbs ki qurbaton me bhikre rahenge
    (words will remain strewed in night's imprisonment)

    aaj ki nazm un kulfaton se Bheegi rahenge
    (tonight's proses will remain imbued with misery)

    aur qurbatain Bina pata ke leefafo mein hi dabe rahenge
    (and love will remain veiled under unaddressed letters.)

  • ayesha_ahmed 3w

    ~ Drooping in nightfall~


    I lay prostrate on proses and
    imagine stars above without darkness.
    I live in a metaphor where stars shroud in skies

    I seep into aureate proses,
    but they absquatulate into murk.
    I try to scour my shredded soul,
    but fail to fathom the bleeding ink.
    I am a residue of poetries and nostalgic summers

    what poesy shall I engrave to get the stars
    in lieu of flickering phosphenes i see?
    what sun should I rise in lieu of all the sunset hues
    amalgamated with different unknown oceans?

    My summers are lost in their own
    reverie of adoring my spring scars
    What autumn will I get to shed my probed verses
    of the last winter's torments?

    ~ love is quickly leached away from souls drooping in nightfalls
    and spring eventually suicides between the autumn poetries ~

  • ayesha_ahmed 4w

    Thank you so much @/writersnetwork for the repost ❤️

    #beauty #wod #pod #ceesreposts
    #writersnetwork @miraquill

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    ~ Just so you know, You're beautiful ~

    ~ Beauty ~

    ' ~

    A sweet dalliance between you and moon
    make the stars fall in your soul.
    - unlike we fall in love giving out our souls -

    ~ ~

    You breed flowers in your womb
    and give birth to euphuistic proses
    - unlike a mother feeding a ethereal son -

    ~ ~

    You are saturated in september depths
    and your darkest wounds pacify the raging seas
    - unlike the murky nights causing crest
    in the serene blue -

  • ayesha_ahmed 4w

    ���� �������������� ������������������ ��������
    �������� ������'�� ������ ���� �� ������������'�� ��������

    What died before death?
    I am an artist in imitating death
    just how I filled every hiatus in
    my existence with flickers of morose.
    how I am in an endless repeating jump
    from God's laps to a sinner's hands.

    you turned a page and touched another life
    I have died, choking in between dispersed
    words that were once alligned in our proses
    I grow different souls in one body
    one yours, one us, and one mine.

    I chose your soul to stay in
    even when I knew it is only a
    tabernacle for my jigsaw heart
    but I loved you little more than I loved myself
    who would deny a little fly in the sunset shades?

    I remember the moment between
    saying goodbye and leaving
    I took a final walk in your cryptic eyes
    I collected all my tears you plucked
    to tease the moon.
    ~ ������������ // ������������������ ���������������������� ������������

    ���� ���������������������� ~

    when did the alligned stars went away with their light?
    when did the scars of the moon got traced on my ink?
    when did I become different from one?
    Don't know how many sunrise turned into sunsets.
    You walked leaving your trace only on my wet eyelashes

    #combination #wod #pod #ceesreposts
    #writersnetwork @writersnetwork

    I know last stanza is really crap.... ��

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    ~ Imitating Death ~

    Vo tarteeb se lage hue najm kab noor le chale gaye
    Vo qamar ke zakham kab siyahi pe aa chape
    Vo unsiyat se kab hum mukhtalif ho gaye
    jaane kitne seher sanjh me badal gaye
    Bas beeghi palko pr hi apne nishaanat tum chod gaye

  • ayesha_ahmed 4w

    #start #wod #ceesreposts
    #brokennessc ?
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

    baisemain - a kiss on the hand
    nascent - emerging
    tenous - dilute, thin, weak

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    As light mocks me a baisemain

    Winter Flowers

    I am painting my
    nights with happy lies
    the moon shed stars
    for my broken surmise
    As its light mocks
    me a fragile
    b a i s e m a i n
    I knit myself a flaccid
    mirage of paean.
    I left bygones snarling
    around springs
    and my nascent
    shades of autumns
    sways away with
    winds and leaves
    darkness lurking
    in my shadows
    patrolling my
    concrete heart
    I penetrate my poesy
    into winter flowers,
    sewed pages
    of a violet's tacit
    yearning for
    the apricity to
    be touched tenous
    I terrorize those pages
    searching for an
    answer to be sung
    a l o f t