barasiya__

www.instagram.com/_no_sooner_/

she/her/they/them the kind of "no lemon, no ice tea" bitch.

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  • barasiya__ 11w

    To my sky sister who just turned 18,
    This world is great and you make it better. Through everything I have ever been since the last two years, you were always a part. A part of me, and my stories. I wouldn't grow up enough as a writer if it wasn't for you! And I cannot expect someone to understand me as good as you do.
    So, it all started with clicking and vibing, and knowing and understanding! And eventually clicking and vibing and knowing and understanding better. Also distance is a bitch otherwise you don't know how great your birthday would have been, trust me.
    Also, this world deserve more of you, more of you as a human, as an art, as everything.
    It's amazing to have crossed paths with you, because you never know which bitch you need in my life, I need you btw! ��
    Also, I will give you my summer, if you give me all your love!
    And fuck people who is unkind bitch enough and toxic ew!
    I love you baby, happy birthday Arin's sibling!
    ❤️

    @poeticgirl

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  • barasiya__ 12w

    I lost my mind to a summer sky~


    I have survived an October which wasn't mine,
    And I have survived many such Octobers which weren't mine.
    You see, you breathe from your heart,
    It doesn't seem that hard when you want to
    You can swing with the air and not think about your broken family, or
    The rats peeping holes in the letters you haven't sent,
    When you want to.
    But I don't want to.
    Because all the clouds disappeared somehow from my summer sky,
    Because that's how stories are written,
    Stories about heartbreaks,
    About a mother's empty lap,
    About a child's death in the playground,
    That's how stories are written,
    The clouds just dissapear from your summer sky,
    The trees,
    They smell a lot like autumn,
    Brown, and sugary,
    Pumpkin spice latte!
    I am not 18 yet,
    And I have seen 17 autumn skies,
    And 17 pumpkins hanging from a barren household,
    And every pumping seed, drops as a death count.
    It's like,
    You know, a lot of thing, wrapped in a suddenness,
    A deathly suddenness
    Like it was summer yesterday,
    And suddenly, it's a pumpkin field.
    There were clouds shaped as cotton candies,
    And suddenly, it's like,
    Nothing,
    A sky, and a torn 20 rupee note.
    ~
    Barasiya.




    I was just sleeping, duh!
    #start #wod #pod

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  • barasiya__ 21w

    I think in the past few years, I have learned a lot about human relations and places. And how at the end of the day, "hope" is your only friend.
    See the thing is, you come back to people and places, no matter what has happened because hope rings your bell. The trust, you hold, binds the home. Human relationships are gonna come and go, that's what makes us a lot human, places, they will stay, memories we will cherish, moments we will enjoy. Of all the endangered human resources, trust leads the list. Human trust, human faith, is demolishing in an unimaginable rate. When you go out, you will notice 8 out of 10 people taking pride in not trusting a fellow human or in humanity.
    The thing is, humans are meant to come and go. Not everyone can hold on to your life forever, everyone seeks for a bigger space with time, you cannot expect everyone to put you first, when you yourself don't. You cannot hold on to something which is broken from the roots, or which eventually breaks, because humans are made up of a lot of emotions. It's not healthy, to hold on to a broken relationship for the sake of relationship. You have to let go and start over, without loosing your humanity. At the end of the day, all we need is a little warmth. It's you and I who make mistakes, but someone who hasn't done it wrong, doesn't deserve the heat only because someone else made you loose faith in humanity.
    Do not be the reason someone stops believing in goodness! But also if you wanna mend things, you should try to do it, because trust me or not, that's not as hard as it seems. You aren't super human, you are as human as I am, we are all human, we all have the same face.
    At the day end, you are someone's own version of your story!

    ~ Barasiya Ghosh, with a little faith and a lot of sunshine!


    @writersnetwork @miraquill @poeticgirl @aastha_bhowmik

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  • barasiya__ 24w

    Please, I wanna keep writing songs, unless someone sings it for me, Taylor or Olivia maybe?
    @aastha_bhowmik @poeticgirl @writersnetwork @miraquill @phosphenes_


    [Verse 1]
    How can you love
    When you know you can't?
    How can you stay
    When you know you don't want?
    If it has to stop
    Why can't it stop in days like these?

    If love was a piece of cookie
    You are lying on the last crumb of it,
    And I know you are dying with every bit
    Cause you know
    You can't love me.

    If you really can't love
    Which I know you really can't
    Why do you wanna stay?
    Why do you wanna show its love?
    Even though it's really not!

    [Pre-chorus]
    I know that it's killing you
    Everytime!
    When I look at you
    And you look at my eyes!
    Cause I know how hard this is,
    To show you are so much in love
    But it really isn't !

    [Chorus]
    Is it really love
    When it breaks your heart?
    Is it really love
    When it tears you apart?
    Or are you just fooling yourself,
    Cause you think you love me?

    ~Barasiya Ghosh!

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  • barasiya__ 26w

    I love how we as people are overcoming our constant urges to fight against each other and admiring the human touch and affection all over again. You see, we, as humans, are the most wondrous species of all times. We love, admire and preach things, people and memories that ceased existing in our sphere long back. You will see, how an abandoned child holds on to the ground as if it's the only shelter he got, or how an orphan visits her parents' graveyard everyday and comes back with a wider smile, or how a little kid who skipped school and is chasing the clouds with his little hands holding hope, or how a widow unfolds her wedding gown every now and then, to look at if all over again, 10 years later her husband died, or how you hold your heart to the lover you shared a forever with every bit of love in it. Every bit of us makes us a human. Every flaws and every imperfections and perfections, every improvisation makes us more of a human than what we are born with.

    This world is what we make of it, it stays right in our place, in our heart. It echoes in the storms we chase, in the stories we tell, and in the songs we write.
    We are someone's version of our story.
    ~Barasiya.


    I wrote after idk whatever.

    @aastha_bhowmik @phosphenes_ @writersnetwork @miraquill #wod #pod

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  • barasiya__ 29w

    Muro is a Bengali term for the head of the fish. Euphemism of importance. :)

    @writersnetwork @miraquill

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    My life settles within a box.
    Box of ciphers,
    from where peeks my life.
    A game of peek-a-boo (s).
    Sellotaped hearts and broken arts,
    Because your father chokes on the thought of brilliancy.
    And your mother wishes you to hide your talent under the aanchal of her saree
    Just like she did.
    Because that makes you "woman".
    A woman
    With no paints, in a red saree, yellow bordered
    Washing dishes
    And watering trees
    And pressing their nipples on the wall of chastity
    Because,
    That's what women do.
    Women are made up of
    A silk
    Half sliced yarn
    And the smallest fish at dinner.
    I took the "muro"
    And I am no more a woman.
    I left the bones on the plate
    Just like my father did.
    And they pushed me back
    And stabbed me at the ground
    And turned me to a "woman".
    So I washed the dishes,
    And broken bones
    And sealed my passion
    With the strongest glue.
    And I hid under the aanchal.
    And taught my daughter
    To do the same
    My father smiled,
    I am a
    WO(MAN).

    Barasiya

  • barasiya__ 30w

    "तुम ही सोचो ज़रा, क्यों न रोकें तुम्हें?
    जान जाती है जब उठ के जाते हो तुम.."

    You cross paths with thousands of people everyday, every minute, every moment. You forget half of them and you choose not to even look at the other half. But you see, all of us, you and me, we are connected.
    You will see some of them walking with half of their face painted in a skin color which hides everything that's pulling them down. Some of them walks with the responsibility of their family in their pocket. Some of them walks with a half sliced yarn, trying to hold an almost dead marriage with all their weight on Earth.
    You will see everyone you cross paths with, will have stories, you can relate to. Even if you can't, it will hurt you because you will know how that feels.
    We are standing in an Earth, where everyone, you and me, is either carrying a heavy weight in their heart or is looking forward to a similar predictable future.

    We are all tinted in the grimmest pigment and we are all gasping for breath, or looking forward for gasping for breath. Around us is the sky, and we are still carrying our heart at the brim of the glass.
    ~ Barasiya.


    @writersnetwork @miraquill
    @starrdust @aastha_bhowmik @morsel

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  • barasiya__ 30w

    If you ever sing this lyrics, sing to the music of "like my father" by Jax.





    @writersnetwork @starrdust @poeticgirl @aastha_bhowmik

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    I will sink in your arm ft. Like my father by Jax

    Hold my hand
    And don't let go
    Settle in my world
    For a minute or two

    You will come home
    When the sun sets
    To smell of fresh lilies and roses.

    But this love is more than
    the rise of dawn
    And before you know
    The world is gone.

    A blue sky full of
    Shining stars
    Which shines brighter
    When you kiss my scar.

    Cause this love is more
    Than the setting sun
    And before you know
    I will,
    Sink in your arms.

    And you and me
    We will dance
    In the terrace

    When the moon light
    Shines
    Above us

    A kiss on the forehead
    Wrong steps
    Dirty little bad
    Flying overhead.

    I will write you letters
    When you are out of town
    And paste daisy flowers
    From the gown

    And when you burn the dinner date
    I will stroke your cheek
    And pat your head.

    And ride the wind
    At 12 am
    And laugh under the basement.

    A blue sky full of
    Shining stars
    Which shines brighter
    When you kiss my scar.

    Cause this love is more
    Than the setting sun
    And before you know
    I will,
    Sink in your arms.

    ~Barasiya.

  • barasiya__ 30w

    Not a post, just a gratitude to Bollywood and abhi na jao chodkar.





    2 cups of coffee × summer evening × abhi na jao chodkar × a warm blanket.

    Birds around you and me,
    Chirping in the language of love,
    Little verses,
    Columns and semi colons.

    I took out an old woolen blanket from the cupboard. It smelled of honey and rose. I brewed coffee some minutes ago, and it was almost cold. I organized the books in the shelf, and I sat in the balcony with the coffee mug and the earphone.
    Bollywood gave me many good things, one of the most significant of which is abhi na jao chodkar.
    Everytime I am surrounded the sphere of grim, abhi na jao chod Kar touches my skin breaking the silence in to a nobility of the universe.
    Abhi na jao chod Kar is an ode, about holding on.
    It's like the blanket I held, the last sip of the "no-more-hot" hot coffee, the warm summer air and the crickets.

    "Abhi na jao,
    Chodkar,
    K Dil abhi bhara nahi."

    Abhi abhi tow aye ho......
    ©barasiya__

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  • barasiya__ 31w

    The little cup of after death.

    When I die, do not cry.
    The pages I kept,
    Unnamed
    Will rise from ashes that beholds desires.

    When I die,
    Will you look at me?
    Will you hold my hand
    My desires,
    That I hid in the untitled journal,
    Addressed to you?

    The half burnt dreams
    Which I laid under the wooden bed
    Will you tug that inside the little girl's breast
    Who cries in bare eyes at night under the streetlight
    Who after extinguishing the fire of her husband's stomach's call
    Sleeps in a bed that protests dreams in the loudest language.

    The colors I kept
    Between Jane Austen's novels in the bookshelf
    Scatter them away in the sky
    And watch the widow collecting them and draping them around her white skin
    Who at dusk, kisses the coffin of her martyr husband.

    The bottle of tear
    I kept in the closet
    Address them to a poet's pen
    And watch him whisper a hope note with every drop of tear
    Inking in the whitest paper.

    The courage
    I kept under the Attic
    Give them away to the kid
    Who drapes his dead mother's blanket at night
    While waiting for him father to come back home
    With the food
    He sold his meat for.

    The peace I stored
    In that wooden box
    Give them away to the old age home
    Where the mother cries over the son's return
    Who rides in his world of money.

    And the remnants of my agony
    My pain, my jealousy
    And the lies and selfishness
    Burn them in the pyre of my death
    Let them drape my whole skin in the fire I lit

    Burn all the pieces, burn them to ashes
    In the fire of my pyre.


    ~
    Barasiya.
    Inspired.

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod
    @aastha_bhowmik @starrdust

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