Mirakee
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bhootni
one plate demotivation please
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bhootni
15w
Read MoreNya saal ki bht bht subh kamanaye sabhi ko ��
(Sorry for posting this again, dopehr wali delete ho gyi thi galti se)
@someone_alive firse le ��.
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bhootni
16w
Read More
I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't awake either;
Paralyzed memories, floating around
in my dark cold room, kicking my subconscious mind,
forcing my eyes to open wide and peep into the world of nightmares.
Shining ghosts from the past,
Licking the salt my tears gave up.
The young yet haggard soul of mine crying of guilt
Trying to escape the cage of life
But the heartbeats chained it to the walls of the cage.
I'm a breathing corpse with a wet pillow under a dustbin
Which creates mess and stabs my heart with the sharp reality.
Nights are beautiful, maybe because they never lie!
Sweet memories framed with awful lies,
The discoloured present with toxic thoughts,
The future turning into the Bermuda triangle.
Every night, the room experiences silent screams
of a soul struggling to free itself from the
suffocating and spherical world of monsters.
And gradually turns life into dry alphabets,
Balancing between lines of an unevenly torn piece of page,
Page meant to bid the world a good bye,
A suicide note.
©Oishee
Thanks for the like WN ����Maybe,
Night's the greatest enemy of life. -
bhootni
19w
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One night, when the stars gathered
enough power to shine the brightest,
Compared to the other nights,
She woke up and went to the roof,
Hoping she could get a glance of
the close one she lost.
She looked up, trying hard to see
Whether anyone is hiding between
the stars, and watching her.
But she found none.
When the whole city was dead asleep,
She kept searching for the person
She loved the most,
She needed the most beside her.
She screamed her lungs out
Not caring about her surroundings,
"Maa, are you there? Can you see me?
Can you see my condition without you?
Why did you leave me in this cruel world
when you knew they would kill me when you're away?
Can't you see the love for you in my eyes?
Can't you feel the pain my heart's choking on?
Why aren't you answering maa?"
She cried a lot that night.
She was a kid, with a heart where
her innocence mixed with pain,
Which gave out blue tears out of her blooming eyes.
She realized that night,
The world is an awful lie, where liers
rule their kingdom of profits and deception.
No city of stars exist,
No dead people live there,
She was just a kid,
whose nonsense heart ate all the lies people spitted
When she refused to accept the reality.The way he looked into her eyes for the first time,
Verses of nature started melting into raindrops of metaphors. -
bhootni
19w
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And darling,
All my hopes died between the love letters I wrote to you
Leaving behind regrets on my diary
©bhootni -
bhootni
20w
Read More
Recalling those faces,
Familiar yet unfamiliar
I looked down
From the roof of the skyscraper.
The chaotic world seemed so little.
The clock was ticking breathlessly,
Eagerly running to snatch away someone's life.
11:57 p.m
More three minutes for me to turn 18.
I felt my heart choking on memories
My breathe getting slower with every passing seconds
I started losing all the hope to see
The sunrise of my 18th birthday
Everything paused, my vision blurred
The glorious world gradually drowned in darkness
My eyes filled with salty tears of fear,
Fear of the upcoming tragedy on my family.
Silence spread, nothing could be heard
Except my heart, screaming for some more time
Death knocked on my shoulder
My heart beat for the last time
Death stood in front of me, coldly.
It spread it's arms, embraced me like
The very first day my mother did.
“Time to leave for the land of peace,
Little girl”, said death.
I looked down at the moving people
For the last time and said,
“Let's leave, I'm ready”..
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bhootni
25w
Read More
So..maa arrived �� after a wait of one year
*Post me kuch Bengali lines likhhi hai mene, uski translation��*
dhake baje, sonkho baje, kashor ghonta baje- drums, conch, kashor (making sound with a stick against one bowl-like thing) were being played
Maa ese geche- maa ( Durga) arrived
gorom gorom fulko luchi- steaming puris
alur dom- one kind of dish made by boiling potato
Aj kintu south a jabo- today we'll go to South Kolkata
uthe ja re, prothom batch er anjali dewa sesh- get up, first batch has completed giving "puja".
Maa k boron korte jachhi, tui o chol- I'm going to bid a good bye ( we feed maa and others with sweets as a good bye), you too come with me
(bhasan- taking the idols around the locality before propelling her in the river) Chole aye, bhasan a jabi to- come if you're going to the bhasan
Asche bochhor abar hobe- next year, these will happen again
*Okay, this was the story of every year, before this pandemic ��*panchami
getting up early in the morning
blue sky full of white cotton clouds
"dhake baje, sonkho baje, kashor ghonta baje"
truck arrived with four five uncles
"maa ese geche"
shasthi
staying in bed until it's late
washed face, breakfast served by maa
"gorom gorom fulko luchi with alur dom"
rushing to pandel and grabbing one seat
gossiping with friends.
saptami
waking up early due to excitement
taking bath, getting ready, waiting for one phone call
friend : aj kintu south a jabo amra.
with half charged phone
rushing to metro
ashtami
"uthe ja re, prothom batch er anjali dewa sesh"
bathing with sleepy eyes and then wrapping around
one red saree clumsily, rushing to the pandel with open wet hair
"Anjali sesh" , then planning hang out, roaming around
ending up scooping into the bed at 11 at night
with severe leg pain
nabami
waking up by the aroma of mutton
family get-together , taunts, jokes
whole night pandel hopping ,travelling by yellow taxi
gobbling up "phuchkas" ; then returning home
interrupted by heavy rain
dashami
a gloomy environment between every bengali
sitting calmly in the pandel, staring at the eyes of maa durga
returning back home quietly, finishing lunch,
"Maa k boron korte jachhi, tui o chol"
Seeing the idol for the last time,
People gathering in the street
Kids climbing up the truck
"Chole aye, bhasan a jabi to?"
*Asche bochhor abar hobe*
©bhootni -
bhootni
25w
©bhootni
-
एतराज़ नहीं मुझे तेरे दूर जाने से मसला तो सारे तेरे पास आने का है,
यूँ किसी और से रूठकर तेरा मुझसे जी बहलाने की ये साज़िश कमाल का है ।
©rim__writes -
tia_2005
1w
When we converged for first
My verses gleamed in rapture.
When you dumped me for last
My verses bleed in despair.
©tia_2005 -
gelukzoeker
2w
I didn't cry because of
how much it hurt,
I cried because of how much
I felt.
©gelukzoeker -
I hated L(ove/ife)
But then you pitched up and taught me how L(ove/ife) is simply complicated.
And darling this is what makes it even more beautiful...
©someone_you_know -
gunjit_jain
2w
Read Moreकुछ बेवजह❤️
कि न पूछिये हम से दर्द के पैमानें
एक उम्र गुज़ारी है हादसों में हमनेमिरे ज़ख्मों की तपिश में आज
ज़मीं भी जलकर धुआं हो गयी,
हादसों में कट रही थी ज़िन्दगी
फ़िर ज़िन्दगी ही हादसा हो गयी
- गुंजित जैन -
Wearing an ugly sheet of epidermis
With heavy flesh on her waist,
She hobbles
more than ten times
at dead of night
in her room.
She keeps going,
In that dispirited narrow street,
Wh're people behold her shape,
curse her existence
and ridicule for
having a body like her
She is alive,
by breathing their wretched thoughts
on the conceptions,
limited between her feet to head,
having shades of brown and black
She swallows those critic words,
arise in the state of
her stuttering voice
and stained face,
She dies, after suffering from chaos,
With huge stroke of cliches
on her nose of a heavy black mole
She dies because of the words
oscillating between her limited height,
Listening to the criticisms,
floating around in the air
when she was alone,
which she would get to hear
for being a girl,
She dies, with an ugly sight.
- Vandita -
tia_2005
2w
While he left her
For her scars,
The world
Welcomed her
With tranquil hue.
©tia_2005 -
Pat(turn) in art
In a fumy afternoon of March
unloading some undyed chaos
I startle again
near a headstone of your memories.
I try to romanticize the mild vibe
with the colors of sirimiri
but I fail
to bloom like that yellow chrysanthemum.
With the least stillness of streets
I sit near a faded facade
of artifice
to whitewash the head of bald effigies.
Repeating the hymns of my existence
and flowering some metaphors
on the blackness,
I affirm a war against some broken crayons.
They never begged or beseeched near me
inside the courtyard of adroitness
and the blue one whispers
"broken crayons still color darling".
©bidya || the last breath inside a mayhem -
heather_
2w
Read MoreTo ,
Myself.
Hey! How you doing? I hope you are alright. I heard that you are not feeling good so i decided to write to you. Don't feel sad its fine. Everything will be okay just trust in yourself. Don't end it and don't loose now or else you will regret it. What are you doing now? I am sipping my coffee and looking at you. But you are not looking at me . your lying in a corner and crying the whole time. Why? Why do you always care about what others say and why don't you look at yourself. You are special. There is only one you. Don't feel sad. Common stand up . you can do it. The world is beautiful don't give up just by seeing one dam of garbage. Within the trashes there are flowers in the world too. Now stand up and do it. My wishes are with you. And don't worry I care for you :).
From -
Yourself.
#mirakee #writersnetwork #pod
@mirakee @writersnetworkA letter to myself
©heather_
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If Writers Die
If...
The pens quiver to fume,
Mirages of catharsis don't bloom?
Frenzied delusions won't stab,
In cemeteries of depth
Maimed hearts will fail to rest?
If...
Paper won't croon rhymed pains,
Bequeath young eternal refrains?
We'll stare words but abyss won't,
Rumbling of words
That brim in silence now won't?
Will the sky loose palettes,
Or anecdotes of dusky secrets—
Inscribed in sonnets and poetries?
And the quirky staleness will gawk
Between chaos of Writer's dead diaries?
Will the water lose blues,
For which only a writer rues?
Pearls that are kalopsias of seas,
Would turn into just little glimmers,
That will stare from lacerated ditties?
Will the dulcet lies and divine truths,
Be swalloed by world with unwritten ruths?
Pathetic cries of incompleted drafts,
Be shushed forever
Hymns be lost in air once sung skyward?
Will then the cobwebbed pages return,
Or the eternal words will always remain burned?
The souls of left bodies will only ink,
Eulogies for dead writers
Or before that God will bestow purity wings?
©someone_alive
