Grid View
List View
  • chaotic_phrases 1w

    People who completely belongs to you, if own dual character will be like differential integration where your
    concentration would be caught writing their name at the last page of your notebook rather than breaking them into an equation. They are like those few words kept in braces that elucidates the sentence but you see it looks way too under rated.

    If they are to defend you then it'd be the decisions made of paper boats. It can either float or drown. They didn't care about your faith in them. They didn't sit beside you to know what you've been going through. The possibility that they might favour you and fight from the rest of the world just for you either seems to be fading in the clouds or pour out every excuse that doesn't make sense everytime you call their name.

    Honestly when it looks like that you both are happy together then the concern they once held for you stutters and crawl leaving you shattered and half-breathing.

    They are the ones who carry burdens of something between 'this' and 'that' or 'here' and 'there'.
    They are like the travellers walking on the roads without street lights. They are those who are indifferent to pain and pleasure. Their veracity had been a pause since ages.

    It might hurt seeing them opening the doors of priorities for each and every person they meet. They keep coming to you after causing heartbreaks just to tickle the feebleness inside you. Your complaints around them are like foggy mornings where you sit shivering and they don't care. They are the stories, I guess, that don't have endings.

  • chaotic_phrases 2w

    As soon as tears
    trickled down my cheeks,
    I saw ancient wars pressed
    between chambers of my heart
    and sent its glories through
    a mother's lacerated cotton saree.

    You see some people lose
    their sympathy in Helen Keller's
    books while some cast it as a shadow
    until it takes the shape of sunlight
    and I left it on streets where art has
    become overcrowded brilliance.

    There are dates written on my cheeks
    and I wonder how do they slip from
    the hearts made of manuscripts.
    Did it demand calligraphy or they
    swallowed the facts that why I'm alive.

    Everytime when tears trickled down my
    cheeks I saw people tamed excuses
    in my appetite and I learnt to not
    expand the spaces between my words
    for them to come and write
    theories of falsity.

    You see some people find their
    inspiration in chaotic form of
    nature- thorns, twigs and branches.
    For some it resides in crushed petals
    of roses that they kept in their stomach
    after love at first sight. I find it in
    glass jars to break it over and again
    till another synonym of breakdown
    comes along.

    There are floods of memories
    and I wonder why people miss
    each other even though it never
    was love?


  • chaotic_phrases 2w

    A list of things that pandemic had taught me //

    i. A desire to paint rooms of your heart with sickness to see how many dead relationships you've been nurturing got replaced with astounding epilogues written by vogue mentalities where old fashioned trousers became trending even in 20's. The book always lies next to an urge of giving rib crush hug to someone and sending kiss emoticons in a long distance relationship where it doesn't expect anything in return.

    ii. There's quite a big difference between being a writer and writing down what it takes to numb the pain. You can't always bring out the best but can be those relatable things that happen to every other person you don't know. Pandemic was like a blank space where one didn't give up to write themselves.

    iii. Love is a form of tragedy that looks beautiful anyhow at the end of the day. Of how many uncertainties that you crossed, how many vulnerabilities you have recorded but the essence of your fragility and sensitivity that binds two people together never slipped past from the spaces between your fingers.

    iv. You do not need false appreciations anymore because you can't hear the truth that is embarrassing. There were many phases of life where you almost undervalued your presence to bring happiness as a medium to reach a larger audience but as far as you grew up your experiences hooked themselves with the proverbs that keeping everyone happy is like crying for the moon.
    You do not escape from generosity but keep it reserved.

    v. Defending yourself had always been a definition of being an egoist to you. When you meet hardship not at the particular time of a day but after every second when you make a sincere effort then you realise you have to be an egotist. You have to be self-centred sometimes because people have always tried to wipe off the qualities that makes you unique from the rest.

  • chaotic_phrases 4w

    It's hard for you
    to accept the truth
    that the person who
    stays on your mind
    all day long someday
    would neglect your
    presence like you doesn't
    make sense to him.
    You think of all the
    possibilities to get in
    touch with them like
    you were when you
    first sent a friend request.
    The only thing I adore
    about long distance
    relationship is that
    doesn't matter
    whether they care
    about you or not,
    pay homage to this
    heart or break it into pieces,
    you'd probably find them
    at the end of the day.

    Because somewhere
    you two are connected
    by the laws of nature.
    The warm sensation
    near your ears, those hiccups
    and the way he sleeps beside
    you in dreams takes you in a world
    of fantasy where forget and forgive
    are just a blink away.
    You forget what they
    did to you.
    Their apathetic behaviour,
    their lack of concern
    fits right into a phrase
    'They must not be doing
    this on a purpose' and you
    forgive them without
    a sincere apology.
    Your brimming eyes
    are filled with happiness
    again and you find yourself
    falling for them this time little
    deeper than earlier.

  • chaotic_phrases 6w

    Happy Women's Day

    Read More

    i. Women like me are
    sleeplessness hearing
    to melancholy at the end
    of the day because when
    we lay on bed, our thighs ache
    all the reasons to not have
    worked hard.
    If we ever have to fit
    in arms of comfort then
    we'd choose to draw
    Mandala art rather than
    being massaged.

    ii. Women like me are
    sweaty roads with wounded
    streetlights who didn't know
    how to pronounce effulgence
    because we lost our only heart
    along a footpath where a beggar
    was in much dire need of
    abode than us.

    iii. Women like me are
    despondence on weekends
    that could be seen on my
    Georgette saree binding
    all the excuses of a husband's
    tiredness when responsibilities
    of in-laws was served to me
    as a token of appreciation
    when I cooked Rasam
    for the first time

    iv. Women like me needs
    to be draped like a fabric
    especially silk because
    our bosom is the season
    called deforestation where
    all the stabs came like
    January nights disguised
    as warm confessions
    of typed letters on keyboard
    that resembled more like
    a soothing breeze to our
    shampooed hair.

    v. Women like me are
    unheard wishes who makes
    a city of sacrifices out of
    all the loneliness, apathy
    and chest pains gifted to us.
    Our silence mourns like
    autumn's visit to a dusty
    bench until it looks artistic.

    vi. Women like me are ode
    to all the jewelleries that
    veiled our scars, burns
    and cysts underneath
    its golden embraces
    and our uncombed hair
    that rescued literature
    from all spheres of life
    we dressed so far.

    vii. Women like me are
    still loquacious speakers,
    crushed self-respect,
    cliche fragrance and a
    revolutionary era who
    themselves won't ask for love
    because they are abandoned
    everyday and are told
    not to curse.


  • chaotic_phrases 6w

    Things which will buy you happiness

    My mother used to say that real happiness is neither rainfall on an unexpected day nor a wish came true when you wished upon a falling star.
    It is the pain that you erase from others life, it is your favourite things that you give to others, it is the sleep that you sacrifice sitting next to someone who is sick and moving on after a heartbreak forgiving the one who ripped you apart.

    Things that will buy me happiness are minutes not being wasted upon thinking whether I should hold on or let go. It is the loneliness you steal from others while embracing them. Where you can clearly see that someone is not devoted to you but it scares you seeing them not getting the attention, care and love they deserve from others.

    Happiness is not the cold breeze that soothes your wet hairs, it is the dust that itches your eyes if you choose it for yourselves. It is the antonym of self-love. It is about giving and not about return gifts. As far as I've experienced things that can buy me happiness are sunsets, broken crayons, memories, criticisms and someone's absence. Happiness is the tears that rolls down your eyes when someone becomes successful. It is your repetitive efforts after actually feeling tired but not giving up. It is the permanence that your lips call temporary.

  • chaotic_phrases 6w

    To a lifeless lover //

    You eat pickle from the
    glass jar kept in your kitchen
    too often because you have heard
    this in movies that they are
    symptoms of being in love.
    You can't choose something
    to wear or you don't know when
    the smile on your face widens
    into a teardrop that falls over
    your guitar every night.
    But there's a strange kind
    of happiness when you
    peel off the oranges and
    citrus is copyrighted to be
    the owner of your beauty.

    You plug-in earphones
    at most thirty times in a day
    but clouds didn't rain to smudge
    your matte lipstick and you
    await for the weekend to pass
    away too soon.
    You began with a shush.
    Your love was a micro tale.
    You were not a pro in baking
    cakes but birthdays in families
    now compliments about your
    You hide yourself under darker
    shades of your dupatta but the
    sweat buds on your 'Kurti' reveals
    how dearest you've been these days
    to summers.
    And when the beads of your
    necklace scatters on the ground
    you choose to dance in Autumns.

    You say love never dies and
    its touch is enough to make
    you alive.
    A thousand deaths bore your heart.
    It writes epistles instead of
    epitaphs for the brokenness you hold.
    Someone asked you whether the
    memories sewed you or dreams
    gathered you?
    Whether the poems carved you or
    sacrifices grown you up?
    But the essence of jasmine oil you
    put in your hairs and the whisper
    that your bangles make proudly
    says that you are a lifeless lover
    and your life belongs to HIM.

  • chaotic_phrases 7w

    I don't want a Man
    who would propose me
    typing thousand letters
    with a trigger warning
    or who could read my silence
    amidst the spaces left
    between my keystrokes
    when I type him a message.
    Instead I want my rooms
    with tons of rose petals
    scattered everywhere while
    he sits on his knees asking
    me to not become his forever
    but confessing that he would
    be loyal to me even the whole
    world is cheating upon me,
    might adorn my hairs with
    Mogra flowers even though
    girls of my age will walk
    with pride wearing tiaras
    and crowns.

    He should stand next to me
    when the skies would have
    been falling.
    Lend a promise to not let
    me suffer those heartbreaks
    in order to grow just because
    I do everything imperfectly.
    Fight with pillows and
    mess everything up until
    we don't laugh like crazy.
    I want a Man whose height
    is more than mine so that
    I could stand on his feet
    and dance like a fairy.

    I'll not write him
    in my verses.
    I'll not paint him
    on the walls but I will
    sit on his lap everyday
    like a kid who needs to be
    pampered with dozens of
    icecream flavours and extra
    cheese topping on my pizza
    and he should always offer
    its last bite to me.
    I want him to read me
    as an unwritten draft,
    cuddle me like a hand knit
    sweater, fall over my body
    on winters like Pashmina Shawl.
    He should brush my hair aside
    and find whether I'm hiding
    some secrets from him or not.
    I would wish to be his metaphor
    rather than sarcasm everytime
    I have deep craving for tamarind.

  • chaotic_phrases 9w

    Happy Valentine's Day.
    @mirakee @writersnetwork

    Read More

    You can't find some people at the end of the day when your heart is torn at the edges or when you can't gather your emotions flowing like river. They abandoned you when you needed them the most and painted their absence in your home. You constantly kept thinking about them, daydreamed about them like they own all the significance and concern that is recently breathing a slow death. You are perfumed with their character in a way that doesn't matter how rigorous the situations are, how drastic the conditions are, you cannot forget writing a poem for them every night before going to sleep. You lull them with your whispers that somehow reach to them through language of your tears.

    In your fate lines love comes in severe pain, crushed, dilapidated and tired. You can't date him over the dining table of honesty, you can't cuddle him and get your chest etched with the punctuation mark of comfort. Valentines to me is the day when I use to knit pullovers of his size out of the unpleasantries we both share and wear it to keep myself warm so that the world would abstain from calling me cold-hearted. I worship him everyday in my dreams so that every morning my body would smell like piousness. The people who are not made for each other carve a love story that every February recites. It is thus the mourning of skies when I could see us twinkling at the end of the day with the hope that someday we might meet soon.


  • chaotic_phrases 9w

    I am meeting him
    after five months
    and the twenty-five
    I made everyday
    while missing him
    are still stuck
    between partition
    of my hair.
    I opened them
    to hide the excitement
    around my collarbones.
    He smiled and was
    about to run and
    embrace me.
    His eyes can see
    tiredness lurking
    above my forehead
    that was trickling
    down alike sweat buds.
    His slow footsteps created
    silence between us.
    The blush on my face
    was the music that
    was telling him what
    kind of pain I'm
    My jawline was little
    too late to greet him
    with a 'Hello' before
    my lips tasted the existence
    I once lost in his home.
    His fingers were tracing
    my dimples and searching
    for the nights where we
    weren't together.
    He licked the mole on
    my left cheek.
    He wiped the kohl that
    was smudged after being
    sun kissed.
    My lips have been reciting
    that meeting him is more
    than enough.
    Like I've found myself
    after too long time.
    It's been half an hour
    that he has been reading
    me like a poem, carrying me
    like a chivalry and asking me
    to take good care of myself.
    Had it not been a dream,
    I would have been doing
    this to him.