Miraquill
Dummy
a chance encounter with her
in a local bazaar's lane
where the dim lights
letting only the shadows grow
the only joy of an evening stroll.
shy and a little overly madeup
taut and strained in her translucent skin
like an eternal flame,
just one flaw of somewhat contorted left wrist
makes her glance more neurotic than stylish.
that unhappy little-dusty creature
in a display window with finest clothing
watching the crowd streaming by
in a cold and detached stance
without even rolling her eyes
at polite coughs, nods or winks.
distant and provocative
her eyes, filled with clouds of
impenetrable unknowing
boring straight into his heart,
already broken.
would they behead her or
severe her limbs
if she could ever manage to tell him
the story of what she wants to be?
is she paying some sort of penalty,
in obedience to her master?
hence, she opts
selling her dream
in disguise of a pretty dress?
dream of becoming 'the other'
who'd wear that outfit.
longing but failing to be somebody else
like a hapless lover who'd never share a bed
pampered but dissected into parts
she is playing the role of a 'desirable' alien
by displaying the beautiful garbs.
©desiderata_
desiderata_
i escape. @desiderata_ / @इमरोज़
-
-
Silence...
the mute spaces between
illicit orgasms
struggle to smother
piercing screams,
devoured by love...
©desiderata_ -
Growing Up
i am able to speak the most when i am not talking
i like being there for myself, i am not dependent
i can sing, dance, cry, be strong, everything
and it has resonated with a lot them
i don't feel like i fall short of the ideal
i am a little more assured now
it was a risk that i took and it paid off
without having the much needed know-how
my jump into the self-business came out of nowhere
i allowed me to do what i wanted to do
it felt so magical and cool
and if there were lessons to learn i felt i will learn them
there is no ambition no obsession
it is as simple as the cottage on a hill
i am punching below the weight
without the need to kill
it was a bit struggle
but it came naturally to me
that seemed like a better bargain
because i didn't know otherwise
i have learnt with time
but that learning cannot be undone
i am aware now
i think i am growing up!
©desiderata_ -
#birth
i was born in your head,
a colorful sign
longed to be seen
passing between two beautiful minds.
Outside of it,
i flap the wings and take flight
that's when you decide,
to hide me in shadows
where i am at my most relaxed
when i hover between earth and sky,
undecided...
©desiderata_ -
desiderata_
67w
Read Morehe adds and subtracts one more time
not to think about it further
the poison, that touches his every interaction.
so long there is a choice to make
no point in turning away
he shuffles between
'want to' and 'have to'
looking it in the face.
the little spurts of scribbled reasoning
grow in a pile of considerations
about the order in which things matter
and to call them by their right names.
how many beats did he miss?
how far back he needs to go into pieces
to begin again?
but he wants to remember the exact moment
the very moment when he severs the ties
with the carcass he carries inside.
why can't he deal with it?
look at it, set forth the conditions
consider the alternatives, imagine the consequences.
it's time to begin the house in order
but no part of it is in his power.
he rakes back and forth
across the items in rows
not this, not that
not this, not that
there is no least bad in all of it
there is only bad, bad, bad.
he pushes, he snaps
he pulls his hood down
over ears and eyes
like a vacuum bag
and goes back
the same way he came.
Idiom: settle a score
Meaning: to get vengeance (on someone) for a past wrong
#idiom #wod #mirakee #writersnetwork #podcan you dig much deeper into the past
to settle a score??
©desiderata_ -
desiderata_
67w
Read More
When he looks into those eyes, he wonders, how to do justice so sublime that it unlocks her very dreams? Double meanings or mocking hints with false cues about her secret life, like some unknowing power from another planet is trying to send him messages.
A little booklet lying in front of him, that claims to interpret the dreams. A desire he couldn't begin to fathom when tales about the cologne bottles, hairpins, slippers, nylon stockings pouring an unholy chorus, bring tears to his eyes.
He couldn't recall the original color of her pale nailpolish before she picked up the bottle of Acetone to remove its traces. A lost memory that shimmers before his eyes like a fairy tale from a distant land. It becomes difficult to trace the origin of her story, as it is, to trace the origin of life.
He takes notes, how she spent her last few days with him, filling the ashtray of empty promises, diffusing scent of her Frangipani perfume into smoke. A silent passage that tests his courage, fires up the imagination and he embarks on yet another ritual with painstaking precision. A bleak hunt by conjuring her image, as light glimmers the same shade as her complexion.
They say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. He knows, there is no such thing. Again this unimpeachable silence, incomprehensible even frightening, is far beyond their shared vocabulary. And he knows, this time it would be a long while before either of them break it and she would leave it to him how he writes about all this, for she is not he, who is the wordsmith.
#proverb #wod #mirakee #writersnetwork #podDo they sell ink that smell of Frangipani?
©desiderata_ -
Love Note
scratch my surface, and
you'll find the ripples;
floating between the songlines
an unbearbale lightness
reaching out
to what it's written,
a tryst
already fixed
inside the thin layer
of my sanity's skin.
Maktūb, the unseen sight
shimmering so bright
lending the cracks
in my voice
and the faltered cough
stangulates
the demons of memories
day and night.
it's time to find the bearings
hence, i court the failures
capped by A'la Rasi,
leaving no effort behind
to find the right note
that embodies the sublime
before i lose my mind.
©desiderata_ -
Can't you see?
the body he owns,
is a temple erected in search of goddess
or a container of his own obsessive mess?
shocking, nauseating mirrors
or the presence of obscure lovers?
under the covers of legitimate test
an absence he always felt,
the groans of techniques and geometry
rendering apparent
the muted screams fall on deaf ears.
a corrupted innocence
or a detached existence?
dirtying itself in sin
taught by experience
when gluey tears
ooze from the slit of his third eye
justifying, that self-gratification
is a better replacement of
an unclaimed sacrifice.
a diagnosis
or just a semantics?
a worthiness, need not to be counselled
like the scent of a wildflower
surrendered to the wind
omni sensual
at its finest, asexual.
©desiderata_ -
I Walk The Line
You put a spell on me,
every memory is gone
that kept me going
but i still feel your essence
creeping all over me
why were you so cruel to me?
i am an Archloch, but why you?
i was in a different room
but never left the home
and that's the freedom
we agreed upon
and now, i can't cope up
with the distance
worse than dying,
i'm missing you
and i'm not being poetic
asking, will you stay with me?
to cross the dark-verse together
because that's how
i always want it to be
to end the last call
with your laugh.
©desiderata_ -
Trying To Reach Home...
for me its too late
to vanish again,
a freedom of choice
a stab in my back
that longs for hugs
i can embrace,
without a desire
dirty or clean
breaking the walls
to alter everything
knowing, i am coming
Home.
to keep the promise
but the promise is YOU
swearing upon my dead face
the minute you turn away,
i ink an oath
to go together
to make you fall in love
with the music we play,
not an easy way
but a reason enough
to write a poem
as i dont want to feel
lost again.
©desiderata_
-
absynth
75w
making poetry
Poet - What's up?
Muse - I'm in no mood for your cliched ice breakers.
Poet - Ok. Then I will get straight to the point.
I wanna make poetry with you.
Muse - Not happening. I'm dry and don't feel a thing down there.
Poet - Down where?
Muse - Down my void.
Poet - Let me try and turn you on.
Muse - I'm not a tap to be turned off and on.
Poet - See, the sarcastic wise cracks are starting to flow. We seem to be making progress.
Muse - Please yourself poet but the iron curtain isn't parting so soon. You need something equally hard and solid to crack it open.
Poet - Like an imaginative hard on?
Muse - Yes but with more emotion.
Poet - But I thought we were done with the mush.
Muse - Mush any day over your hackneyed words.
Poet - You take away my words and I lose my existence.
Muse - Exactly. That's what I wanna do. You can't touch me until you lose your identity.
Poet - You love playing games don't you?
Muse - Yes a game of losing your name.
Poet - But if you keep talking to me, I will have a chance of rephrasing my feelings.
Muse - Ok. Let's try but no more wordplay and editing.
Poet - Agreed.
Muse - Tell me why do you desire me so much?
Poet - Because you are the only solace in my bleak world.
Muse - Try harder poet.
Poet - Because reality sucks and you don't.
Muse - Nice metaphorical try. But you can do better.
Poet - Ok. Because I think the time I spend with you is the only time I feel free to be anything but me and that part when I am not me becomes me only because you are in it.
Muse - Bravo! Though it sounded like Kahlil Gibran. But we have started to scratch the surface here.
Poet - So when do we make poetry?
Muse - We just made one. Now leave me alone...
(The iron curtain falls..)
©absynth -
absynth
63w
Read More
#bloatus #thousandpetals #rootedcrown #divinejunction #life #wod
#writersofmirakee #mirakee #mirakeeRoar #pod #readwriteunite #wordporn #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #mirakeeapp #writers_paradise #writers_together #mirakeepost #mirakeefamily #mirakinity_mibe #writersunited #writersbureaub-lo(a)tus
There's an unopened lotus
Of a thousand petals
That hasn't yet bloomed
Inside the muddy skull of a mortal.
It stays hidden from view
and derives all nutrients from the muck
That settles thick and clogs up
an overbrimming pond filled with dreamy ducks
That peck at it for its tasty seeds
And choose to satiate their immediate hungers
Than waiting for the lotus to grow stronger
And multiply its progeny.
Hocus pocus!
Here's the sacred lotus
Pulled out from a hat of consciousness!
This is the magic that the masses want to witness and hear
And then back it up with their delusions of grandeur
Even as they lock their selves in skeletal safes.
The cosmic wheels of the bandwagon
Are jammed onto the rails
By the burdens of impatient passengers
Whose faces all look the same
Despite their diverse experiences
And the destination depends
On an invisible signal man who changes tracks
too often for the passengers to
Make sense of the divine junction.
The weight of this unbloomed lotus
Bends the spinal stalks of humans
Who are enchanted by its fragrance
But can never pluck it out of their heads
And hence keep finding new ways to distract themselves
from the firm grip of its roots,
Still thirsty for transcendence
Beyond the eternal loop.
©absynth -
absynth
63w
Read More
#coupling #tantra #satori #nightmare #wod #nostalgiac #writersbay
#writersofmirakee #mirakee #mirakeeRoar #pod #readwriteunite #wordporn #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #mirakeeapp #writers_paradise #writers_together #mirakeepost #mirakeefamily #mirakinity_mibe #writersunited #writersbureaucoup-ling
A nightmare and a dream salaciously copulate
On the feather bed of my sub conscious salad,
They are conjoined twins that never seperate
And locked at their hips like two tantric lovers.
The karezza of their mismatched breaths
Titillates the peeling skin of darkness
Rubbing off the virgin membrane between life and death
And replacing it with a fresh nostalgia of awareness.
The manic mandala inside my cranium
Is painted in white and grey matter
And echoes with the chants of cardiac rhythms
Inside which emotional prayer wheels are constantly turned.
This existential monastery is a scary monument
Where the serene Buddha's smile
Can be swapped over any moment
By Mara's delusional sigil.
The nightmare is a voluptuously sinister consort
And the dream is a deity of the higher world,
When they achieve bliss together with eyes half closed,
The persevering seeds of satori are sown in the silent womb.
©absynth -
proper_noun
68w
Your smile stems from a sadness,
and hence it reaches the farthest,
sitting on a celestial carousel,
encircling the ephemeral epiphanies,
searching for a lost self that still believes in oblivion!
©proper_noun -
paperwhites
73w
Read MoreAn Affair of Summer
Opening the sun and
Passion ignites the questing hearts
An unseen country and
Landscapes dominate the thoughts
A perfect display and
I hear the stillness humming around
A planet in bloom and
I let the heat in touching the ground
Wind through the green and lively grass
Whirling the charmy leaves in mass
Atmospheric faith and the view of birds
Water gushing down mumbling murmurs
Caterpillars and the dragonflies
A ladybug basking with butterflies
Bumblebees riding cyclones among trees
Cardinals winging with the blue breeze
Activity on the roads in heat and warmth
Dresses drenched in summer storms
Children playing under the shade of gulmohar
An old couple cuddling to the heat of summer
Feeling all light in cotton clothes
Ice-creams and the river-boats
Last alert of the heat strokes
A knock and a notice of summer leaves
I hear a cricket singing the song of summer
And the geese breezing the vernal breeze
As I sit and subsume the summer freeze
-SG
#summer
Thank you very much ♡@writersnetwork.
-
E S C A P E
I replay bundled up memories
from a broken DVD,
always pausing at the bad parts,
skipping all hopes and lessons
of forgiving and forgetting,
and wait for a mindwipe.
I think about escaping into
the stills of heartbreaks
and assassinations,
only to break the loop
of being a sandbag
straight out of forced oblivion.
Art to me was how well
you can put your thoughts,
rather than intricacy,
like songs that speak of
all your unutterable and
upside down feelings.
Bland strokes of acrylics
blend boundaries that
saved you from your own
mind, they've found you
an escape in the intricate
dummy that calls you an artist.
The same playlist goes on for
hours - replicas of your misery -
calming your nerves.
People cannot remember
faces at their leisure but
instinctively. They try though.
Your face presents a mirror
to satisfying expectations,
'cause the burden of blame
and despondency is too much
to bear with, empathize is all
that you do now. Mimic the
agony of pain, fake strength
and rejoice in the art of
pretending to be okay.
A never ending masquerade
- a beautiful escape.
The longer you stay, stronger
places begin to feel like home,
so you don't. When you have
seen human home(s)crumble,
you do not wait for demise of
bricks.
Your feet have been trained
to walk beside freedom and
away from the debris of
destruction. It is when you
stumble upon stories narrated
in the language of your own
manual, you find a true escape.
© artsyy -
proper_noun
79w
हम बे-रूख़ी से लिखते रहे
की कोई बे-क़रारी से पढ़ता रहे
हम सवालों में उलझे रहे
की कोई जवाबों में सिलता रहे
हम दीवारों से घिरते रहे
की कोई जनाज़ों में मिलता रहे
©proper_noun -
tortoise
71w
Read MoreI don't know where to begin from, but they ask me, how am i? And more frequently, why have i changed? That are questions to them, and may be to you, as well. For me, they're loop holes, i try to avoid.
So for once and all, i backfired them (since they're the real ones who know me well) to ask, what changes you're talking about?
You're lost. This is not you. Where is the original you? The old you? You've lost yourself!
Lost myself? What does that even mean?
You were never this. Where have you lost your laughter to? Your humour to? Where has your charm gone? Where you lost your liveliness? The fun in you, the violent anger, the jealousy! Where have you lost your tears too? The magic in your eyes? That childish spirit? Sometimes it feels like we don't even know you!
And, i sit back, in astonishment. To wonder. To introspect. As i turned back the pages of past, a different me gained my attention. So i realised, may be they're true.
Traveling through the same hollow lanes, daily, i lost my curiosity.
Chatters that used to define me, got lost somewhere amidst the noises of honking vehicles.
I lost my innocent laughter to the howls of grieving attendants.
I've lost my freedom to tight schedules, that have tied up my hair into a regular pony tail.
You miss the glow in my eyes? I've lost it to multiple sleepless nights i work, to help others sleep with peace.
Tears of my eyes have been lost into the blood of those I've pricked my needle to.
I've lost my emotions to uncanny deaths.
You yearn to listen my voice? It's lost somewhere between the prescription slips, my pen empties itself to.
And liveliness? That's lost to the despair I've felt, when unable to help someone.
May be you're right. I've changed. And I've lost the original me.
I've lost myself, to life. To experiences.
But may be, there's still a little me, inside my heart, from where love oozes out, to keep me alive, even after all that is lost.
~©tortoise
-------------------------------^--√-^-------------------------------------//
(Tried making a normal ECG pattern :P )
{ And I don't know if it's good or bad, but it's kinda true, and i want to keep it, as a reminder. (Everyone's) Life's pretty hard, and all i pray is, it to be worthy of all the hardwork. }
Pic credit - Pinterest..
-
hayat_
72w
Read MoreHey y'all. I need a few minutes from anybody who's reading this.
~
What do you guys think of me and Srishti (@thegreymetaphor) starting a page on Instagram?
There's already lots of pages curating content from Instagram to Instagram; as well as people finding content of well established writers and making it accessible on Instagram. But not really a platform, where they exclusively curate from Mirakee onto an Instagram feature page. (Except for the Official account of Mirakee on Insta, others we're not aware of.)
We've been seeing a lot of content that is so good here, but it seldom gets appreciated the way it should. Appreciation is never the primary reason for writing ofcourse, but we'll just like to do our part for our selfish love for poetry!
(Given, the writer has expressed their consent, ofcourse. That'd always be asked.)
We really need you guys' feedback! Would you like it? Would you be interested and willing to lend support? Please let us know in the comment section below!
This community means so much to us, and there are also a few reasons why we were considering starting this venture -
1. Our reading habits have drastically reduced on Mirakee, this might just push us to get us back on track -- be the avid readers we always wanted to be.
2. We want the time that we spend on Instagram to feel more fruitful.
3. There is no greater joy than appreciating and sharing poetry that we love just for our own sake!
4. Lastly, this is not intended to put any individual or platform down. In no way do we want to take the control in our hands. It's just for the sole purpose of appreciating the good poetry that often gets unnoticed due to various reasons.
The criteria for features:
Structurally, none at all! Prose, poetry, stories. However long or short. Anything and everything that's creative/fresh/insightful/original/witty/has good imagery etc etc qualifies!
In no way does it have to be popular enough, or concentrated around hot-topics only. The idea is to give a platform that appreciates quality content, without any other constraints.
~
We're yet to even decide anything. We haven't thought of a name, nothing about the theme, how will we work it out on Mirakee here or on Instagram, or if we'd need a separate account here too. We first wanted to know how the community here feels about it. And if you'd trust me and Srishti enough as the readers.
Feel free to ask us anything about this, if you have queries. We'd appreciate it so so so much if you let us know. Drop a �� at the very least, we'd take that as validation for our attempt!
Love and regards,
Srishti and Hayat.
•••
If you can, share this so it reaches more people, will ya? :D
•••
If you're reading this post rn, quick head over to @maybeyoushouldreadapoem! It's official, guys!Announcement?
-
miss_silentlyweird
72w
Read MoreIn the realm of mayhem, wish to write a fictitious story with non-fiction emotion where people can lay their shoulders and scape what cages them up even for a while.
#epigraph #nepenthec #wod
@writersbay @mirakeeIn obscurity rear entryway of shelves.
I'm glad you discovered me, so come flip my pages.
I'll invite you in my reality don't stop for a second
and I'll be your nepenthe.
—©miss_silentlyweird
