All Rights Reserved 13 Oct 2021 9.55 am _____________________
Poetry sits on my tongue like a pack of camphor and I light it with my own hands, without trembling or quivering. It burns me, bleeds me, cuts me, wounds me but not as much as my heart burns inside my ribs //
I'm someone who hates routine, and discards rules, yet I make love to syllables every day w- hile the Helianthus heals morning mist with a- n upward curve of petals and every night while night jasmine drips honey for a far away moon. I'm someone who abhors principles, yet I shed my thoughts in free verse to seal envelopes of poetries just like the autumn wind shakes the maple leaves to pirouette all the way to land on pavements. I'm someone who abandons legac y, yet I stitch sonnets in the sombre seconds of existence, levitating between life and death, lo- ve and hate, grief and glory.
I'm someone who ignores traditions, yet throug- hout the lane to my hireath, I've planted haikus in hues of a dream palette. I'm someone who g -ets annoyed with similarities and embellishme -nts, but my garden flourishes in similies and m -etaphors. I'm someone who skips side dishes, but my taste buds are acquaintance of tanka a -nd limerick. Repetition irritates me but villanelle and blitz are my rainbows and sunshine. I avoid confessions of all kinds, but odes are a mystery my mind often whispers. I don't try to pen down letters, but love pushes my heartbeats to weave my feelings as a kerchief for my dreamboat. I don't offer wreaths at the gateway of death, but my heart laments in elegies and eulogies.
I have a spot near the valley at the far edge of the waterfall. There's a river flowing inside me that's gushing to reach there, where I sway with the summer breeze and break myself into specks of wishes. To fly with the wind as multiple wings of a dream, while the world is wailing in winter frore, I'd be sipping the honey of spring.
It's the aftertaste of that honey, that time treasured on branches of birches, which burns with the fire dancing on my tongue. I chew some chords of ballads and barf symphonies at the eleventh hour, I bleed some phonemes and morphemes as an epitaph and a last will, before the curfew curse imprisons me in slumber. By dawn, poetries had sprouted around my grave with my signature as flowerets and my fading voice echoes around those oxymoronic daffodils and ironic daisies.
If my poem doesn't rhyme, the feet of every syllable twirling inside the wineglass of my thesaurus glides through my throat until my emotions overflow at a spontaneous symphony. Behind my broken heart, I carry tapes of teary notations and discs of euphonious rhythm, the treasure chest in my soul never empties, as long as my life's lit on this altar.
Poetry is my last hope to revve up the stars falling astray Painting the welkin with broken crayons in my bag of blueth //
Basic shades of RED are 20 / & Coz Red is m y favorite color /
Thank you for EC ❤️ Thank you so much for the read and love everyone. I love you all here ❤️ Thank you so much for Repost ❤️ @writersnetwork Red POD ! Whoa ❤️ I love this the most Thank you so much @miraquill & everyone who loved this ! __________________________________________________________
20 Shades of Red ~
Red ~ I wasn't even five winters old when I first fell in love with red. Beauty, from then was, etched on those tints and shades of red, as if, while every color passed by, red lured my attention and all attraction.
Cherry ~ Kindergarten was a kaleidoscope of rainbow hues yet the bento box with cherry slices sticked to my taste buds. Adolescent days had me fantasizing of cherry kisses that his lips would brush on mine.
Rose ~ I was a toddler springing with bees and butterflies in the park when that scent seeked me. Blossoms that enchanted me with dreamy redolance and beauty was red, a hue that sparked within me such vigour and passion.
Jam ~ Playdates and picnics baskets with Grandma's special fruit jam thwarted homesickness to a limit. After her, someone special also has his favorite jam strawberry, while my favorite part was stealing bites of his breakfast bread.
Merlot ~ Autumn roasted verdant dreams and toasted hopes on grilled grief and nights had me etching my heart onto parchments. Verses soaking merlot memories and dripping metaphors were addictive while amor was so far away.
Garnet ~ Purging pyre polished the stone heart into glittery garnet just like my heart that pains in flames and later let all the light inside. Grieving was prohibited, for glory awaited at the end of trials.
Crimson ~ Sunset ribbons red over the horizon, cloudland blushing a robust rouge. That was my first kiss. Twineyes in the drowning twilight, cried crimson to the careless waves yearning caresses. That was my first heartbreak.
Ruby ~ Pale skin infected with infatuation, some butterflies fluttered near hip bones and ruby pimples sparkled on my cheeks while my heart slipped at his feet. Later on at late nights when sleep evades me, I grind some ruby and chew some philosophy.
Scarlet ~ Though A letter in Scarlet print was stamped for shame, it synergized to pride through flipped pages. Dawn welcomed my days only when he spreads some scarlet sindoor on my forehead, and that's where pride glows.
Wine ~ When winter passed without a summer or spring in reserve, dusks lead me astray and some bottled wishes swished in an oval glass to bring me back to the land of undead. Winedrops that parched my momentary thirst knows how deep my drought rooted.
Brick ~ I was twenty two summers when I held his arms and stepped into our cottage in the hills. The brick walls smeared red of our raging scent and tapped our whispers. Those winter bricks sang lullaby to my loneheart clutching to a faded silhouette.
Apple ~ I wasn't going to fall for temptations in this birth and you shouldn't have too. Yet history repeats itself but altered in a way, in the place of single serpent, venomous tongues tracked you. And I couldn't say no when you pushed a poisoned apple into my hands.
Mahogany ~ I was sweet seventeen, scared and shy, eyes searching for alphabets sewed into stories slumbering in mahogany shelves, when his gaze crossed mine and we fell into a new story. Scenery turned sweet to sour while memory remained sweet.
Blood ~ A hue is innate to me within, running circles while blooming life into me. Blood red races as a tapering ivy, branching off beliefs, illuminating illusions and igniting musings. If passion has a color it would be blazing red.
Sangria ~ First grey clouds on our skyline didn't fade away but gifted some purple patches. They lay fuming betwixt frowns and tears. Eventually cascading as burnt red anger. That was our first fight, the one that we couldn't resolve afterwards.
Berry ~ I was as ripe as a pink berry, and kisses were never enough. Some cravings yearned for more than sweetness. We danced through blue to red and reached purple and sour desserts sated souls. One bite of berry and I'd think of your marks on my soul.
Currant ~ And I hide behind black and grey shadows when my own love scares me to death. Red also meant danger, so I lay under the veil of tinted melancholy, my love growing in the shade. My red wasn't really red, it was a mirage of black.
Blush ~ And he never wrote Poetries about my smile or sang songs about my dimple. When the last of my blushes sank, I realized that he did nothing but made my blushes bleed.
Candy ~ I was twelve springs young and ignorant of the taste of kisses but my dreamboat chewed on bubble gums as if obsessed of it. He replaced the flavor of candies and gems and sowed some red seeds that tasted of his breath.
Lipstick ~ Life was too short to stay wilted forever. As the spring of love dried up leaving lipstick smudges as signature of heartbreaks, I gulped some red and saved the rage to ensure my fight. Because even if love ends or not, life sure goes on.
Love - Seek - Call me wind if you do please War - Fear - When the world fights a war Death - Empty - What a strange time this is Afternoon - Again - A part of me is holding back tears Blue - Halfway - I breathe, wait and hope
/ To My Love, on your Birthday ♡∀♡ Everything I want to wish is HERE /
(Here Acts describe particular tradition And scenes represent particular festival)
Can anyone identify the scenes ?// // Scene I - Vishu, Scene II - Onam, Scene III - Deewali || ________________________
Heirlooms of Hiraeth ~
Act I Touching gravel soil with tender feet and falling Tasting sugary rice and desserts with eager tongues Being embraced in warmest hugs and cuddles of family Being the source of joy and happiness, brightest days When even tears were as sweet as smiles, spreading glee
Act II Greeting the dawn by the riverside, Dipping in the flowing glee, Freshening up to toil the day, Tame few flames and wipe any blames Lamps lit early to dawn and dusk affront the deities All kith and kin gathering for every meal, Tightening togetherness Native calendars and cultural festivals, Binding tales and truth
Act ||| Adoring aeonian antiquities, tracing ancient threads Reviving religious flames and reform sparks Sustaining sacred groves and shrines Enchantress dancing to percussive music Temples and tribes, folklores and flares, art and literature Tradition is a thread that tethers one to timelines One that preserves fire of permanence, even while ephemeral flames burns out
fromwitchpenHeyya , The next pen to pen talk soon will be going to take place . As for this one the theme is Me(me)morial
For this , Can I have one or two tips you want to share with fellow writers about writing or writersblock And to give miraquill a hue of fun I planned to take a meme from you all For miraquill . Like ' it could be a funny one or appreciative liner for miraquill as if you don't want to use meme to expound miraquill. Would be glad if you will take part in this one :) love .
Will be reading you di , As I said I will notify you about the next pen to pen talk. Here it is hoping to have you in this one .
Okay so I'll say somethings I do. Take it for both writing and writersblock. I don't have special tips for writers block.
1. Read as much genres as I can. Variety is the spice that lets me stay in touch with different types of writings. 2. I like to explore and hate repetition, so in writing also, I don't stick to something for long. I alternate different methods, at least I try. 3. I only write when I feel like writing, no forced writes. If I feel bored, I read more and if not I do other crafts. 4. Even though I read lots of books, and in here Mirakee too I read many writers here, - i get inspired by themes and topics but I try to present it in my own way. 5. I am still not sure what my type of writing is, I just write what I feel, and it varies from time to time.
That's all I got to say now. Hope this is okay.
ak_anjali_daydreamzzI'm quick at Everything I do, so I don't analysis myself much. If I do, I won't be posting anything at all. It's all a game of instincts for me. Don't include this.
I don't know meme so I'll wait to read others.
fromwitchpenThank you so much for your time and support di ❤️ blessings to you