#atd

305 posts
  • diyabedi 89w

    Manque

    How it feels when a dream is not fulfilled?
    Like a rotten carcass
    lying on the beautiful scented meadow
    When the wind blows and touches the dead
    The meadow also reeks of dissatisfaction
    And I stand broken in the middle of nowhere
    inhaling the same stench my body exudes.

    How it feels when a dream is delayed?
    Like that sore that festered badly
    that can't be healed with any remedies and medicines
    INCURABLE— the sore screams
    in my ear until my eardrums bleed and make me deaf
    And I know that I have to wear that shoe again
    which caused the wound to rot mainly.

    Why everyone says the unfulfilled dream is the wrong dream?
    Just for the sake of consolation where
    the world is mocking at me and calling me Manque
    Or maybe I was lost and chose the wrong route
    A strange, fascinating route that left me
    somewhere between zero and infinity
    And now I believe that maybe the world is right
    For I dreamt someone else's dream
    YET,
    Why this unfulfilled dream of mine feels so right?
    ©diyabedi

    I wish I could stop thinking about this! ��


    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @yaish__ @cosines @partlywater
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_ @writersnetwork @mirakee

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  • diyabedi 91w

    The zephyr whispers in my ears
    And the leaves die beautifully
    kneeling down as if proposing
    to the changes and colours;
    red and brown

    The breeze kissed me and
    I felt the caress of autumn's breath
    on my salmon-pink cheek.
    Maple leaves smiled to braid my long hair

    Gently, the rustle embraced me
    surrendering the Spring and Summer
    For the first time, it didn't yearn for winter
    As it was cold and heart aching
    Warmth— This is what it longs.

    The Autumn was blushing in vermillion
    The wind from the west was inspiring
    autumn colours in me
    Why do I not realise that the wind was falling for me?
    ©diyabedi


    Oh my god!!! ���� I can't be more happy ❤
    Thank you so much ❤❤ @writersnetwork and @mirakee
    This is my third POD ����

    Ps: Chinta nahi sabko party milegi XD
    Venue: My home ��


    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @yaish__ @cosines @partlywater
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_
    #zephyr

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    ©diyabedi

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  • diyabedi 92w

    Oh dear fireflies,
    You take me towards light, you are my favourite hope ❤

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @writersnetwork @mirakee @say_me_krish @cosines @yaish__
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_ #daadigotyourback #PoetryWednesday

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    ©diyabedi

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  • diyabedi 93w

    There was a tinge of sadness in her voice when she stared at those chest of drawers that reminded her of that September when it was bought at first.

    Those russet coloured shiny maples cabinets that have turned all dark brown with dust. It was an old chest of drawers with several emotions permanently encapsulated inside it.

    Holding the knob she opened the first drawer as if examining her own repressed thoughts that were stored there. That little toy which used to sing when the key was wound now secretly chants all those childhood memories like a lullaby. Sweet and surreal.
    Those half-tinted photographs as if some acidic evocation of adulthood have ruined them. Distorted and slowly fading, the side effects of growing up.

    The next drawer was jammed like her in times of difficulty. The broken alarm clock that shows the same time every minute, every second. It gave her a chance to adjust her time in her own way.
    Who can control time? Nobody but that clock wanted her to devise her own time.

    She saw the last drawer without that knob. Broken and maybe empty. Locked with those dry metaphors and dank similes. Some hidden soft giggles and heavy sighs. The drawer that can hold more thoughts and emotions. Some world of imagination that can help remove those cobwebs of reality.

    Putting all those memories and emotions in a cardboard box, she saw her heart of drawers leaving this early September. Replacing that old brown cabinet with some new ones that is ready to store new emotions.

    The drawers were diffused in dark but this time it was not empty but all the space was filled with her tears.
    ©diyabedi



    I really wanted to write on that furniture thing but couldn't write that at that time. So here it is with little sense.

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @writersnetwork @mirakee @alisdaire_ocaoimph @philosophic_firefly
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld
    #furniture #tears #petrichorc #sadness

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    Tears melted from her eyes just like the sky has melted that gives some relief as if the petrichor has infiltrated.


    ©diyabedi

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  • diyabedi 92w

    This is a long piece and my collaboration with an amazing writer @partlywater. I am so honoured that I could do a collab with you.
    Thankyou for doing a collab with me.
    Poetry is written by me and prose by him. ❤ I hope you enjoy reading this.



    The Ocean of Death


    The eyes are set on the ocean red
    As if it has engulfed the sangria sun
    Listen! The rasping waves narrate a story
    Of battles, blood and the sleeping dead.

    The grief accompanies the perpetual cadence of sea,
    The diamond moon that glimmers turned into a ruby,
    The corals of bones and ocean reeks of blood,
    Like an inescapable bait, leaving some relics of me.

    The seagulls mourn at the condition of (scar)let ocean,
    Flying overhead beckoning me to leave life's shore
    To stir into the painted waters of mystery and tumult
    Whispering with subdued emotions.



    // Call it a whim, a satisfying one as such. The distance and the fence in between is a faded silhouette from a blind person's dream. I see someone through this window. Through the glasses placed angled towards me, or may be towards the sky. Depends on how you want to see. What I see in her eyes is something I don't see for myself. Regret of something that is not her fault. A pain that is not from her spine. The tears that means nothing me; or the sea.

    Her pole or that bait isn't helping her. The fish is blind in the reddened sea. The battles and bloods as they say makes no sense to me. Blood I smell from here is of whales and sharks. The battles I care about happened in ships with nets and hooks. The colour I see is blood diluted with helpless tears and not ocean water. May be I am a sucker for this silence. Noises of engines are no more heard. No more plastic bottles or used condoms. Turtles wouldn't have problem coming to shores, only if they were let to be alive.

    Seagulls fall flat into the crimson waters like six year olds after being raped. Even the moon is beautiful, at least in my eyes. The ruby moon shows no craters in her, looking perfect as the day she stopped by our planet. Enough of her being called imperfect and ugly just because she took some apocalyptic asteroids to save us pathetic humans. A bucket filling with steamy hot water, a view through my bathroom window, a woman in her gown fishing with a pole and in her feet touches the red velvet sea. //



    The white sand no longer sing the same mellifluous song,
    The tides kneel down to touch my cold feet.
    No longer are found those sand castles and imprints
    The sea shouts, "Come here and dissolve, you have waited for too long."

    The shark had taken the hook to carry me with it,
    The stream gurgled with blood bubbles and dirge,
    The tears have turned red and it is called the ocean of death,
    Losing my hues the way ocean lost its cerulean wit.

    The poets will write on another poet's paler hue and demise,
    The world will dissolve and would be alive in some poetic texts,
    The more I see this carmine sea, the more I get lost in history,
    Dim is the opposite shore and may this sea not be real but all lies.


    //A non existent lullaby in my ears, poking with a needle on that skin where it hurts the most. Is now gone to become an empty dry land with no intervention. No annoying cries of baby humans when waves hit their castle; as if the wave was the problem. What an upbringing? When the mother says, "Come my darling! its okay.. Fuck the ocean!" and the specimen laughs at that while its father clicks pictures for the LED clips at home. And you wonder why he grew up throwing plastic in ocean for the turtles to die? I almost hear the oceans anger to eat us alive.

    At this point I wonder why this woman stands here with that pole in hand when all in that waters are hungry sharks. The silence from her penetrates the nerve wrecking ambience of this beach or so called sands by the water. I set up my journey down to her in a hope to ask a few questions. Having my hands in my pocket I walk with my mask on my face. Yet there is a stench of blood that my nose picks up. Not sure if I like it that much but the silence is a gift for which I would take some pain. Before my mouth utters anything, I see bubbles in front of her and she was catapult into the ocean.

    Saw no emotions in her face except those tears in red on her pale skin. The three seconds I saw her face before she plunged in. I saw a fin with scars rise above the water a few seconds later. As a helpless man I stand here bowing down in front of a great white shark devouring the content for my next book. And some times I feel like its just one more down and its the time for the next. Took my hand out of the pocket, with it came my cigarette. Lighting that up I see the stream of disturbance where the fins moved along. The last few red bubbles rose up and I stood there and wondered, was that her tears or her blood or its just the ocean? //

    ©diyabedi and ©partlywater


    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @writersnetwork @mirakee @anamiiika @mystic_aahana @preetkanwal
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_

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  • diyabedi 94w

    Of Flowers and Graves

    Pale
    Flowers
    On the graves
    Scenting the dead
    Closing a chapter to start a new one

    Burying
    the breath
    and acidic
    gin memories
    in the dreary Sepulchral monuments

    Those
    Ashes
    are immured
    within iron
    boxes; slowly forfeiting to flowers.

    I
    lie there
    for ages
    willing to live
    like flowers, drowned and drenched in sun and moon.
    ©diyabedi


    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @writersbay @writersnetwork @mirakee @the_silhouettes
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_ #writersbay

    #aesthetec2 #PoetryWednesday

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    Of Flowers and Graves

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  • diyabedi 95w

    Happy death!




    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @saaakshii @partlywater @saya__ @writersnetwork @mirakee @vandi123
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_ #daadigotyourback

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  • diyabedi 96w

    This is a cyclic poem I came across in one of the writer's instagram, so I tried it.

    You can start this poem on any line, go in any direction and it goes in an infinite loop forever and ever. ❤
    I would love to know which version for you reads best! From which line you started and which direction you choose.

    I hope this is not a mess ��

    If you try this, do tag me, I would love to read more.

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @saya__ @partlywater @writersnetwork @mirakee @vandi123
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_ #daadigotyourback

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  • diyabedi 97w

    (Myth 16: Write a myth why moon changes its shapes)


    I was never a stargazer until I found a dry orb just like that yellow button on the dark black coat that shimmers with love.

    I was the selenophile afterwards.

    The night arrived when it was all black with no traces of the moon waiting for some new story to begin. The flowers of love were blooming and the celestial scent touched the night sky. It knocked the doors of clouds in search of that amber light.
    "BLOOM NOW, BLOOM FREE!", the love whispered.

    The autumn leaves were falling like they are falling in love. They are the witness of the changing season in the hearts. The crescent moon peeped through the dark curtains to take a glance of the beloved. The arched silver lining in the sky was the emblem of the dawn of that love story. The story to be written on those empty white pages when the moon will shed its silver light. The light of hope. The light of eternity.

    The time arrived with determination and commitment, the moon half-smiled. With few letters on the paper, the moon watched the seed grow. Its zest was contagious. The gibbous was no longer far, with the rise of dusk, the letters transformed into complete words. The words that no dictionary can stand a chance to describe.

    The stars crumbled and poured the stardust to form that full moon. The pages were filled and it reeks of the love. The fingers entwined, the love was locked, there was some strange magic in the air that even the moon envied. The sunset became the favourite part and staring the moon, a habit.

    It was not the end but a beginning with no end.
    ©diyabedi

    Thankyou pyare log for this prompt, I don't know if this is fine. Still bear with this. �� @philosophic_firefly

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @partlywater @alisdaire_ocaoimph @poeticgirl @vandi123 @say_me_krish @writersnetwork @the_silhouettes
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_ #daadigotyourback
    #ulfat_y

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  • diyabedi 98w

    Blue Journey

    White waves
    The silent fluid
    seethed by unwanted thoughts
    Sighing in the pelagic zone
    High Tide

    The Winds
    whisper softly
    Reminding the voyage
    Of those strange imaginations
    Gusty
    ©diyabedi

    A lame attempt to write cinquain. (~_^)

    The picture used is painted by Pragati Gunasekar. For more such paintings, do have a look on her instagram handle, artbypragz. ❤

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @writersbay @theultimateinsane @poeticgirl @vandi123 @partlywater @philosophic_firefly
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_
    #cinquainc

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  • diyabedi 99w

    This is my first ever collab with this amazing writer @saya__ . I hope you'll enjoy this prose+poetry blend of ours ❤
    The poetry is written by me and this beautiful prose by @saya__ ❤
    Have a great day ahead!


    //The cold wind knocks
    at the door of my heart
    Summoning the soul and
    its bitterness to part
    I still love my sour soul
    among those cold things
    Casting a spell like a sorcerer
    brings the enchanting spring.//

    The music of the dancing air jingle around my lobes, loud enough to compel my soul to unsheathe it's extant, yet so low for the world to apprehend. The leaves flutter like the the feathers of the interim azure dwellers. The dust then scattered, glows in the beam, which comes making its way through the canopy of their superior siblings.

    //It holds the finger of sky
    wearing the tangerine and roseatte clouds
    The mellifluous song of the dawn
    awaken the sleeping world in shroud
    The high canopies and green yellow meadows remind me of that perfect filter
    Love and joy that dances together
    to shine just like the gold on glitter.//

    My eyes glowed with a tint of ocherous red, and all they reflected was romance, romance with the blushing sun: winking and waving as it surrenders itself to the horizon. Romance, with the melancholic dust: Slowly sweeping them off the edges of my rusty jounal and blowing them again to see rejoicing, while the entire world was busy ignoring them. Romance, with the soft breeze: Cuddling with them as they kiss me gently and plays with my tress. Romance, with the grass: Caressing and mauling with love, across their lush facets, while hoping to touch their ever-forgiving souls. Romance, with every element left forlorn by this so idly busy world, just like me: abandoned yet demanded.

    And when the plethora of burden heaps down my shoulder, I find my solace within the setting sun and the nature, that time. Reminding me of all they have gone through and yet managing to so beautifully linger on, has taught me only one thing: Maybe not everyone cares about you because that's not important, but there will be a handful of them, who'll notice and soulfully portray your quiddity, just like I do.

    //The sky looked as if the embodiment of delight
    Beautiful it turned all in violet and plum
    Silently my soul steals the colours bright
    drawing them to tunes in balanced hum
    The setting sun teaches me lessons of life
    Self love and self care are my foremost pride
    Smiling when the birds chirp and sun sings
    Behind the horizon that sour soul in perpetuity hides.//

    ©diyabedi and ©saya__
    ALL WRITTEN RIGHTS RESERVED.

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @nether @say_me_krish @word_artistry
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_ #bingoc

    #daadisbae
    @mirakee_ki_dadima Thankyou dadima for this fun challenge ❤


    Pic credit goes to me!! ����

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  • diyabedi 99w

    Thankyou @_rainfrost_ for this challenge. I hope I did justice to your beautiful line.
    I know this is weird but bear with this :)



    If love were a moor, I can tell ours would have homed wildest of the weeds. Finding the bleak solitude in the moor that is hidden within those mourning weeds. Some secrets. Some mysteries. It is so vast and barren that even sanguine showers couldn't bring the coy spring.

    The plants of love that I had sown never sprouted, except those useless weeds that pricked me for staying in that smiling moor for so long. The plants appeared languishing, maybe because they were dormant enough to grow. I was the only person to care about that heath waiting for the elixir that would come along with the love that I yearned for years.

    The horizon hides you and night sings to me. The moon lied to me and stars sprinkled their dust as last hopes. I created a mosiac of your picture using the weeds just to feel your presence around. I never cried because the blanket of stars promised me with shy hopes. Maybe he is not vulnerable to express and transform those dull and dank weeds to colourful and scented flowers.

    Those amorphous metaphors had already decided the direction and the destiny. The nightmarishly, russet weeds will turn to the pure ambrosial dandelions that will sore the cotton clouds with the passion of love. The barren and weary moors will be smiling in tangerine hue and shining with amaranth that include love-lies-bleeding. The trail to this moorland will be all calamine indicating the confession of love.

    Lost among those royal purple weeds, securing the emerald weeds into a bouquet, I wait for his smile.

    Maybe, this is where my life lies.
    ©diyabedi



    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @poeticgirl @philosophic_firefly @word_artistry @say_me_krish
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_
    #rf_licon_ch

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  • diyabedi 101w

    I don't know what I am writing, this is me prattling ����



    "Are you scared to own scars?"
    "No. I am scared of permanent scars."
    "That's almost same."
    "Permanent scars are on the soul not on the body. "

    Before possessing a permanent blemish, a scar for me was nothing but an essence that existed in my dark baked poems and dank stories. I tripped gaily on the way of pain everytime to own a new scar.

    The bitter words acted like those hard surface causing abrasions in my heart, bleeding less but killing bit by bit. Anxiety crawled in my soul when I wondered how many marks are there of those distressing words spoken by the world, spoken by the people I loved the most. Those words rub against my tender heart making it weak but giving me strength to tackle such more words.

    There are lacerations in my soul, the result of that betrayal. You are a deception just like those satellites behaving like glittering shooting stars. A deep cut that teared my soul, a cut deep enough to shatter my joy into pieces that can never be fixed again. The jagged edges of deciet gashed my pale velvety skin. A lie after another lie stitched my soul leaving some permanent scars. One lie wounded me and another lie stitched it to give me more power to absorb such more lies.

    My whole body is blue and black with bruises that will leave me after sometime but the root of that bruise will walk with me forever. My happiness is puntured by everlasting griefs. Sorrows pierce in my eyes and fall as tears stopping me to curve my lips into a beautiful smile.

    I live with these amaranthine scars. Time is the reason for everything. I struggle to see a broken soul and disfigured body in the mirror. I was an altruist before this world gave me pains and scars. The sky never turned blue for me, it was grey as if pouring down the scarred tears. The air around me never gave me oxygen instead it suffocated me for possessing the longlasting dark scars. I learned to live with these scars and they became my favourite friends, atleast they are staying with me.

    My life is just an unusual journey from scarless to all scarred.
    ©diyabedi


    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @writersnetwork @mirakee @philosophic_firefly @nether
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_

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    My life is an
    unusual journey
    from scarless
    to all
    SCARRED.

    -Diya

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  • diyabedi 102w

    Lilac (2)
    Love (1)
    Sacred (2)

    lilac is the symbol of first and sacred love.
    ___________________________________________________

    Perhaps,
    A good omen when our eyes met
    for the first time, when the
    setting skies turned lilac and
    smells of lavendar surrounded
    the tender throbbing hearts.

    The soothing chords of wind chimes
    stitched the strings between our hearts,
    burning with innocence and warmth.
    The winter too arrived when he came closer
    freezing my feet, changing the garden into snowbed.

    We were strangers when the flowers
    began to bloom, a hope arised
    that the stars will make us meet again
    The flowers of my heart wilted when he left
    leaving the ashes of my dying love.

    My love for you was like phoenix
    Born again and again after the thought of you
    You were made to come as a burning fire
    leaving behind a restless soul and a divine love
    That cannot be felt again.

    Perhaps, an omen, but bad.
    ©diyabedi

    I don't know if this makes sense. ×_×
    Kindly bear with this stupid piece.

    #PoetryWednesday #perhapsc #blue_colortranslate
    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @writersbay @bluepuppy01 @writersnetwork @artsyy @nether
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_

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    • diyabedi @beingloved Thankyou so much ❤❤
    • partlywater Diya; wanna do a collab? I would really love to do work with you. No pressure, just let me know if you can, we will figure something.
    • diyabedi @partlywater Oh definitely, I would be honoured to do a collab with you ❤❤
    • partlywater Thats so nice of you to say that. You have great concepts. Come up with one random thing and we will discuss how to go about that.
    • diyabedi @partlywater Okay sure. We can try the collab after one week of September, right now I am quite worried about the exam (I still wish it gets postponed)
  • diyabedi 102w

    A lame attempt to define poetry! ╯﹏╰

    Poetry is an
    array of bleeding
    lexicons weaved
    with hollow
    metaphors
    reflecting the
    hidden soul.
    ©diyabedi


    What a pleasant surprise, thankyou @writersnetwork for the kind repost!! ❤❤ yay, my fourth wn repost!!


    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @yaish_ @writersbay
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_
    #poetryc #hollow

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  • diyabedi 103w

    Posthumous
    Part-4
    This is the last part of the story.


    The old man was waiting for him and directly asked Usui to confess his mistake. Usui crying with guilt started speaking in a low voice.

    “It was Saturday, when I went to Taneki’s house to see his new script in which he was working from three long years. The script was all about how to be calm in difficult times and that sometimes we need to take some actions for ourselves. Taneki was very excited about the book, so he threw a party to introduce his masterpiece. He invited few publishers also. ”

    There was still silence and Usui could feel bleak emptiness around him. He was feeling nothing but too much. He paused for a minute and began again.
    “We both had drinks together. Taneki was excessively drunk. I stared at his unconscious body and he began to splutter in excitement. I thought about my condition, my family issues, my financial stability and a selfish devil replaced my soul. I supported Taneki to his bedroom and locked him inside.” He choked. He was unable to face the old man.

    “I went to the party, picked Taneki’s script and told the publishers about the script being mine. Publishers approved the script and praised me for this masterpiece. And in few days, I was among the best selling authors. My condition was improved and Taneki was broken. He could not bear this pain and because of this he committed suicide. ”

    Usui began to bawl like a child. He was sobbing. He knew how bad a thing he had done to his best friend.

    He asked the old man what he could do to give back the justice to his friend. The old man smiled and said, “You know what you have to do. Undo everything. Give away what was not yours. ”

    He went back home, but he felt Taneki around him. As if he was staring at him the same way as he had, on that day. Black walls daunted him, those empty chairs were not really empty. Usui was scared and he screamed apologizing to him. The next morning was dark for him, he went to the publishers.

    “Good morning sir”, Usui nervously wished the head of publisher, Mr. Jintan.

    “Good morning! What a pleasant surprise! Are you here with a new script? ”, Mr. Jintan exclaimed.
    Usui explained everything from the beginning. Mr. Jintan was shocked and disgusted as well. He immediately asked him to leave the publishing house.

    “I want to ameliorate the situation and my wrong doings”, Usui broke down.

    Mr. Jintan decided to help him and give justice to Taneki. He called up for a meeting and they decided to republish the book with Taneki’s name. The newspapers, news channels all criticized Usui for this. And after three weeks it was republished.

    All publishing house decided to stop working with Usui. The same night Taneki came back again and wrote in the script, “I forgive you Usui. Now my soul can find peace. My body can die properly.” And then Taneki never came back again.

    Usui decided to write a book on his best friend with the title of his name-Taneki. He went to Mr. Jintan but according to the protocols, he denied to publish it.

    After a week, Mr. Jintan called Usui to tell him that he is ready to publish his work but the news of Usui’s death came like a bolt from the blue. Usui died of trauma. This news shattered him. And he went to Usui’s house to get the script and it was published. He regained the respect and fame.

    The two great writers died leaving behind two masterpieces, leaving the world devoid of such great upcoming writers.
    .........................................................................................
    ©diyabedi


    To read all the parts, click #posthumous_db

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @yaish_ @word_artistry @poetica_a
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    Posthumous
    Part-4

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  • diyabedi 103w

    He looked here and there and then a pen starts writing to him, again in his script and he wrote just one word : ‘Remember?’ Usui was all white, his hands numb and legs shivering as if that single word has taken away his life. He tore the script into pieces with moisten eyes in fear or frustration.

    All the past events flashed before his eyes, a voice started speaking in his left ear, almost whispering. The pitch of the voice going higher and higher and a loud, shrill scream that lost all his senses. A scream that broke the dead silence in that lone area. He fainted.

    It was nine in the morning when Usui opened his eyelids, his left ear was bleeding and the script in his hands perfectly fine, but new words added to it. In bold red letters, it was written: YOU ARE IN DANGER, YOU CHEAT.

    He scrambled out of the church panting, holding the script in one hand and his ear with one. He walked through the street back to his house, ignoring all the chaos in street, avoiding people that were passing. He stood in the bus stop near the red post box just like a forlorn figure standing there where no bus arrives. He stared blindly at the last corner of the post box reminiscing about the day when Taneki died.

    “How can you do that? You were my best friend! ”,Taneki howled.

    “I can explain. I was helpless, I had no option than this. Please Taneki, try to understand.”, Usui almost whispered fidgeting his hands.

    He was not facing Taneki. He felt heavy and anxiety was visible by his facial expressions and movement of hands.

    “You ruined me. I’ll ruin you.”, Taneki glared at him, his cheeks flushing.

    Sudden footsteps. Thump. Thump. And in just few seconds Taneki lay dead at the ground floor, all blood near his head, his eyes bulging out. He froze in horror to see his best friend dead.

    His parents came crying, everyone was mourning at this loss. A day later all the rites were done and Usui still couldn't overcome his guilt. He gradually forgot about Taneki and a year later he was back with his scripts.

    A loud horn interrupted him and the driver of the bus stared him and asked, “Sir, we are going to M. Muromachi street, where do you need to go?” He boarded the bus to reach anywhere where he could hide his mistakes, where he can hide himself away from the world.

    While travelling, he suddenly remembered the old man and thought if he could help him. He asked the bus driver to stop the bus at Yukai street where the old man lived.
    .
    .
    To be continued..
    ©diyabedi

    To read all the parts, click #posthumous_db

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @yaish_ @word_artistry
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #yaish_

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    Posthumous
    Part-3

    50 27
  • diyabedi 103w

    Posthumous
    Part-2


    All his blood was poisoned when the old man spoke that line. He turned pale. He looked at his weak and pale hands moving nervously, his heart was pounding at a fast pace, he slowly asked the man, “What dan”, his voice cracked in middle, “dan-ger”, he spoke again.

    The old man kept on observing his hands, his yellow fingers and his dismayed face. He chuckled to see his astonished-cum-scared face and gave him a address of a place. Usui wanted to ask something but he understood that he’ll receive all his answers in this place.

    The same night, the gales were at its peak, the loud noise was terrifying him, the windows were banging, the curtains were flying. He was feeling cold in summer. He was chilled by the line that old man had said.

    "You are in danger my boy, you are in danger." These words were ringing in his ears. He didn’t sleep, he packed a small bag with certain items and waited for the sun to rise. It was around six when the rays entered his room and lit his face.

    He saw some people going for jog, he asked one of them if they knew where the place is. He followed the directions and at quarter to seven, he reached his destination.

    It was an old church which was no longer worshipped, it was all broken and dark. It looked like a Necropolis. He went inside and couldn’t find anything except the rats and dust. What all he can hear was the squeaks of the bats. He was confused. He was recklessly finding a trace of human there. And then a chortle, a chortle of a man. “You are here!”, laughing at Usui. He knew this voice.

    “Taneki”, he whined.
    .
    .
    To be continued
    ©diyabedi

    To read the previous parts, go to #posthumous_db

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @yaish_ @nether @philosophic_firefly @poetica_a @moitreyee
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    Posthumous
    Part-2

    40 32
  • diyabedi 103w

    Posthumous
    Part-1



    “What! What is this?”, Usui exclaimed panic stricken, eyeballed his manuscript closely.

    He rubbed his eyes and studied his script again. He was confused to see some words written in every paragraph in a particular pattern, in a language not known to him.

    Remembering the past events when he started writing for his new book, he was clueless. It was a simple summer morning with white and pink clouds and the sky looked perfect blue. The light breeze kissed his face and he started thinking.

    He was deeply absorbed in the thoughts related to these words that were as if born today, when suddenly a wild screech interrupted him.

    He ran blindly downstairs to see what has happened, but he was all frozen to see the black painted walls of his living room. His mother was scared to see all this, she was babbling and crying. He was terrified, who could have painted the walls, who could have written those words on his script.

    Suddenly a light dawn on his face appeared, he went upstairs, wore his shoes and put his wallet in his pocket of lower. He drove to the Yukai street to meet the 89 year old man who was thrown out for his special magical powers.

    “Good morning sir.”, Usui said to the old man.
    The old man Ignored him at first but Usui keep on telling what has happened with him today. Suddenly the old man came closer and took the script from him.

    There was a long pause before the old man started speaking.

    “This is a strange language.”, He closed his eyes as if fetching for the meaning of those words. He suddenly opened his weak, big eyes and exclaimed in a fragile voice, “You are in danger my boy, you are in danger.”
    .
    .
    To be continued..
    ©DiyaBedi



    My very first attempt to write a story. Suggestions are open. Hope you enjoy the story.
    #posthumous_db

    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @poetica_a @yaish_ @moitreyee
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    Posthumous
    Part-1

    54 33
    • thesunshineloves Yup....... I came to enjoy...... So I'm reading your novel finally! Sorry for making you wait this much..... But yeah.... The first lart this is and has lots of suspense.... So strange language eh? Gonna read all! ❤️❤️❤️
    • diyabedi @thesunshineloves Hehe, I am glad you read it. This matters more to me than anything. ❤
      Thankyou for reading :))
    • say_me_krish Hehe, this seems to have a lot of suspense within!!!

      Me feeling bad for reading so late
    • diyabedi @eccedentesiastic_soul Awiee! Never an issue krish! I am glad that you read the story and that is what matters the most❤
    • say_me_krish @diyabedi ❤️❤️❤️❤️
  • diyabedi 105w

    This is prattle. Dark.

    I am still tagging because of the glitches in feed and notifications. :"(


    @mismagical @jeelpatel @branthan @alisdaire_ocaoimph @libertine13 @writersnetwork @mirakee @nether @poetica_a
    #pod #dds #ceesreposts #tod_wt #bob_201 #6_11 #atd #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld

    Read More

    Just like a death note, I lay on the bed. The silk gown giving sheer tenderness to the stiff and motionless body. Eyes wide awake. Alive yet dead. The expressionless face with several expressions striking in my numb head. I slowly crawled in, my arms and knees closer to my chest like a snail, protecting myself from my own thoughts. I looked vacantly at the large window to the setting sun and the rising moon.

    //H P L S
    O E E S

    I carved those five letters in the fragile wall using the shattered pieces of my heart- D.E.A.T.H. that kept staring me like that daunting wall. The darkness invaded my small territories without any notice, without any knock. It painted the colourful pages of my life with all black and white to remind me of the pain fabricated over my intimidated soul. I touched those letters that gave me a strange satisfaction.

    The ticking sound of my wrist watch was counting my pulses that will stop after the watch stops.

    //Knock. Knock.
    May be the knock of peace. May be the knock of happiness. Or another pain contrives a way to enter silently and disfigure my very pleasant heart. I know this knock would be of some new pain that is ready to discolour me. I am still finding the answers of some unknown questions, the questions that entice tears. And those tears bleach all my joys, all my emotions, all my smiles.

    My life has no kaliedoscope. No route to escape from pain. My life has no kaliedoscope. No colours to fill the dark voids. My life has no kaliedoscope. No patterns to change.

    The fear of pain runs in my veins forever, the fear of losing my soul is what I wear. The existence of neuralgia accompanied the depression and my enfeeble heart followed the lost soul. I am scared of writing on those empty pages. The tears that bled continuously out of those eyes, full of anguish will too leave a permanent scar on that empty page.

    I permitted pain to follow me in my grave. The letters I carved cavort at my decision. May be my life loves fullstops more than commas and endings more than beginnings.

    //May be this is the way of pain to remind me constantly about the pain I am going through.
    ©diyabedi

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