#bookc

28 posts
  • gautam12__ 88w

    // Is it due to vanity that I do not believe in the existence of an omnipotent, omnipresent and omniscient God?//
    It is and it is not.
    I don't believe I'm better ,not in the least.
    I'm as deeply flawed as the next person and honestly I'm okay with it.
    What I'm not okay with is an omnipotent god who is the source of all that is good in the world.
    That's a betrayal of logic and facts to my eyes.
    If there has to be a god, he is not the all knowing, all kind and
    benevolent all loving father figure but is shrewd maniac who has created an unjust world and then asked for him to be praised in different sorts of masturbatory rituals.
    The second god could explain genetic diseases, pandemics,scary bacterias and animals, and scariest among them the rapacious greed of human kind.
    You tell me,why I should believe in such a god or even worse pray to he/she/it?
    If he's omnipotent and not benevolent why pray to him?
    If he's benevolent and not omnipotent is he even god?
    So yes it is partly due to vanity that I won't beleive in a god my eyes can't see..but it is also due to much more,
    Mainly the logic and the facts that my eyes can see.
    ©kehta_hai_joker
    #eyes
    #bookc
    Marked Sentence taken from Why I am an atheist by Bhagat Singh.
    Write up influenced by Comedians Stephen Fry and George Carlin.
    P.C : IndiaColoured on instagram

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  • the_speccy_outsider 90w

    If I could only stick the broken stems together that once supported the foundation of my life and obstruct a tedious process of the dying of summer and letting the cold and dark winter take away my sanity through its creepy grasp.

    To face the fatalities, I cut down all the thorns. As they often hurt the ones who wanted to bloom by my side. Thus, I was left vulnerable, without my armour.

    How foolish of me to think that detachment could help me cope up with the nosedive I was experiencing. When a flower is left forlorn, segregated from the fragrance of fellow buds, it is an arduous task to survive. To be away from the pack, all alone.

    To stride into the cerulean caelum being inebriated by the azure, one feels blessed. Watching the silhouettes of orphic hues. The journey comes to a halt when the melancholic grey encompasses the sky. One suffers a nosedive. And it hits hard.

    There aren't any dew drops that kiss you every morning, a zephyr that helps you relinquish the pain, and the dear petrichor that brings peace and serenity. All one has are the scissors of vanquish. Cutting every pulchritudinous memory that once made you feel valiant.

    The beginning and the end of a nosedive is in our hands. The power to manipulate it rests with none, but us. To give it a proper ending, or to not give it an ending. Leaving various blanks to fill, according to one's desires. Or to forget that there ever was a nosedive.

    //I regarded it as if it had happened years before, or as if it had happened to someone else, or as if I had only heard of it, or as if I had only forgotten about it// The Castle (Franz Kafka).

    Bestowing one the power to change everything. And to look beyond the horizons of self-doubt and the cimmerian sky. Towards a yonder land where one is about to bloom, among fellow buds. With just the apt avidity.

    ©the_speccy_outsider

    #daadisbae #octobermusings #picturec #bookc #peacec #baec

    Edit: @writersnetwork Thank you so very much for the kind repost! ��

    #WNRepostsOfTSO

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    Nosedive

  • ablaze_writer 91w

    Prompt- "I'm half agony, half hope "
    By Jane Austen.


    #fridayfun #genuine_readers #bookc
    @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    I'm still human!!

    What do you miss the most about your past life?

    He asks lying beside me fully clothed yet vulnerable and naked, no he isn't my therapist but a client.I look him dead in eyes he reciprocates with the same, for his eyes hold the life,a little universe in them and I couldn't help but utter the answer to his question about my past self

    "It is the human touch, I say"

    He looks perplexed with the answer, cause my profession means the ample of human touch and yet I answer the irony. I tell him a story

    That how I was the bubbly little girl always on my own,for my parents were poor, a drought bought some nasty results and loan sharks were at our door. To please them and live on I was compromised as a sacrifice and lead to this place called -

    A demon's Paradise

    Well irony in the meaning, right? Cause demons weren't meant for paradise they were meant to be under the beds, cripple people in darkness and haunt memories of broken days. Then I was taught to wear a saree, a little revealing but it was fine soon came a boy who looked just like my brother and I hugged him cause I thought he was here to take me Home. The reality soon crashed my hopes, for I was dealing with a demon, the hands caressed my body, the touch you question was in ample amount but the affection was closing to zero on number line.
    The survival of fittest is a wrong theory I see cause I wasn't strong and yet I survived each day in this hell serving demons who blight my soul with their torned apart souls.And if you are here to give me your sympathy then please don't, cause I am half agony and half hope I will someday make my way into the outside world.

    He smiled half heartedly and told me that he was a writer trying to know about prostitution, to write a book which will make people think. I laugh at his innocence cause people will criticise that art. They will keep one copy in attic only to know if there are some dirty topics.That how amateur of him to think that we will be visible in daylight while in actuality we are just invisibly visible pieces of society dwelling in the nights.

    People like him will come and go trying to change things for me, but I just wish him to hug me once and tell me that

    "It is okay, I'm still human."
    ©ablaze_writer

  • kin_jo 91w

    Maa,
    you once told me a story
    About places being haunted by demons and ghost
    But never knew, I was that place and ghost were the humans
    Because today,
    //I am haunted by humans//

    Your fear came true
    Being a daughter born, itself is a spew
    You taught me to live for our motherland
    Yet your daughter was slaughtered, without consent in Her sand

    They forget their own being
    And lurch the prey just for their vulnerable self
    No idea what fun they get, in screams and yelp
    But in their fun, my soul was left in excruciating knell

    Is this the price I pay for taking birth as a daughter?
    In the country, where we are termed as goddess
    Where is the temple, where I can freely preach with grace
    Where is the vigour? Where is the force?
    Where is your voice? Where are your roars?
    Stop this, before the evil bird seeds another daughter,
    I too was your daughter...

    " Will you forget me like my once same fated sister, was rewarded ?
    And silently sit and watch my stellar remmants, United
    My very innocence was ripped, taken granted
    My dignity was tugged, soul discarded
    Yellow light my family once had, faded
    Will you still lit candles and just stand regretted ? "



    -----------------------------------------+++++++++------------
    #bookc #poD #poetrywednesday #colourc #writersnetwork
    #writersbay
    #once
    #wod

    *Here same fated sister is referred to Nirbhaya incident*

    // I am haunted by humans// is the line from my favourite book ' The Book Thief '

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    Will you forget me like, my same fated sister, was rewarded ?
    And silently sit and watch my stellar remmants, United
    My very innocence was ripped, taken granted
    My dignity was tugged, soul discarded
    Yellow light my family once had, faded
    Wil you still lit candles and just stand regretted ?




    ©lovethatneverfades

  • ashamurali 92w

    Writers bay challenge on quote. Please pardon the length of the story.

    #pod #writersnetwork #mirakee #daadigotyourback #bookc @writersnetwork @writersbay @mirakee #readthisj

    ARE CIRCUMSTANCES POWERFUL THAN MAN?

    I remember this as if it happened yesterday. I was in high school and there was an announcement about an inter school debate. The prize money was a princely five hundred rupees. A test was conducted and I was one of the two students selected, one to argue for and one against.

    The topic was " is circumstance greater than man?" I decided that I would speak for the topic. I pored over many books. Well, there was no google uncle to help then! I found this quote from Shakespeare's King Lear. It said gods have fun with us humans by giving us difficult circumstances and making us struggle. I practiced all night. I stood in front of the mirror, I even practiced when I was getting ready to school. Everyone at home too had it by heart! I was very well prepared, complete with pause, expression, and voice modulation.

    The D day arrived and we set off to the school which was quite a distance from our school. I was thrilled that I got to travel with my favourite teacher. I was already imagining what I will do with the prize money. Buy a saree for my mom perhaps? Or a nice pen for my dad? What about the remote car that my brother asked and was refused? The auditorium was jam packed with children from diffeent schools and their teachers. The hosting school children too were there. I was brimming with confidence as if I already had the prize money in my hand. Circumstances were of course powerful than man.. I believed in it totally. Just one more boy to finish his speech and then I will be called. I was all ready.

    My thoughts came to a halt when I heard "tak tak" sound of a white cane and the boy was guided to the dias by a teacher. Everyone waited in pin drop silence for him to speak.

    The opening statement of the boy itself was thundering. He thumped the desk and said "of course we are more powerful than the circumstances and I am here to prove it". He had an amazingly loud voice, clear diction and above all the conviction which is so important when we put forth our argument.

    He spoke about his struggles and how his parents were determined to ensure that he excels in everything and to not let circumstances rule over them. .

    There was a standing ovation after he finished. He had actually demonstrated his argument let alone speaking about it that circumstances are powerless if man is determined,

    Next was my turn. I forgot every word of what I practiced. I went upto the stage and in a barely audible voice, said I agree that man is more powerful than the circumstances. My teacher was perplexed as to why I didnt speak anything. I had tears welled up and my cheeks were crimson with embarrassment but some strange kind of peace prevailed in me.

    The winners were announced at the end of the programme and it was no surprise that the boy had got the prize. The look on his face was priceless.

    Whenever I face any problem in my life I remember this incident, the boy's face comes to my mind and I tell myself that I can cross this too. We can give various colourful excuses but the fact remains that we can, if we want to.

    Yes, I didn't win the prize that day, but I definitely learnt a lesson for life.
    ©ashamurali

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    Story in caption
    ©ashamurali

  • _mathematics 92w

    Books covered with mist
    being sluggish in piles
    could restore many fortunes
    of era outset to
    create a creative world
    on discovering

    ©silly_lad

  • _mathematics 92w

    the cosy winter
    time, the sun
    glaring towards
    her presence
    affirming hefty
    sigh reaching
    my place, after decades.

    Knocking over
    wooden door
    waiting for
    me to unlock
    to greet
    her as I want to.

    unlocking door
    an old man
    proclaims
    ' Who are you, my child? '

    holding emotions
    she asks,
    'Where is he, Baba? '
    He frowns in
    the euphoria
    of grief.

    He went
    far, child
    but used to
    say that
    one day
    you will
    come, for once.

    the thumping
    of expectations
    falls as his
    absence
    hail.

    Still the smile
    is constant as
    his absence too
    seems like he
    is beside her.

    she enters the
    home
    built in the
    shady forests of
    her birthplace
    with fine wood
    and framed walls
    of pictures holding
    her sights and
    expressions of
    every day I have
    captured till
    the last time.

    Then, the big
    garden with
    Blooming flowers
    still growing fresh
    lending his essence
    within their odour.

    the number of
    rooms and
    workplace
    of him,
    where he
    used to sit
    for long nights
    working his
    routine chore.

    Studio of art
    painting and
    sketching the
    portraits of her
    with brushes and
    pencils carrying
    his touch of
    captivating
    hands once
    clenched her
    waist when
    stubborn
    feelings
    hit him.

    At last, the room
    of secrets
    coated with
    white sheets of
    shady patterns
    over walls and
    black curtains
    suiting bright
    lights enlightening
    the room at night
    with her picture
    portraited by him
    on big white wall
    with colours matching
    her existence
    shined his life
    when encountered.

    the snaps
    captured by
    him when alive
    inscribed on
    every brick
    of the room
    to let her
    presence known
    to him even when alone.

    and the close wardrobe
    never opened
    except by him
    Keeping secrets
    letters he used to
    write for her
    every minute
    whenever absence
    ignite the agony
    Inside the heart.
    With bundles
    of fictional books
    and novels
    to conceal
    the virtue
    of his spirit
    named as her
    from the very
    start.

    #bookc #mistc @writersbay
    #pod

    the start and end of time
    belong to her of mine.

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    Secrets colored with mist
    ©silly_lad
    ©_iexist

  • lucent_muse 92w

    He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.
    Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina


    If I was told to write out my favourite top 1000 books, Anna Karenina will not be on that list. I haven't even finished reading it because it clashes with some of my values but this quote pulls me, enchantes me and gives me pause each time I come across it. So here goes:

    #writersbay #bookc #mirakee #writersnetwork

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    One day
    In the nearest future
    My other half will look at me
    And he will see me
    Not as an asset
    Not as a trophy
    Not as a sidekick
    He will see me as his partner
    His other half
    His love
    His only wife
    He will see me even when I am not there
    I will constantly be on his mind
    Not because I nag him
    Or annoy him
    But because I constantly make him smile
    Through my antics, surprises, and devotion
    Through my work, values, beliefs and support system
    He will be my best friend,
    My confidant
    My protector
    I will be his Belle
    His secret keeper
    His consultée
    His think-tank
    We will evolve together
    Improving one another
    As we grow in love and faith
    Even when we argue
    Because there will be arguments
    We wouldn't sleep without resolving them.
    We will teach and correct in love
    Because he is me
    And I am him
    So we are one
    We would become role models
    To aspiring couples
    We will grow old together
    Because we remain in love with each other
    And not just for our children
    Nations will call us blessed
    Our love will not be one sided
    Because we will see each other like the Sun
    Because even without looking,
    We would see each other.
    ©lucent_muse

  • harshad09 92w

    yet always , Love , it seems to be the only panacea , the sole cure-all
    but always , it happens to be the most aeneous , the most painful of a catholicon ,

    not for , it always sings for you , the rhapsodies or sonnets , that appear to lack tail twists
    but for , it always lures you , with fantasy , of some fairyland ornamented with glamorous mists

    these mists , lascivious , they're nasty enough , to produce mirages furtive , yet apparently grand ,
    but underhandedly , they keep triggering , for you , replicas , araneous , of sneaky deserts , with pictorially beauteous slippery sand

    replicas these , they're camouflaged so well , as if they're some spitting image of beehives ,
    but eventually , they're paradigms , tenet , placed abruptly , to collide en route with preys , to engulf their lives

    despite this all , Love , it stands obsequious , yet it foments an upsurge , of emotions , although uncalled for ,
    albeit , every other individual , either he or she , carries some hidden vulnerability , for having someone, in life , being fallen for ,

    For
    Love ,
    it isn't always some saga ,
    of all the lows and highs
    But
    Love is a smoke raised with fumes of sighs


    ________________


    #sings #mistc #bookc @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

    __________________


    Love is a smoke raised with fumes of sighs

    This line used is taken from the play Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

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    ©harshad09

  • kin_jo 92w

    Our submission to the picture prompt by daadi
    With the guy who never fails to put a smile on others face @kehta_hai_joker ❤️ and a fabulous writer, now a sister @fleeing_fossil��

    We wrote a piece on a aging wife's insecurity about not being good enough for her husband,
    a husband who's still deep in love with her...
    And Love itself commenting how the couple became evergreen.

    Thank you for the heart @writersnetwork ❤️❤️
    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    @kehta_hai_joker AS THE WIFE

    You put your lips gently on my forehead
    Bless my being with a comforting peck
    My wrinkled face fits perfectly in your palm
    It lights up a spark, still make my tempest calm
    While I've grown old, you've grown charming
    My walls are creeping,my dreams and reality colliding
    Our lives have been spent together, but is that enough
    My supple skin has now turned rough
    Do you still remember our vows like I do
    Darling I'm still on for forever, are you too
    Am I staring down an unavoidable slippery slope
    Has My fantasy ended as my heart still sings songs of hope.

    @fleeing_fossil AS THE HUSBAND

    Every dawn as you wake me up, I experience a sense of euphoria just as the mist on fresh foliage does as it is skimmed by the first ray of soaring sun. That sweet voice of yours lacquers my skies with honey hues. The veracious warmth in your eyes holds an apricity like a sweater that keeps me cozy not just in the winters. Your scented breath is a soothing zephyr to my forehead drizzled with mild sweat. Your pulchritudinous smile has mastered the art of re-painting my daily blues with rainbows. That delicious sunny marmalade you spread on my bread finely parallels with our sour and sweet memories. Your essence has nurtured orchards of love in my heart that would never learn the meaning of mortality.

    In the nights, I see you writing your diary, to be honest, I read it. Not merely once or twice instead everyday. Each nuance you jot is wholly the truth except for the fact that it's not your diary but my biography.

    //And you ask me why I love you?//

    I ain't a poet but let me tell you.

    Doesn't your favorite author say, "if being a kid is about learning how to live then being an adult is about learning how to die.."

    And my theory is a bit related too ..

    //- if being an adult is about learning to die for you, then being geriatric is about craving to die with you. (clasped in each others' arms.)//

    - Forever isn't a myth darling, but we should nurture and protect it as the mother bird does its eggs, and I would do it till my last breath.

    @lovethatneverfades AS LOVE

    I became the idyllic radiance, her eyes emitted everytime she saw him, and in silence he etched me as a unfading memory of hers splattered across the boundless horizon.
    They savoured me and gave me a eternal term which blooms but rarely resides for eternity in the depth of everyone's heart. But both of them, in their own manner personified me like a rare celestial connection. Like a mother longing for her child, clutching tight yet taken care with utmost affection and tenderness

    Grooving in their hearts under the avaitor sky
    Settling between their Unspoken words
    Lanconing behind their authentic smile.
    In silent prose, I swoon in their eyes
    I am the love, held between their breaths
    Forever and ever love, that never fades...


    -----------------------------+++-+++++++++++++-----------------------------
    #pod #mistc #daadisbae #writersnetwork #eyes #sings

    '' Lines in quotes are from Sir Stephen King's Christine. #bookc

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    I want to grow old with you
    I want to die lying in your arms
    I want to grow old with you
    I want to be looking in your eyes
    I want to be there for you, sharing everything you do
    I want to grow old with you
    - westlife

  • fleeing_fossil 92w

    #daadisbae #mistc #sings #eyes #bookc #readthisJ #genuine_readers

    Relish the emotion of @lovethatneverfades and passion of @kehta_hai_joker and ignore my silliness ����


    We wrote a piece on an aging wife's insecurity about not being good enough for her husband,
    a husband who's still deep in love with her...
    And Love itself commenting how the couple became evergreen.

    KEHTA HAI JOKER AS THE WIFE

    You put your lips gently on my forehead
    Bless my being with a comforting peck
    My wrinkled face fits perfectly in your palm
    It lights up a spark, still makes my tempest calm
    While I've grown old, you've grown charming
    My walls are creeping, my dreams and reality colliding
    Our lives have been spent together, but is that enough?
    My supple skin has now turned rough
    Do you still remember our vows as I do?
    Darling, I'm still on forever, are you too?
    Am I staring down an unavoidable slippery slope?
    Has My fantasy has ended as my heart still sings songs of hope?

    FLEEING_FOSSIL AS THE HUSBAND

    Every dawn as you wake me up, I experience a sense of euphoria just as the mist on fresh foliage does as it is skimmed by the first ray of soaring sun. That sweet voice of yours lacquers my skies with honey hues. The veracious warmth in your eyes holds an apricity like a sweater that keeps me cozy not just in the winters. Your scented breath is a soothing zephyr to my forehead drizzled with mild sweat. Your pulchritudinous smile has mastered the art of re-painting my daily blues with rainbows. That delicious sunny marmalade you spread on my bread finely parallels with our sour and sweet memories. Your essence has nurtured orchards of love in my heart that would never learn the meaning of mortality.

    In the nights, I see you writing your diary, to be honest, I read it. Not merely once or twice instead everyday. Each nuance you jot is wholly the truth except for the fact that it's not your diary but my biography.

    //And do you ask me why I love you?//

    I ain't a poet but let me tell you.

    Doesn't your favorite author say, "if being a kid is about learning how to live then being an adult is about learning how to die.."

    And my theory is a bit related too.

    //- if being an adult is about learning to die for you, then being geriatric is about craving to die with you. (clasped in each others' arms.)//

    - Forever isn't a myth darling, but we should nurture and protect it as the mother bird does its eggs, and I would do it till my last breath.

    LOVETHATNEVERFADES AS LOVE

    I became the idyllic radiance, her eyes emitted every time she saw him, and in silence, he etched me as an unfading memory of hers splattered across the boundless horizon.
    They savored me and gave me an eternal term which blooms but rarely resides for eternity in the depth of everyone's heart. But both of them, in their own manner personified me like a rare celestial connection. Like a mother longing for her child, clutching tight yet taken care with utmost affection and tenderness

    Grooving in their hearts under the aviator sky
    Settling between their Unspoken words
    Lanconing behind their authentic smile.
    In silent prose, I swoon in their eyes
    I am the love, held between their breaths
    Forever and ever love, that never fades...

    "....'' Lines from Sir Stephen King's Christine.

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    .

  • himanshi_sharma 92w

    #bookc #wod #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork #rwu #writersbay #yaminireads #yaish_ #aryan22 #shaliya @odysseus @love_whispererr @timeblossom #eye @writersbay @fireblast_

    So the line is - " I have been used to consider poetry as the food of �������� " - ����. ���������� from ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴊᴜᴅɪᴄᴇ
    _______________________________________________________

    // �������� ������������ ���� ������ ������ ���� ����
    �������� ,
    �� ���� ������ �������� �������� �� ���� ����������������
    ���������� ������ �� �������� �������� ��������
    �������� �������� ��������. //

    When it seems impossible to visit the
    sanctuary ,
    I create a little of my own with open doors
    leading to the rooms of my heart, mind ,
    body and soul.
    Poetry creates a beautiful shrine for
    my emotions to be worshipped there
    and be read in a holy library.

    // ��������'�� ������ ������ ������
    �������������� ,
    ���� ���������� ������ ���������� ������
    �������������� ������ �������� ������ ������ �������� �������� ������
    ������ ������ ���� ������ �������� ������ ������
    ���������� �������������� ����������������, ������������������������ . //

    Remember the love remains in the sky ,
    Not a single cloud,
    Nor storm can take the sky away from you .
    That sky is your soul ,
    different and pure.
    And love is the embodiment of constellations
    etched beautifully on your soul.

    // �� �������� �������� �������� ���� ���������������� ������������
    ���� ������ �������� ���� ��������. //

    In the scorching gaze of sunlight ,
    poetry cast shadows
    large enough
    strong enough to swallow the
    heart's whole , giving shelter
    to the ripped souls .
    I am a dark poem
    my verses are a bunch of alliterations -
    stringing my heartbreaks in the
    black beads around my neck as a
    victory sign.

    ©himanshi_sharma

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    ©himanshi_sharma

  • rashenree 92w

    Hello Mirakeeans. So I am launching my first novel online and I'm doing that with a promotion. Get A Beauty THE SECOND TWIN absolutely free this whole week on Amazon.
    Get it delivered to your android device at the touch of a button and read, enjoy and share it with your friends.

    The Second Twin narrates a Kenyan story of loss, depression, friendship, hope and new beginnings amidst tragedy and is dedicated to all victims and families that have been infected with and or affected by the COVID pandemic.

    It's extremely easy to read the ebook on your phone. Once you've downloaded the ebook from Amazon store, just install the Kindle app from Google Playstore, navigate to the 'Library' tab, and you'll be all set.
    Find it now by clicking on the link in my bio.

    Make sure to read and share widely. Thank you.

    #genuine_readers #pod #eyes #thesecondtwin #readthisJ #writersbay #bookc @mirakee #sings #mistc

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    TWO BITS BRAVER
    2BB


    He was afraid
    Nought come to his aid
    The cold on his arms stinging
    The heart in his chest throbbing
    The fear in his mind growing
    Not afraid anymore, Panicking

    I can't let go, I can't
    What if there is no ground to stand
    It's all dark to see I can't
    If I let go, I may never stand

    So he held on
    And with everything held on
    Till light came and night was gone

    Till he could see
    Only to see ground

    Ground to stand had always been
    Throughout the cold and dark he'd seen

    All my strength holding on you mean
    If only I had taken the step in
    If I had been
    If I had been Two Bits Braver

    ©rashenree

  • allbymyself 92w

    All escapism is gorgeous but the most gorgeous escapism of all is found between the pages of books.

    I have been to the Norwegian fjords and seen the northern lights, gotten lost in the foothills of the Alps and almost drowned in the Volga.

    I have spent nights in the Serengeti and dreamed of conquering Everest. I went back in time because of HG Wells and ended up meeting Scheherazade in the dusty lanes of Baghdad.

    I was Oliver asking for some more food, and Heathcliff in my nightmares. I was Nick at my best and Amy at my worst.

    I was Sherlock who always saw the worst in people and Charlie who always looked for the best in them. I was Dante walking through hell and I was Edmond who promised to meet Mercedes in heaven.

    "On Earth, we are briefly gorgeous", but in books, gorgeousness is a state of permanency. We are infinite one second, and fragile the next. We collapse into ashes and are reborn from the dust.

    - Avitaj

    #bookc @writersbay
    @raika @thegreymetaphor @dopamine @accismus

    "Phrase between" from the book of the same name.

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  • harshad09 92w

    for , this is life ,
    and it has its unending zing ,
    // and that zest piquant
    does it render you , some quotient
    of being an easily carried away thing //
    _____

    for , this is life ,
    and you are able to think , sounds interesting ,
    // but being thus blessed , being a species
    so competent
    does that prescribe you to behave dominantly
    adamant
    transforming you completely into some cruel
    truculent thing //

    _____

    for , this is life ,
    and you have got vocal cords , blessing ,
    // but is this that sole ingredient
    that propels you for being disobedient
    transfiguring you into an ever shouting ever
    babbling irresponsible lunatic thing //

    _____

    for , this is life ,
    and you can hear , from a sigh , upto a hissing ,
    // be it some sound sublimely ambient
    or be it some truncated syllable sibilant
    but does that permit you to filter , to leave unheard
    some strident cry , of a living thing //

    _____

    for , this is life ,
    and you can see , colours , shades and just everything
    // you can enjoy this beautous heaven magnificent
    but with all your pretendence , of blindness ,
    intermittent
    just having a pair of eyes , does it necessarily
    ascertain your being a visionary thing //

    _____

    for this is life ,
    and you can dream , about just anything
    // but building castles in the airs exorbitant
    daydreaming about things unimaginable and
    overextravagant
    does it really stand in line , with the magical
    strength , this power of dreaming //

    _____

    For , this is Life
    and you have to have a dream , about something
    // and you have to put into it efforts , faithful , loyal ,
    constant and consistent
    and you have to acquire skills , to overcome , all
    those plethoric lethargies superabundant //

    _____

    For ,
    It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes LIFE interesting

    -------


    #eyes #bookc

    ______

    It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes LIFE interesting

    This line used here , it's taken from the book
    The Alchemist written by Paulo Coelho

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    ©harshad09

  • daphnae 92w

    • My sixth collab with the most talented @asphodel_

    "I hate you, you know that right?" My eyes strangled beholding the geriatric couple on the other bench.
    "I hate you too my love," said the old man to her lady, with their lips cuddling the soft cotton candy and eyes rolling over the smiles concealed in their verses. I turned my back, maybe because I don't want to see 'us' in them.

    Years back, it was me and him cherishing the grin marked on each other's face, under the same sky, on the same bench inside this park. Today I see dozens of teenage dyads around myself, but my heart lures those old aged like an insect does to nectar. They made it so long together, with the same love and even more. Love isn't bound with the time you walked with each other but how tightly you hold that heart. The feeble string that tied him close to me, detached when I was young. Should I call it the same as 'teenage love' ? Maybe yes, cuz I knew little to get hold of the purity and responsibility of it, in us. He is long gone but I could see him in that old man, caressing his soulmate. That bench still recites our name but scoffingly, we're no more 'us'.

    //Maybe, not everybody is lucky enough to walk miles together until the hair gets grey. Not all golden years are booked for souls with dark hue.//

    ©asphodel_

    The way he smirks when he says my name; how when he is near me, I forget to breathe sometimes. I don't want ro ruin his touch, with my mundane motions. Even the slightest gesture of my ribs would scotch our perfect moment, I thought. And I would just lie there, staring at his lips curving towards the stars, enhancing their charm, for me. He never promised to bring me the moon, neither did I craved for it. The brightest star would gleam in the night sky, and I would still be adoring his smile.
    "What happened?" He would ask with a smile.
    "Maybe you know." I shrug and continue glaring.
    His presence felt warmer than my entire woollen wardrobe. And the moment his agile fingers found the gaps betwixt mine; I could sense the void in my soul dwindling along the shore, waving me goodbyes.

    //Maybe forever is a myth, but his contemporary extant beside me, would be enough to weave memories I could cherish forever. Maybe we won't get to grasp our wrinkled, trembling hands but my eyes could still recall our intricate souvenirs for my heart to rejoice in my deathbed.//

    ©saya__

    #daadisbae #wn #pod #septemberspesh #eyes #bookc #readthisJ
    "The way he smirks when he says my name; how when he's near me, I forget to breathe sometimes." ~ From P.S. I Still Love You by Jenny Hans.

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  • mathi_fk 92w

    Writersbay's challenge about
    'A quote from favourite book and some lines by using the quote'
    @mirakee #mirakeeans @writersbay #bookc

    The quote is from the book 'The Alchemist'

    Trust it
    And if you Want something all the universe conspires in helping you
    to achieve it.
    -Paulo coelho
    ©mathi_fk

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  • barefoot 92w

    "You once told me that the human eye is god's loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty."

    I see a man lean as a branch, standing on the
    farthest corner of the street , bent over,
    picking up from the garbage ,the little that can be
    salvaged , the little that will
    let him survive for a day . He doesn't see me.
    But I think this is because the
    world's eyes have been too blind to his existence.

    //My eyes take in his plight wondering,
    if seeing had been enough why could I not
    see that this vision wasn't one to close our
    hearts to ?//

    I see a child watching the sunset, with eyes as
    luminous as the sun itself. The child watches the sky
    consume the light with a hunger like none other.
    The child is waiting. Waiting for her young father out to fight a war to come back home. She doesn't understand mortality or terror. Only that she needs to keep her eyes open for his arrival.

    //My eyes take in this plight wondering
    If seeing had been enough why could we not see that
    the sun that sets on any person's life also ends the light in every other heart connected to it?//

    I see the scars on a stranger's wrist while sitting in the metro . The lowered eyes , the lost gaze , the heavy air. I see it but I try to avert my gaze lest I create a feeling of unease amidst two strangers who have nothing in common except the fact that one had seen the others scars and had not known why it made her heart clinch with heaviness.

    //My eyes take in this fleeting moment with a fleeting stranger wondering , if seeing had been enough why could we not see that for every one who is suffering beyond measure any act of kindness extended without judgement is one that could restore faith?//

    I see the world , I see myself , but how much
    Of it am I actually seeing?


    How much of it have I deliberately let myself be blind to ? How much have I seen with indifference?
    How much with
    Just these two lonely eyes
    And none with my
    Heart?

    And maybe , it is only when I find the power and strength , to know that
    until I remain blind with my mind
    And heart
    To the world ,
    My sight will only take in the light of the universe,

    But will never hold the capacity ,
    To be a
    Light to it .

    @writersbay the first line is from the book called "on earth we're briefly gorgeous". This book showed me that that the world keeps a lot of its terror and war stories hidden from our sight and that in itself is what makes us all so vastly blind to our own selves.
    #bookc
    @writersnetwork @mirakee #eyes

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    ©barefoot

  • say_me_krish 92w

    | ᴇʏᴇs ɴ' ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴs |


    "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you".

    Today, you wear your old, lagoon-blue dress which was pressed in the bottom rack of your cupboards since years; it is AGONY- the lorn attire of yours hated by you and loved by the almirahs. Stored safe these many years being a black hole absorbing all love, but all of a sudden, Hawking radiations brought an end to it; you saw emotions aeriforming away. You couldn't help; you found your own destruction. All you could do now is vomit out those waters you drank from those bloodshot eyes. You feel you're light now, but you aren't. The weight is all centralized and processed in the heart's deepest bruises; I term that pressure as MEMORIES. Rustic diaries preserved in the heart leaks through those eyes, a strange mystery, isn't it?

    Eyes speak of sorrow even when those unbridled liar lips dance to the tunes with a pitch of happiness. You hate your mouth for speaking fictions in flow, and sometimes, eyes are thrown some hatred for being truthful even when you didn't want to. They both were foes who never realised the winner holding a shield of triumph. Those repeated sentences called "I'm fine" had some "Ask me why?" ultrasonic words behind, left unheard. Those breaths accompanied by the voices flowing past the tongue breaking those salmon lips express the highest statures possible; but you're an elfin grain formed after those supernova explosions of expectations. This time, you understand, that everything with soft skins needn't have diaphanous cores. Every bit of the breeze making those curtains fly touch your cheeks which have hardened waters; winds love halts too.

    You take up a pen to express something to those pages; you try to weep through the bloodstained ink. You're perforced to take a trip down the memory lane, you don't want to. But again; moments captured in the hippocampus are transferred through electrochemical impulses to the optic nerves of those eyes. Again, helplessly, you're being triggered to celebrate woe with the shooting stars; what party would you expect there? A feast of memories holding an aura of regrets, having a champagne of forgiveness and forget later that you're drunk, dance with the moves of powerful words, and then slipping down wearing those 6-inch high heels. This is all what you can imagine. You have written iambic pentameters and free verses on how being misunderstood feels, and how not being tried to understand feels deep inside. You want somebody to correct those syllable mistakes, appreciate the rhymes and metaphors, and take some smiles for a penny of fiction. You find no hands to lift your tenebrific personality, again.

    This time, run to the woodlands, quest there and here and everywhere. Find somebody. Find the one who knows to grasp every bit of the poesies your eyes narrate. Find the one who speaks from those winks of long eyelashes. Find the one who loves to express with metaphorical tears. Find the one who has a straight nerve connecting the heart and the eye.
    /Find all these people in one person, and you're holding the hands of a pair of the most beauteous and poignant poetic eyes/

    ....Is the quest tough?



    ~S r i K r i s h n a P S | Sep 28, 2020.
    ___________________________________________________

    The beginning lines are from Maya Angelou's book
    "ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀɢᴇᴅ ʙɪʀᴅ sɪɴɢs". ❤️

    @writersbay @sangfroid_soul @thewordplayer
    #skp_writes #eyes #bookc

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  • eurusgrey 92w

    #bookc idk if this comes under the criteria of the challenge, but I'm gonna tag hoping it does. :)

    You may skip.

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    ...

    Hope is the only thing stronger than fear.
    - The Hunger Games.

    It indeed is, but what can a soul do who is too tired to hope, to live, to breathe, to feel?
    I envy people who write their feelings out, who pour out their miseries through words, maybe it relieves their burden, even if just for a moment, and I'll never know how that moment feels. I've tried, many a times, but they choke my throat and I feel a sharp pierce in my heart and there I break down, so much for being strong, right?
    I end up penning things that resemble nothing to me, and sometimes I slip in a few of my achings between the rhymes, hoping he won't notice; I tread a little too carefully, it's a habit now.

    Lilies mean nothing to someone who's been sleeping on thorns since she bloomed, cotton candied skies don't wipe away the bitterness that resides in her mouth like a blood sucking parasite and the galaxies can't fade away her past, no matter how much charm they use. She calls herself a phoenix, and people think she's bragging, there's nothing to be proud about burning and rising, it's too tiring. And the ashes suffocate a little too much, leaving just enough space to breathe and be tortured, there's no escape.
    Metaphors are perfect for those who hide behind poetries and shallow verses, no one almost notices, for they're shallow too, I guess.

    S o n d e r
    The realisation that each passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as yours. And so I try finding people with the same story as mine, for once again, I feel disconnected to the world, it wouldn't be too hard, right? 7.8 billion people and almost all of them too afraid to share their miseries. How am I gonna lighten my burden, if there's no one to speak to?
    Afraid of being judged, being criticised, being mocked, and the worst, afraid of pity and its not so distant kin, sympathy. And don't you dare say we don't judge, everyone does, I do too, it's just how humans fuction; one of the many reasons I don't adore them as much as i do kittens.

    It kills to bottle up your feelings but is it okay to just drown in them and let the waves bury you until you beg and ask for some air?
    ©eurus