85 posts
  • daphnae 86w

    I still remember the night you deciphered to me the word yugen so beautifully. "The dark streets of my heart always glittered when you chaperone along my path. But the corners are still dingy, and lonely. The brightest of skies are for you to explore the world. But ask me how I have traced my inner self without the darkness that follows... I couldn't. My dear, the transient nights which reminds you of forevers are for you to explore your presence." My world took an upturn since you left me, that night.

  • pj_animation 87w


    Glued in a cave inhumane
    Thoughts mildly humane
    From sanity to insane
    My mind takes plane
    On a mode off my lane
    It might be awhile to be sane
    Comfort from a blanket of yugen
    Pain soothed by pills of brufen
    In my arms own folden
    Caged in my thoughtful den
    Seeking courage through my pen
    As I count from one to ten
    The words appear golden
    This is my small fountain
    I climb my own mountain
    With peace I maintain
    With ease I be my own main
    Braved by my growing mane
    I might finally be sane

  • fleeing_fossil 87w

    #prompt #ffossil
    @writersnetwork ����thank you!

    Word: Yugen - sad beauty of human suffering;
    Deep; mysterious

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  • _mathematics 87w

    What would happen if sadness and happiness met on the street?
    Credit to @say_me_krish for the above prompt

    #streetmeetc @writersbay
    #ffossil #prompt

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    the deserted space strutting about the psyche owning every inch now being caressed which I thought, have forfeited all.

  • rekhuu 88w

    Blur. .

    Let's blur out our differences forever
    Else the space betwixt us will turn forlorn
    and we'll remain disoriented lovers for life


  • veloc1ty_ 88w


    fiction ofc

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    I've etched a few too many names on my heart with a sharpie so dark that it makes those names appear as scars, not that they differ by any means but now look, I'm wearing a heart that's ugly and scarred and it's run out of space for a name that could've possibly cleansed it.

  • thousand_splendid_thoughts 88w

    @fleeing_fossil I erased seven times whatever I wrote and then came up with this. I don't know whether I justified the prompt or not❤��

    @saya__ I tried��

    #genuine_readers #ffossil

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    I sit on the bench
    shrug off the leaves snoring on its green texture,
    take in a deep breathe and let the space
    beside me dissolve me totally,
    to remind me that you will never walk the
    path leading to this bench
    and it would be just me trying to plant trees
    of metaphors in empty air


  • someone_you_know 88w

    @saya__ ��
    @fleeing_fossil I'm sorry for ruining your prompt��
    #dustyc #space

    ♡Bg credit to the rightful owner

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    The spaces betwixt that dusty diary
    hides the stories of the epitome of love and
    the tears of the deepest pain of betrayal withal...

  • starrdust 88w

    #random #dustyc #ffossil #prompt @writersbay

    Img src: Pinterest

    Pardon me if it doesn't make any sense◐.̃◐

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    All the space in my heart
    has been soaked
    in dusty cobwebs of
    vain feelings,
    I've been too numb
    to absolve.


  • daphnae 88w

    Does it makes sense? *-*
    Why am I so stupid? *-*
    #ffossil I ruined your prompt. ��������

    #octoberodyssey #oozingoneliners

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    And sometimes, your bourns heave the infinity, which the spaces in your freedom sighed.

  • fleeing_fossil 88w

    #ffossil #prompt - Wednesday's word

    @saya__ here it is ;-)

    Write a one-liner using the word 'space.'

    Below one is an example written by me :p

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  • the_speccy_outsider 91w

    Time was running out and the noblemen weren't getting any victory, for the vengeful ones had taken over, intertwining their respective lives in order to perpetually collide, eventually. And thus the nomenclature of Heroes and Villains took place, creating a labyrinth of deceitful illusions.

    //The vile and macabre blackhole started to consume the galaxies of sanity and verity//

    Since childhood we've been constantly told that Heroes are good and Villains are evil. The one who saves everyone is a Hero and the one who creates obstacles for the Hero is the Villain. And we believed it! Put a fight, and the Hero sings the song of victory while the Villain walks the slippery path to defeat.

    //The eyes of a Villain often weep tears of a forlorn life//

    For everyone, the Hero is Blue, who confronts a Villain who is Red, for a Green Damzel in distress. A quintessential story for us to watch, read, listen and write. Inducing fear in form of a fantasy, which isn't true in reality. The ones who are outspoken, opinionated, straightforward, misunderstood, eccentric, imperfect, different are often termed as Villains. And the ones who succumb to societal norms are crowned as Heroes. Only hypocrites rule a narcissistic world.

    //I belong to a world where Heroes are considered as Villains and Villains are perceived as Heroes//

    Villains are alone like an empty room. Segregated from the zephyr of love and struck by the tornado of mist. They are the embers of a story. I miss them, if there isn't someone who's Grey yet pragmatic in a story. For one can always blame the Villains for all the mistakes one committed. How easy it is! One might never read, listen, watch or write a story that doesn't have a Villain. For who shall be held responsible for the struggles of the protagonists, putting them on the throne of success.

    But who are we to decide? Are we all perfect? Or is there really such a thing as perfection? Everyone wants to be a Hero. But it takes guts to be a Villain. To say that one is wrong. To admit no one is perfect in this imperfect world. I love Villains as they are relatable. They tell us there's still a chance to show remorse and look towards the path of redemption. To rectify the wrong deeds.

    It is a matter of perspective, I suppose. As whatever a Villain does, the same is followed by a Hero. Whether it is loving someone, fighting a plethora of dilemmas, going against the system, breaking laws and most importantly, taking a stand for yourself in order to get what you want. And the narrators often camouflage the lines between them. Providing an insight betwixt right and wrong, nugatory in nature. Not being inclusive at all. And blurring these lines is a quixotic practice, followed since generations. Yet, no conclusion is derived but the only thing one sees is a bigotry of Blame Game, and nothing else. Sadly!

    //Villains are what we call as the misfits, the wallflowers, the scapegoats, the anarchics and, the outsiders//


    #alone #zephyr #MondayMantras #time #belong #fridayfun #fear #sings #eyes #galaxies #mistc #colourc #labyrinthc #emberc #ffossil #daadigotyourback

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    I wish I could be
    A villain in someone else's story
    Allowing them to put all the blame
    For their misdeeds
    On me
    Relinquishing them from their sins

  • pallavi4 91w

    Food, frolic and fun

    I was a very naughty child and
    Was the apple of my mother’s eye.
    Till my sister arrived, my ma and I were
    Inseparable. I think I was one of those
    Children who were lucky to not
    Have been separated from their
    Mothers even when they were at work
    Because I would be tied to her back,
    Like the local native population
    In my town and so I would simply go
    Wherever she did. I still begin to smile
    Just recollecting those days of fun
    With her. My favourite memory from
    Childhood is sitting on the kitchen
    Counter and poking holes into the
    “Matris “ - fried flour dough to be eaten
    With neebu ka achaar . The holes were
    Made to prevent the matris from
    Swelling and turning into a poori. I
    Would poke holes while my ma
    Rolled out a fresh batch of matris.
    Along with this we would either listen to her
    Favourite songs on the cassette player
    Or sing some ourselves while we “cooked”.
    This inculcated the love for music
    In me at a very tender age. I still
    Remember the songs and we still sing
    Them together even now ....
    So many decades later.
    The whole environment of food and
    Music and my mother’s company
    Were and will always remain my
    Favourite memory from my childhood.

    Mother’s have a special way
    Of saying that they care
    Loving us from afar sometimes
    Without even being there
    No matter what goes wrong in life
    It is a comfort to know
    She will never judge you no matter
    How many tantrums you throw
    My mother is special to me
    Because she is also my best friend
    I know we will always have each other’s
    Back right till the very end


    6th of October, 2020

    Pic credit: Pinterest, picture credited to its rightful owner

    #prompt #ffossil #fun #childhood #memories
    @writersnetwork #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #thepoetrycommunity #poetry #pod #writerscommunity @mirakee @fleeing_fossil @ffossil

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    Please read caption

  • waitaminute 91w

    A taste of undettered food items,
    The days of childhood won't return,

    Summer holidays were fun,
    Visiting granny's house after homework done,
    Sun burning like fire,
    Days of playing with cycle tyre,

    I enjoy pizzas n burgers, they are nice
    But my favourite was curd rice,
    Enjoying bacteria curdling ,
    And evening was made for pudding,

    Day used to start with bat and ball,
    I never heard about mall,
    Wall was our score board,
    Not assets but happiness we can afford,

    Noon was time for lemonade,
    My favorite ice cream homemade,
    Chatting with my grandma,
    I miss her food's aroma,

    Evening with her icetea,
    Those were days when I was tension free,
    Its been years now,
    Doing all those michievous pranks,

    I miss those days,
    I visit there anyways,
    But something is missing,
    I am same, she is same,
    It's just time's game,
    No one could be blame,

    May childhood come again,
    When I used to joy rain,
    Rather than finding someone in it's drops,
    I am just living with false hopes,
    Admiring my memories album on old rack.
    Hopes of getting those days back.

  • fleeing_fossil 91w


    The prompt for this week is here!! - write a poem or prose about the most underrated food items.

    In a world, where people sustain on pizzas and burgers, where swiggy and zomato are ruling the roads and people's hearts,
    "kulfi on the cart",
    "sour and sweet orange candies" in a nearby dingy store,
    "spicy and fried green peas" on the roadside
    are quite underrated.

    ( hot and fluffy Bondas of my native state.
    Sattu of UP and Bihar, kadalai mittai of Tamil Nadu)��

    Those who ain't interested in the above prompt shall write about any of your best childhood memories.

    Do tag #ffossil

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  • lumos__ 92w

    #ffossil @mirakee @writersnetwork

    If I could, I'd be --

    1. The zephyr that dances among her soft brown curls. I'll play with her dangling silver earrings and move a stray strand of hair in jest, causing it to meet her pretty lashes, just to witness her squint her eyes and scrunch up her nose while she raises a hand to remove it, the early signs of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

    2. The pleasant ache in the pit of her stomach when she has had a bit too much to drink and can't stop guffawing with laughter at every silly little joke. I'll remind her that not all things are gloomy and serious in the world and even on the worst of days, she is worthy of every good thing life has to offer- happiness, mirth, joy and laughter.

    3. The sparkle in her honey-coloured eyes that shines bright while she vividly explains why coldplay fails to move her like kodaline does; or how there's no sorrow grave enough that rain can't wash away; or how, when anxious, she touches the friendship band gifted by her elementary school best friend, and feels all her worries evaporating into the thin air. I'll let the world know about the passion brimming in her heart when words fall short to do the job.

    4. The dawn sky that she is so anxious to not miss. I'll arrive early and wait patiently to catch a glimpse of her tranquil face, the vestiges of last night's slumber conspicuous on her heavy lids and her slightly undone hair lending an ethereal aura to her. I'll linger some more, unwilling to take my eyes off of her and blush bright pink, red and orange while she looks at me as if she is witnessing a miracle. With a heavy heart I'll bid her goodbye and count the long hours till the next daybreak, impatient to see her again.

    5. The pages of the worn out paperback with Tolstoy's words that her first lover gifted on her fifteenth birthday. I'll soak up her tears while she holds me close to her heart and rocks back and forth in a desperate attempt to tame down her indomitable sobs on a particularly bad night. I'll let her flip through my yellow pages, drowning her in a sense of familiarity and comfort. I'll let her fingers, marked with guitar strings, caress the old pressed rose, it's petals now brown and crumbling, and remind her over and over again that she is cherished. She is adored. She is loved.


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    //Cause if I could, I'd spent every second of every day loving her//


  • veloc1ty_ 92w

    if i could
    then i would
    be the hanky you wipe your tears with,
    ill be dying to get a feel of your skin every night

    //and when you go to sleep, ill be envious of the pillow who will get my share of the tears//

  • suranjana__ 92w

    //In the midst of the cemented pavement
    they took a chasmic puff
    and embraced each other as their lips collide.

    Benevolently stroking each other's hand
    they were glancing for a bench
    in the corner of the estate.

    Undyed bench with slippery taste of mist
    almost made their comfy clothes damp.

    But inheriting comfort in the chest of him
    she was there beholding the asteroid gleam.

    Trying her best she made
    a love contoured cluster of asteroids
    while letting her thin fingers whirl
    in the puff of air.

    Chuckling upon his endearing jokes she
    Found an abode in his core.

    Gazing at him while he sings lullabies for her
    To give her an alluring nap by
    tapping his hands over her scalp.

    Rubbing her eyes
    She went to the chest
    that belonged to her for the dead night
    And slept feeling a notorious warmth. //

    With a jerk someone woke her up
    An old man suppose.
    The sun's bright streaks
    fell on her countenance.
    And she felt it with a gesture
    of losing her mate.
    The boy whom she discerned in her fantasy
    Was no more with her
    To secure that warmth from his broad chest
    To fabricate that half done
    love contoured constellation.

    And there she again lives in reality
    When the mist that touched her fabrics
    engulfed by her anatomy
    Got dried up.



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    If I could
    then I would
    be the endearing fantasy that knocks up
    every dead night inhabiting in the
    brain cells of mine merrily
    manifesting the collision of two epitomes,
    heart and warmth of the girl that dwells in the
    broad chest of the boy.

    // To never let my fragile core lecerate when the sun arrives with it's strikes to shatter our live recitals and leave me alone in the reality without a good-bye for him and letting me miss every bit of our instants filled with tenderness.//

  • biswajitdev 92w

    * "Darkness can't intoxicate lucent light,"
    She #sings to many lives in the thickest night . *

    Dear Souls of Universe,
    Shower some ❤ & convey your suggestions.
    ** Glance collide with sapphire hued ethereal eyes,
    mantle of mystery beyond fantasy that poets could surmise,
    beauty to behold beyond galaxy that silvery star sighs .

    Scathing strike of slippery souls to snavel spark
    Tears tumble with pearlescent stardust paint perpetual mark
    She remains the sole soul gleaming in gloaming
    though drunken with dark .

    "Darkness can't intoxicate lucent light,"
    She sings to many lives in the thickest night . **

    * GLOSSARY:-
    Glance - A brief Look, Sapphire - Blue, Hue - Colour, Ethereal - Delicate, Mantle - Covering or Veil, Surmise - Imagine, Behold - Gaze upon or Look, Scathing - Devastating, Strike - Attack, Slippery - Unreliable, Snavel - Steal, Tumble - Fall down, Pearlescent - Pearl like, Perpetual - Eternal, Gleam - Shine, Gloaming - Dusk, Drunken & Intoxicate - Poison, Lucent - Glowing off, Thickest night - Dark night *

    @writersnetwork @writerstolli @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writersbay

    #wod #writersnetwork #pod #mirakee #writerstolli #ceesreposts #Glance #Collide #Eyes #Tear #Tumble #Hue #Mantle #Mystery #Fantasy #Poets #Surmise #Galaxy #Star #Stardust #Spark #Dark #Sapphire #Soul #Gleaming #Gloaming #Darkness #Lucent #Light #Night #ffossil #Alliteration

    Picture credit to the Rightful owner
    -- Pinterest --

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    Glance collide with sapphire hued ethereal eyes,
    mantle of mystery beyond fantasy that poets could surmise,
    beauty to behold beyond galaxy that silvery star sighs .

    Scathing strike of slippery souls to snavel spark
    Tears tumble with pearlescent stardust paint perpetual mark
    She remains the sole soul gleaming in gloaming
    though drunken with dark .

    "Darkness can't intoxicate lucent light,"
    She sings to many lives in the thickest night .


  • stygian_ 92w

    Words in the brackets are from the song "Dare You" : Hardwell ft. Matthew Koma.
    /Doubt whether this piece makes sense./
    #ffossil #sings @writersnetwork @mirakee

    H a l l e l u j a h -s .

    (We're a million lonely people
    All together on this needle in the sky
    Afraid of heights
    And your dreams were made illegal
    By the laws of lesser evil we call life
    But not tonight.)

    Dare you : a melody 'tween the eccentricity of pulverized hopes & splintered dreams.
    Koma sings a cobweb of what ifs,
    Perhaps the ones that have skidded from across our memories - yet they're domiciled as a self-loathing hymn humming the polyphony that epitomizes the bittersweet graveyard of memories.

    (I dare you to love
    I dare you to cry
    I dare you to run)

    What if you are in the roller coaster of those mélange & accelerated emotions :
    Would you dare to go through that ride?
    What if you find yourself smearing candidly amongst those Lilliputian stars and sheathed by that amethyst onyx sky :
    Would you dare to come back to your own chaotic lives?
    Perhaps in this life which is a mere amalgam of the eternal gloom of your soul that collides on the galvanizing maze of dark - surrendering yourself to the complex yet beautiful world?

    (I dare you to try
    I dare you to fall
    And lay on the ground
    I dare you to feel
    I dare you to be here now)

    What if you are in a closed room, all you have as your companion is the sheer beauty of darkness ~ who'd murmur his noxious yet buoyant in your ears would you dare to listen them :
    Would you dare to reveal your intriguing mysteries perchance soporific conundrums too?
    What if all you said and thought of, was imprinted on your skins :
    Would you dare to speak a word?

    (You're an outline of a vision
    That you had when we were children yesterday
    You watch it fade)

    What if you could embrace the iciness of the sun - so as to entomb yourself in the frolicking silhouettes of the stars :
    Would you dare to osculate the aubade?

    Would you be that stellar fragment that's somewhere betwixt the penumbra of the marmalade skies & sunsets, and the phenomenal remnants of the subdued midnights & obsidian mauves : foreshadowing fantasies?

    (Let your heart be your religion
    Let it break you out of this prison you became
    It’s not too late)

    Would you dare to be the honey dripping from a benumbed heart : witnessing the ashes hovering around the soul, creating metaphorically hyperborean beats?

    Would you dare to not be a poet?
    If I could,
    I would prefer not being a poet,
    - for poets are adrifted souls - their minds trapped in an intoxicating bliss and the slippery words that get reverberated on these papers are whispers of the screeching sounds their eclipsed smiles and crestfallen confessions once made.
    If I could,
    I would prefer not being a poet - for poets are honeyed yet embittered hallelujah-s.


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