80 posts
  • lovethatneverfades 16w

    Whoa @miraquill thank you for the like.
    Made my day

    The daily battle

    There is a war of mocking words going on inside me
    The nameless figurines lines up, I run and run to escape
    But not a thing moves except me

    There is a fire of appendix burst inside me
    The excruciating agony haunts me, I pour and pour water on it
    But nothing gets wet except my cheeks

    There is a creaking sound ringing inside me
    The devil's ethylic laughter slowly poisoning my soul, I fear and fear hiding behind the veil
    But nothing pacifies my storm except bringing me to the end of the rope

    There is a firefly buzzing around my ear invading my dreams
    I get hold of her and squeeze her tight, mapping my agony
    The dying ember, weak and painful
    But no light oozes out , neither her fading glimmer nor the light of my dusk.

    I wake up plunging into reality, sweat filled and shocked,
    Softly breathing into another tomorrow
    (Gathering the pale yellow petals that withered last night)


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    The daily battle

  • rahul_govindan 16w

    On her 30th birthday, Ki woke up a little late and before her even realizing it, she was standing next to the closet in her room. She carefully opened it and pulled out a yellow diary, holding a hot cup of coffee in her hand. It was Vinny's, her partner, 'Vinny's diary of memories.' It began with "My little world." The divine soul of Ki were the lines of his diary and she became a phrase now, to cherish the bygone days through the lens of Vinny.

    "Under the harsh rays of sun, a few birds composed a melody of pleasure, butterflies flapped their presence, all within me. I was sitting in a roofless cafe, waiting for her to arrive. An aroma of anxiety bounded me and I wasn't left alone.

    It was my day, our day, for me to convey my love. In one corner, a couple sank their lips in the waves of love. Was that a French origin? or an American origin? I can't even perform a simple air kiss, a little furious yet jealous heart of mine uttered. It was then I noticed a man conveying his love for her, a small bouquet with more of words. "I found the reason for my smile, the day I found you. Will you let me be the reason for your smile?" She nodded her head, a cute little smile accompanied them. I knew, it's a third party dialogue, yet how romantically he conveyed!!

    I asked the worker, a glass of 'warm' water and when things were calm, a guy just behind me raised a gun and pointed at his partner. Many, instead of getting tensed, smiled at them. Aren't they supposed to save her? Quite strange and just before I raise my voice, he said "You're under arrest for stealing my heart." People started clapping for them. Was that a proposal or performance!? How creative these people are!, I wondered.

    It was then you came Ki. Dressed in a yellow attire, I swear, you're the second angelic soul I have seen in my life. We introduced ourselves with little of words and more of blush. I ordered each a cup of coffee and the hands of my watch synced our heartbeat. An artist, I couldn't portray you with my brushes. A writer, I couldn't express what you are. We stared at each others eyes, preparations for proposal dissolved. We looked at each other, no matter what, that's the best sight I have ever had and I knew that the hot cup of coffee will wait, until the tale of love ends in our eyes."

    A little late she woke up, not in the world of humans but in the world of him, Vinny. A minuscule drop fell down from her eye, vanishing the full stop which he had kept. She closed the diary and stood near his photo, framed and placed in the mandir of their home. The endpoint of the tale of love vanished and all she has is the tale of memories, an immortal tale of memories.

    - G Rahul.

    #writingcontest #contest #creativearena #tell #wod #pod
    #ceesreposts #honestgranny @miraquill @writersnetwork

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  • lovethatneverfades 16w

    ������������ ������������������

    Much I marvelled
    At my lonely moroseness
    The twittery tragedy travailing
    and so I muttered, 'is that a lifelessness?

    Remembering many mozartian, smelly letdowns
    Much I marvelled
    Eagerly looking for the sullenness
    And so I screamed, 'Is that a deadness?'

    The unshaken unoriginality unfaltering
    Unconvinced and unsatisfying
    Much I marvelled
    What could there be more purely adjoining?

    All my soul within me diversifying
    The bluff breakpoint bundling,
    Back into my memories twanging
    Much I marvelled

    Edit: Honoured and much grateful @writersnetwork ❤️


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    Dismal emptiness


  • blueballad 16w

    Lazy, as always

    #viator @miraquill @writersnetwork #honestgranny

    06/08/2021, 11:06 am

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    Destiny On The Offbeat

    I need to stop,
    Dual wielding inspirational quotes and Taylor Swift songs,
    In efforts to remember how good a poem feels: to be written, to become,
    Not just a memory I have attributed to my imaginary dark clouds of daylight,
    And to the cynic that creeps through the crevices of 3am visual spoken words,
    Not like the last time.

    The last time I decided that,
    I need to stop,
    Believing that kisses taste like clichés handed to me as a blessing,
    And his smile looked like the contents of a love letter written right,
    Because why else would I be looking for the right answers between the lines of Sylvia Plath and Rupi Kaur, on a day just the right amount of quiet to make me feel lonely?

    My name was simple; easily forgotten,
    Wasn't the type to understand that,
    I need to stop.
    Because this was no Shakespearean tale, and the pages of my fragility couldn't endure the test of eternity,
    Because I love too easily therefore that makes me stupid,
    Because I trust too easily therefore that makes me afraid,
    Because I overdo and do so little to convince myself that I am worthy of being human,
    Therefore my name was not just a word spoken on a day that was just the right amount of quiet to make him feel lonely.

    ©b l u e

  • captain_blant 16w


    I'm flyin' , flyin'
    Gosh my semi-liquid mind
    Transparent silk
    Blue sky_

    Night sky_  morning sky_
    Orange sky_
    Yellow dessert below
    Rippled sand
    Yellow sky_

    Oceanic inferences
    Cloudy Grey sky_
    Musical sky_

    Gosh my semi-liquid mind,
    Flyin', flyin'
    All way breezy anti-gravity
    All interstellar
    Intergalactic sky_

    Flyin' flyin' to crash in
    Your sky_
    Your sky_
    Twin mountains
    Touchin'    your sky_

    My circuit runway
    The treeline_
    Your sky_

    A Jerky turbulent
    Fun sky_   love!


  • reflections__ 17w


    An overdone smile looks like a frown,
    I ponder over this thought
    but the more I adjust
    the curve of my lips,
    the more bland it looks,
    Do I change the mirror
    or my mind?

    The sun was especially hot today,
    almost that it melt my plastic
    But I don't do identical faces
    nor external smiles teach
    me any better;
    So I skipped a day
    just like last wednesday
    and the week earlier.
    I was born on a Friday
    night or day, my parents couldn't care
    coz as I got to know, I came later
    than their peers called a 'right time'.
    So I grew up unusually fast,
    ate dry fruits for breakfast
    and caramel pudding for dinner.
    My friends borrowed my notebooks,
    said I wrote better
    and I lend them gladly too;
    one smile a day,
    happier and wider.

    My smiles have now grown wiser,
    So much that
    the commissures pull apart on their own.
    I can still feel the breaks at their terminals
    but they only grow darker everytime.

    Doesn't light enter through wounds anymore,
    or has my plastic grown more resistant?


  • reflections__ 18w

    Rolling lies

    a morning, like any other
    and yet i can't make it
    any better than yesterday's.
    they say experience makes you wise
    but i wish to bite their skins
    and squeeze in some sense,
    "Haven't you heard,
    rolling stones gather no moss"?
    except that their wisdom
    reflect strawberry fields without
    the fruit and i hate pink.
    but you know,
    this is a pathetic generation
    and my country, a festival
    of idiotic beliefs ahead.

    "so how was your day?",
    a next-door loner asks me
    from behind his low fences,
    the lush green foliage of
    my home-garden cuts him off
    from a contradictory sight.
    but i know he won't be
    more surprised, for his is a
    ninety yards amusement park
    with cement horses
    and stone birds.
    yet he struggles to keep
    his hands sane, that tremble
    every other hour
    for a snorting ritual
    on his hidden table,
    he devours it like a vulture
    hawking and hissing over
    a dead man, but his father
    sends him off every monday,
    to a cheerful man in
    a white apron, who urges him
    to laugh away his worries and sip
    two new pills of ivory and brown.

    it's 8 a.m now
    and raining outside,
    i slide my hands
    through the window slit
    and let my fingers
    live a comforting lie.
    the day hasn't yet started,
    but the world is already
    up and about for yet
    another rat race.

    as for the loner next door,
    i see him through
    my now closed window
    blowing grey rings of smoke
    inside a red porsche
    but today, his father
    is too busy to see him off,
    the car pulls out into the highway
    its wheels screeching loud,
    as if willing him to stop
    but he's heard people say,
    "you only live once"
    i wish they also told him
    "you are supposed to die only once"
    but that would be another story
    and we aren't making
    them up any more.


  • greypages_ 18w

    The Tool Box.

    The layers experience
    A sensual feel of potions :
    The Tongue savouring the
    Laces of cream on my
    Man’s lips -
    A word is brewed along
    With every kiss exchanged,
    Poured in a thread to
    String endearments of love,
    Each of it drowns me
    Deeper into him,
    Into the realms of my poetries,
    As one is added to the pile,
    As the night ends.

    The guards relish bribery,
    One slip of cash slid past their doors,
    And the Sword is mine -
    A farmer slaughtered,
    A noblemen robbed,
    A peasant drawn and quartered -
    Innocence mocked and burnt
    As it fuels my heart to spill chaos,
    With every act, a word is brewed,
    And culminate the poetry
    By the last bribe,
    To the rape the Queen,
    The King’s love,
    Under the cruelty
    Of the night.

    As the December hits,
    I put on my scarf,
    Laced with ivory
    and maroon lines -
    Loneliness creeping in,
    Snowing on the windowpane
    As I sit by it,
    A Candle aiding light
    To make its way in the darkness,
    With every drop of wax
    That melts, a word is brewed,
    I shiver, smile and then sleep,
    As the last drop of wax
    Hits the cold floor
    And another poetry is completed,
    Under the touch of winter.

    A poetess knows her
    Way out, always -

    When she brandishes
    Her tools,
    Words bow to her,
    And tailor themselves
    Into a beautiful poem.



    #pod @mirakee #writersnetwork #honestgranny @writersnetwork

    Picture credits to the respective owner.

    P.S. : From the drafts.

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  • alana_d 18w

    Invisible Strings

    The strings of love were tied
    to my frangible pulse
    pumping streams of emotions
    shared by emotive spirits

    Some detach easily
    once the ardor smothers
    amidst the smoke of hatred
    burying devoted bonds

  • reflections__ 18w


    A clock ticks away time
    in minutes and hours,
    Life slips as mundane
    hours turning into days.

    One hand at chaos,
    one at taciturn highways.
    One foot at regrets of yesterday,
    one at an apprehensive tomorrow.

    Humans are
    by nature, curious;
    by will, indifferent,
    Yet unable to winnow
    truth from slipping sand.

    Hallmarks of family;
    a peaceful war at home,
    Silences served on plates
    with half-hearted fervour.

    A word of concern is
    spoken in converse,
    Two stories of love
    blanked out by
    wedding vows.

    A heart of she painted
    with masculine strokes,
    Lives a monotonous life
    with dual undertones.

    You say it's okay,
    that people will be people,
    Don't you see you're a replica
    of the same order?


  • unquiet_spirit 19w


    Worn as a shield
    Under the feet of mankind
    My elflocks tie them up
    Stark shards of
    rough topography of life
    Pierce through me
    Exposed to all friction
    Mud and dirt in the world
    I am colourful
    Shading each footstep
    With comfort and love
    My hues fade with age
    I'm called ugly
    While I'm worn out
    I'm discarded like
    I never mattered.

    I'm a shoe.


  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 19w

    Shoutout : @hoezier Thank you pretty soul. Thank you for being the single candle shining at my altar.

    @_firefly @shreyah @kin_jo @reflections__
    @_elixir @hafeezhmha @kairos_

    @writersnetwork @miraquill

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    In the hemline of your ripped jeans, there are
    Little rivulets of black blood and the mist
    Of grief trampled under wheatgrass
    Violence digs graves, it is a smokestack of
    Every ghost dancing around the Ivy roots
    You water with your art
    Only to bleed at the altar, only to
    Unspool like an abandoned, orphaned thread

    I am a wretched thing under lovesick weather ;
    Longing for touch, longing to echo between
    Oceans of chandeliers and splintered wood ;
    Vile, vanquished - That's how I've grown in the
    End ; Tantalized with my own vodka breath
    You should visit me sometime and let me slop
    On your shoulders and feed me chocolate
    Under a poster porch glowing with hate

    In some version of this story, we could be
    Lonely, cursed, hungry immortals killing each
    Other every 4 months to fall in love again ;
    Vilifying, bleaching, kissing till its time to
    Elope into salt water, burn pages, soil our
    Yellow memories in rags of disdain
    Oh ! And we'll perish together like two
    Unsolicited cigarettes dissolving in the rain

    Its an ancient story really, yours and mine
    Like the one where Gabriel betrays Raphael
    On the eve of their marriage and God is on the
    Verge of setting the world on fire and love ;
    Every string that chokes me, runs through
    Your fingers, all purple and bruised, tired
    Of the conflict between pulling too close, and
    Underweighing the risks of letting lose

    In the end, everyone thought we'd be distant,
    Loveless - a calaculated tragedy; but when
    Over the horizon, there're bouquets of magic,
    Vines of stars and a thousand wishbones
    Ebbing into candle wax and history,
    You have to look up and find hope, Smell raw
    Ores and old honey because whether or not
    Unicorns exist, you'll always find me

    Ripped Jeans || 21.07.2021


    The first letter of every line adds up in the end to a message in each paragraph.

  • blueballad 19w

    Immensely grateful to @writersnetwork for the repost and @miraquill for the EC.
    I am undoubtedly honoured. Thank you��


    #start #wod #honestgranny

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    The Former Redeemer

    I gulped the night and chewed your fragrance, then spat out the remnants into the tumultuous rustle of the wind,

    I have tasted many kinds of poison amidst the fall of night,
    Purged my insides to accommodate the knowledge that I existed as nothing without the comfort of your lies,
    Became a sunken mass to capture the tales of all the memories that birthed life to your frights.

    I have tried to conflate my sorrows into an assemblage of hope,
    But each time, I'm convinced that whenever the sound of your name rumbles through the crevices of my thoughts, I begin to doubt a little harder and heal a little slower along the ropes.

    In the midst of my confusion, I laid on the floor and allowed my body to tremble in sync with the lyrics of my catharsis,
    Because I have finally grown fond of all the poems you didn't like to read,
    And am tired of staring at the outline of your essence stamped atop the corners of my sheets.

    Therefore, this isn't the melancholy talking,
    It is actually a long awaited awakening,
    Gifted by the moon in epiphanous greetings.

    So I got a knife, and carved out all the forgotten promises,
    Washed away your toxic touch with waters of self love and serendipity,
    And resolved that I shall no longer play the part of the anxious redeemer.

    I shall carry my wings of salvation with the hands that were once used to cradle cimmerian entities,
    And fly to the abode of hallelujahs and subjective beauty.

    I wiped away any indication of your temporality from my lips,
    Blew a breath of comely acceptance to the stars,
    And fell asleep to the blissful howls of the work of nature,
    And the forbearance accompanying the hour of self-diligence.

    ©b l u e

  • writing_solace__ 19w

    Crisp was that last bite of betrayal,
    On the porch of my forlorn abode,
    Biting at the wounds of my skin,
    Like a wino sucking it's grog,

    That renegade in the form of air,
    Stood two steps down from my toenails,
    Eyes bland like a ballad without rhymed verse,
    That chiseled face with five o'clock shadow,
    Made me believe this is what the doppelganger of lucifer will look like,


    Tables turned and chattels break,
    As his claws sunk deep in my spirit,
    And thrashed them down to bits and pieces,
    Of insecurities, hatred and dead emotions,
    Lying bare on that mahogany wood floor,

    He went up in smoke after his expedition,
    Clouds parted and the sun came up,
    Autumn started dancing on my door step,
    And even seagulls came for a visit,

    But there was just this little, miniscule flaw to all of that,
    They came a little just too late,
    And now I was not the same,

    Never again.

    #miraquill #mirakee #writersnetwork #honestgranny #wod #pod

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  • reflections__ 19w

    A day in a glance

    What is more disheartening?

    An ill-fated pot belly
    Or one sucking on air
    below poverty line.

    A big man sleeps
    on feathery bed,
    With guilt notes
    rustling beneath him.
    His ageing spine
    straightens with steroids,
    A last resort to living
    a life of consequence.

    Child under broken roof
    cries of hunger,
    Another in glass home
    throws pampered tantrums.

    A man with face
    half-smudged in mortar,
    Dabs tears on clean shirt
    outside his door.
    Family of four awaits
    his arrival to rejoice,
    Triumph of a day's survival
    capping all deficits otherwise.

    Today one plays song of victory
    Tomorrow would be a farewell
    What would you choose,

    A day in a diamond cage
    Or one under the sky of truth?


  • rahul_govindan 19w

    Edible offspring of white asparagus,
    Soaked in an earthy flavor of truffle oil,
    Made love with a slice of tuscan focaccia
    In the "golden spoon" of him.

    Atom size bread collapsed on the floor,
    Worker ants, for the queen, in quest of food,
    Abided by the sketched out path,
    Bearing the massive load of wispy food.

    "You can't climb up", he broke their path with a placard,
    Untutored colony found no sign of notice,
    Cooperation and coordination, made them ascend,
    He traced their path, journey to the realm.

    A woman in her generative age,
    Amidst the shades of sexism and racism,
    Bounded by an obvious poverty,
    Waited for the ants, "she was their queen."

    Peace and Conflict, Solace and Ache,
    Delight and Misery, Existence and Extinct,
    Shook hands with one another.
    "Wealth and Poverty were made not to"

    ©️ G Rahul


    #poverty #wod #pod #ceesreposts #honestgranny
    #miraquill #writersnetwork
    Thank you @writersnetwork for dropping in a late ❤

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  • reflections__ 20w


    My mother taught me
    wars at home are
    never called 'wars'.

    The battlefield never
    stains with blood and
    soldiers are never martyred.

    I wish I had ended a war
    that day but I never did.
    I can still smell torn vessels
    and hear panting voices.

    My head throbs like
    it's pressed between
    blunt edges of swords.

    There's blood and no
    blood at the same time.

    A six year old wound
    near my right eye still
    gushes out cries of defeat.
    The flag wrapped with
    red cloth in my drawer
    has sucked in all agony
    of these past years.

    I've lived two decades
    of aftermath of a war
    I had never witnessed but
    born out of it nonetheless.

    It'll take another long years
    to burn every letter I've been
    writing to myself, willing a reply
    but I can't answer to a deliberate
    idiocy to accept a life born out of death.

    It hurts and it scars,
    but the world is blind;
    It has always been.

  • reflections__ 20w


    I used to be a good man,
    Now I'm a carrier of stigmas
    Down and down,
    Like a drunkard I cascade,
    Along infertile fields of honour.

    I wanted to be a harmless angel
    But I'm only a sinner,
    Too high on metamorphosis,
    And too poor for elevating draughts.
    So I barter an hourglass or two
    For a bohemian rhapsody,
    That sounds like a funeral.

    I started off well;
    Fled from home like a Kafka,
    But the shore was too far away
    And woods embraced me
    sooner than I found myself.

    So I became a song,
    Picking up incomplete melodies
    from decaying fossils of hope.

    I swapped faster than my feelings
    could set sail for an unplanned
    return to the home I left,
    But my shoes were tattered and
    I couldn't afford a fancy excuse,
    So I ran away, again.
    This time, barefoot and
    a couple of moist eyes.

    I reached a ceremony venue,
    Where they were selling names.
    So I traded my dark sides
    for a muse to write sanguine verses.

    But I was a hopeless diabetic,
    And they handed me pink fondants,
    Moulded like humanoid tongues.

    I was mistaken again; this time,
    coz I left my myopic glasses
    at home, I was rather planning
    on an escape from.

  • shrey2310 23w

    Half Wor(l)d

    //My own parallel universe//
    On the day when i felt sad enough to leave things right where I started them, the torn pages of my diary returned, fluttering their wings while the crevices on the walls, right in front of me started joining back. The ceiling which was coated with black colour, faded and faded enough to carry the bright ones away with it.

    It was the time of night, minutes transformed to hours while the eerie sound of the storm felt a little comforting. For all the things I decided to betray, it was just this chaos that stood, w-i-t-h m-e

    The soft touch of the moonlight failed to reach me and I failed to realise my own thoughts turning into havoc, it was silent yet it roared, it was slow but fast enough for me to burn my own diary.

    I threw the diary in the chimney and saw it burn till the words broke down to ashes, meanings to rhymes and spaces betwixt the words kept growing however there was nothing more than space between them, it was all a numb, void silence that stood.

    This night cold, ruthless but then the warmth from the chimney wasn't even warm, i saw my own self turn to dust and what can i even expect, things fall for a reason but whatever the reason might be, it hurts to see those things break and it's even harder to walk on those broken pieces. I realise how some things often burn but more than that, you see yourself drenched in this rain of guilt, because that's how it felt today, the dairy burnt and I was drenched, though we both died in misery and sorrow

    It was a matter of few minutes that the lights went off, the burning chimney stopped, my heart skipped a beat while my soul felt restless for a second and numb at the very next moment, my body went lifeless while my eyes refused to open, it was dark with my close eyes and bright when I opened them, bright enough to blind me. All i could think of was about this light which went on increasing and then there was a sudden whiff in my ears, at least that's what it felt like.

    I was about to rest my hands on my heart that the terrific storm outside seemed a little too less to me because the enormous one, resided i-n m-e now, the night seemed to fade, i opened my eyes and saw myself burning me, i resided among the pages of my diary. But all I could do was to stare my own self burn me down to ashes, i kept wondering if its all real, what's happening? Why am i here? Is it the same world I used to live in? Or is this the world, that I've created!?!

    I saw the red roses wilt to the black ones, i saw myself hang upon the forest of question marks, there was rain that felt a little warm while the soft zephyr felt a little too much to stand against. Is it a world, of u-p-s-i-d-e d-o-w-n, i-n-s-i-d-e o-u-t?

    I kept wandering over the tough icy surface of rhymes that I used to create while the water beneath resided there itself. I saw my soul plucking poems from the grounds of expectation however at the very moment, the poetries faded and turned into dark clouds, that didn't rain, didn't roar, didn't fade. It stayed, unlike those trails that people leave behind, it stayed like some horrors of past, guilts and regrets. I sat under the autumn tree, where the leaf wouldn't fall but all that kept falling was my heart. I kept walking through the pages, it was about to end right before which I saw a dark soul reading verses of how p-o-e-m-s a-r-e n-o w-a-y "special" however it stopped in mid, just like I did a few hours ago. It was all so empty and white ahead, as if some things are l-e-f-t u-n-s-a-i-d.

    This world is another parallel universe of mine, where I started my journey, I didn't realise how I, by myself, destroyed this world, burnt it to dust. The world that once resided in my diary, the world where I lived, its burning taking me along with it. I can feel my skin turning into dust, my heart turning heavy, soon will it bury here and soon will it go away with my diary.

    The air around me choked me to sleep, a sleep where my soul will die in the universe that I created and destroyed while my body would still continue to live in the world, earth, which isn't mine, a world where people like me burn their own creations, their own universe. My eyes closed, just like they did before, my body went restless, numb. It was hard to leave this time because the dark clouds that held my poems have become even more darker, holding my guilt too and that's okay, but the thought that disrupts me is that it'll always follow me.

    I woke up, next to my half burnt diary. A diary filled with half poems, full of dilemmas. It was a sunny day but the clouds above me, rained, roared.
    Unlike some colours that fade away or crevices that joins,
    they stayed like some papers that can never be found in a diary, but they can just be mourned on.


    Have you read my previous writeups? You'll get some glimpse of them in this one, thanks to you if you're a regular reader :")


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    Half Wor(l)d

    I woke up, next to my half burnt diary. A diary filled with half poems, full of dilemmas. It was a sunny day but the clouds above me, rained, roared.
    Unlike some colours that fade away or crevices that joins,
    they stayed like some papers that can never be found in a diary, but they can just be mourned on.


  • kin_jo 61w

    List poetry

    Things inside my old Handbag ��

    As I slide my hand inside my old handbag, I come across:-

    A handkerchief, an intricately woven 'k' at the corner,
    never did I wash, still emitting fragnance of our journey.
    A coin, beaming with original energy which I denied to toss in the wishing well as it is marked as my first ever reward, harboured for the first honesty, I exhibited as a child
    An old diary, slightly torn folded edges, filled with blenched words of my voice and redolent of our memories.
    An earring, whose other pair is now lost(I know it's with you)
    A movie ticket, all crumpled yet reads 'A-25,' the corner seat we chose on that summer night, Where we just talked endlessly, unaware of the begining or the end
    A pen, my magic wand, with which I was always eager to explore the world around us. engraving each page with our sweet bitter memories that my mind might soon forget
    A pencil, to draw images of my whimsical reality, of the things locked inside my sombre heart, redrafting it with a clearer image, blurred by my tears
    A couple of tissues, nestled safely inside a waterproof pouch sealing my hopes and aspirations from getting shattered once again
    At the bottom, I try to find my innocence, which I lost in the waning of my life
    Yet, I dig my hand deeper in pursuit to live once again



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    Things inside my old hand bag