#meg_wn

46 posts
  • poeticgirl 3w

    I'm watching the painted skies,
    Creasing at uneven edges
    The blues from the skies
    Seep into my soul
    A poem buried into the woods
    The sunset rhymes with shades
    It is the 18th winter
    Yet again
    Spent by the bonfire
    Do not ask me,
    What I burn
    Or about the fuel
    It is the season
    Where they ask you
    The coldness of your words
    Or why do you write
    But tell me,
    What is poetry,
    If not another call from the blues.

    ~M e g h a //stale november

    #start #wod #meg_wn

    @writersnetwork Thank you for making my shittiest day ever a little better ♡

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  • poeticgirl 3w

    Your eyes shift shades
    Like weather forecasts
    This is the season
    Of Hozier by the fire
    Reciting free verses
    Like he lived through his songs,
    All of them
    I love how winter is so deceiving
    You can always lie,
    About your bloodshot eyes
    Or your baritone
    'It's just some cold'

    The city gulps a strepsil
    The morning newspaper lets out a cough
    Your forget-me-not blue
    From your favourite t-shirt
    Settles on the foggy skies
    Your resignation letters float,
    Like paper planes.
    The burnt pasta doesn't knock,
    On your insecurities.
    Your messed bedroom
    Starts to make sense

    But no,
    This is not a lazy-sunday-morning-poem
    This is how your healing will look like


    ~M e g h a //november

    #free #wod @surefire #meg_wn

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  • poeticgirl 3w

    It has been one whole fall;
    A pretty hectic one
    I saw the skies last time
    Through scarred branches
    And broken twigs
    You were there to pick on my flaws
    It has been one whole fall
    Spring is almost here
    I look at the skies
    After one whole forever
    And you're not here
    To pick on my flaws
    The sky looks pretty
    Through flowers on branches
    I look into my wrist
    The scars have healed
    The flowers bloom aloud,
    So do I.

    ~M e g h a //bloom

    #myth #wod #meg_wn
    @writersnetwork hi xD

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  • poeticgirl 5w

    Dear skies,

    You've left me,
    Fading chemtrails
    While he gently crosses the state lines
    I shouldn't have knocked on the blues
    This hard.
    The clouds break into rains anyway
    He hates monsoons
    I love the rainbows
    We were supposed to watch the sunsets
    They're so gloomy in his city
    And so pink in mine,
    The stars pair into a galaxy
    While I await their fall.

    ~M e g h a // longings

    #postcard #skym #wod #meg_wn

    @WRITERSNETWORK THANK YOU ♡

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  • poeticgirl 5w

    I want to etch a universe
    Where the ebony and ivory skinned
    Dine in the same platter
    Where they do not name castes,
    After bloodshed and feud
    But after faith and oneness
    Where nations hold their flags
    Together, while keeping
    Their geographical neighbours in hearts.

    I want to etch a universe
    Where dreams are not fastened
    To one's destiny
    But to the chariot of capabilities
    Where slums manufacture gems
    And stand tall amidst the city fringes
    A universe where humanity serves,
    As the mightiest of religions

    I want to etch a universe,
    Where they do not scrap out the artist,
    Out of the scientist,
    But water the bud of art
    So that it grows to be a mighty oak
    And give shelter to its offsprings
    Where they measure books and paints
    In the same scale
    And this poem, the worthiest.

    I want to etch a universe
    Where they don't draw a horizon
    In gender bias, but
    As a string that holds the children
    Of Adam and eve together
    Where they paint sunsets
    In stains of equality
    And hold the seams of skies in unison.

    I want to etch a universe
    Where this poem isn't a hushed desire
    But a far cry to rebel
    To remake,
    To rebuild
    The world in a better place,
    A call to that art and science
    To blend a miraculous mix
    For this world to be the same universe,
    My quill wants to etch.

    ~M e g h a // soft riots

    #refrain #wod #meg_wn

    @writersnetwork Thank you ♡ .This one holds a very special place

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    I want to etch a universe
    Where all the grief is poetrified
    And heartbreaks are recycled
    And blown into skies
    As paper planes
    That soar high
    High enough,
    To heal your bruising heart

    ©poeticgirl

  • poeticgirl 6w

    ~Red

    The hues of the setting sun that sink in the polaroid of gloomy skies gulping halted traffic lights and smokes of a burning cigar of a familiar stranger

    ~Blue

    The stains of harsh tides that takes away the promises written on feeble sandy realms and the forget-me-not ebbs that leaves you sea shells to adorn your clay castles of memories

    ~Yellow

    The marigold that blooms in a forbidden garden faraway from this half-dead city lights, a lady that sells hope in earthen vases that your mother fills with Vangogh's sunflowers

    ~White

    The ivory crown of the starry sky his silk-haired mother dotes on hoping he'll return from the land of dead bringing her a pearl pendant

    ~ Black

    The colour of heartbreaks or the meek poetries she adorns between her hair strands and longs for spring to bloom in her cold heart.


    ~M e g h a // Taints


    #mondo#wod #meg_wn #megmi

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  • poeticgirl 6w

    Monsoon plays the gramophone
    Its tender echo against my windowpane
    The rains have a saviour complex
    It checks on me every while
    You don't explain feminine tears,
    Or rains in tropical zones
    But it's so humane to leave
    Yet so natural to stay
    The thunder knocks upon my reverie,
    You're never here when it rains.

    ~M e g h a //monsoon

    #life #wod #meg_wn

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  • poeticgirl 6w

    Skies suffer a 2nd degree burn
    While the skylines bleed poetries,
    On my bare forehead
    Pastels of sunsets
    Paint my soul
    The festive moon
    Is a caretaker of gloomy autumns
    And dry monsoons
    It's when October
    Lets out a muffled sigh
    Into the pinafored horizon
    I realised it's hurting
    A little worse than lovesick poets
    I feel a metaphoric tap,
    On a left shoulder
    October whispers knowingly
    "Tell me aren't you hurting too?"

    ~M e g h a// october

    #patheticfallacy #wod #meg_wn

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  • poeticgirl 7w

    #grandma #wod #meg_wn

    Not what I write these days but okay, some changes can be temporary

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    GRAND-ma

    My grandma is true to what I call her,
    She's a grand and pretty
    She nurtures,
    Vintage recipes in her palms
    That's often not just currys and spices
    But shy sunflowers and pink paper boats
    It's only when i visit my blue hometown,
    I find her in her safest place,
    In a room full of aroma,
    And a 90's song in the backdrop
    My Grandma knows the formulas
    To perfect broths
    And the algorithms of cake batters
    She says her secret is
    A handful of love,
    And her homesickness for me.
    I often wonder about the girl
    Who sleeps under her scarred skin,
    Who holds a spatula with grace
    Or what life she had.
    But she has her secrets locked
    In her apron pockets
    That plays a peek-a-boo with me
    While she sneaks me chocolate
    Despite my stubborn cavity
    It's in the kitchen
    My grandma turns a teenager
    When no one's watching
    She asks me about life
    If I'm blooming like sunsets
    Or drenched in greys
    She asks me about the boy
    I write in my poetries
    While she sprinkles water in the dough
    My mother worries about my fate
    My grandma hands me her cookbook
    She says, "keep it safe"
    And in every page
    She writes
    A recipe for life
    She wants me to be a better cook
    And brew life the best
    And if you're wondering about the recipes
    She forwarded me her YouTube link

    ©poeticgirl

  • poeticgirl 7w

    I love how
    History never loses the taste of melancholy,
    On its tongue
    Like a broken stereo
    That plays the same Elvis song
    Over,
    And over
    Again.
    Yet time lives on its amnesia
    For all the times it witnesses
    A story,
    A pause,
    A revelation,
    Or a loss that fuels poetry,
    A poetry, that's often not just words
    For I knew a man
    Who gave away wishlists folded in paper planes
    To a girl that resembled his dead daughter
    A woman who'd stop wearing blue
    A kid who took after his colonel uncle
    It's such a shame
    To be a poet
    When I don't know
    how to poetrify a loss.
    I didn't know
    Until today,
    That loss
    Is written
    In braille,
    To fathom it,
    Feel it first.

    ~M e g h a //comprehension

    #start #wod #meg_wn

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  • poeticgirl 8w

    The city fidgets with a sleeping pill
    In a dilemma to break the myths
    Isn't it what you too said,
    You're a city that never sleeps
    So it's been some 88 sleepless nights
    And an attempt to write a poetry
    Pandemic poetries are truly a saviour
    It's where we're binge watching a new web series
    Or you teaching me to tame catastrophes
    But on days
    I'm somewhat of a realistic
    I know you've left the city
    Yet, winter creeps in through my leather jacket
    And the empty pavements smirk at me
    They're so akin to your gravestone
    So dead and so cold.

    ~M e g h a //immortality

    #end #wod #meg_wn

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  • poeticgirl 8w

    The priest says, the grimacing fireball,
    Sits on the driver's seat of your horoscope
    Which is to say,
    your sun sign makes up for your rage,
    This poem is its personification
    For all the times
    You pushed me towards uncertain cliffhangers
    And unannounced tragedies
    Intimacy is extremely personal
    But we struggle like racing cars
    Who make it to a dead end
    I forget your zodiac sign is leo
    Sun governed
    Yet the grimacing fireball smiles at me
    'You've been strong', he whispers
    The sun has your back
    But it sets drowning my sorrows
    So that the nth time you don't mean your sorries
    I can still manage to say it's okay
    When it's really not.

    ~M e g h a //forgivings

    #myth #wod #meg_wn

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  • poeticgirl 8w

    September pink clouds
    Fall for blue poems of skies
    So when she departs
    She leaves a paralysed sun
    Stealing the scenic sunsets

    ~M e g h a //lovelorns

    #tanka #wod #meg_wn

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  • poeticgirl 8w

    False Ownership

    The itinerary to a home
    Passes through a torn sky and barbed cities,
    A map that parts a land
    Where your piled up poems rot to death
    And a native turns a stranger,
    The moment they answer the call of the blues
    It is so strange of us,
    To call a place our own
    When the universe is devoid of a worthy landlord,
    When the world itself is a no man's land.

    ~M e g h a //acceptance

  • poeticgirl 8w

    You once told me,
    About the grey fogs in your hometown
    And how everything you see
    Is painted in greyscale
    And here I sit
    Under a blue blanket
    That tucks its seams at the ends of a spectrum
    And a sky so blue,
    Unapologetically,
    Reminds me of you.
    So when autumn comes
    Draped in a satin orange shirt
    I mouth him an apology
    'I'm sorry, he's kinder'
    While I pray to skies
    'Be less beautiful than him'
    But then
    Be it skies, be it you,
    The things I fall in love with,
    Always look down upon me.


    ~M e g h a // camouflaging

    #once #wod #meg_wn #mfav #skym

    @writersnetwork Thank you!

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  • poeticgirl 9w

    Enso

    I etch drenched poetries,
    For a man in Egypt,
    Who folds paper boats
    In a land, where it rarely rains
    He's unaware of the symphony of rains
    But I wish I could tell him,
    The song of rains is silence in its utmost beauty
    It never goes noisy
    And while he thinks, he's an outcast to this land,
    I cry him an oasis in secret


    ~M e g h a //tacenda

    #enso #wod #meg_wn #mfav

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  • poeticgirl 9w

    I've been to vernacular ruins of the city that witnessed cobalt skies through barbed fences and tangled skyscrapers. Civilizations lose their essence inside cracked cements as this city watches the world through grey filters and opaque glasses. The skies there, taste like the briny tears of a poem who tried too hard to hold on to smiles while a storm brewed in decayed cold hearts. Far beyond the monochromes of the fringes of this lost suburb, there lies a pale horizon that shares a jargon with the splintered skyline. I write about wastelands that look like an array of discarded poetries aligned together in a monotone. Here, the sunsets hold their colours till the time poets find their muse. I'm seeing the welkins run out of blues so I end up writing another sky-poetry for skies to bloom like wildflowers, unapologetic and those cold hearts to heal.

    ~M e g h a | A handful of blue

    #personification #wod #skym #meg_wn

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  • poeticgirl 9w

    GROWTH


    In God's grey reign
    Where perfection
    Is a lie,
    I stand 17 summers later
    Nurturing a sunflower in my palms
    And grey promises on my forehead
    Growing up
    Feels like painting a sunset
    On wooden fences,
    You never get the colours right
    Or planting a skyline
    On both sides
    Of an uneven smile
    Growing up is a story
    Whose end is a two-way street,
    But your feet are heavy
    From carrying the weight,
    Of faint memories
    While your name
    Is baptised by the clouds
    Growth knocks on your foggy windows
    An apocalypse disguised as home
    Growing up is a poetry
    Metamorphosing to a song
    A Vangogh's sky in the making,
    A dried paintbrush,
    A dull panorama
    And it's okay,
    If your painting,
    Is not an art
    Remember,
    In God's grey reign
    All artists
    Have a story
    But growth,
    Is an abstract poem

    ~M e g h a / Growing up is like painting a sky picture




    #growth #wod #meg_wn #megmi

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  • poeticgirl 12w

    A country story

    White-haired women worry wordlessly
    Watching waves washing withered willows
    While wildflowers wage war with wildfires
    Windows weep woefully
    Whispers within wastelands.
    Wanderers wed wheat-flowers
    Whose wondering wives wait
    Weaving winter woolens.


    ©poeticgirl

  • poeticgirl 13w

    #rhetoric #meg_wn


    P.S- I'll be growing sunflowers in my balcony, soon. The sky needs healing too.

    Take care, you.

    @writersnetwork Thank you <3

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    Voids

    I've nurtured stories within my palm
    That come wrapped in golden orbed memories,
    Bitter-sweet elegies
    A stranger's roses,
    My Grandma's pashmina shawl
    I drew mountains on,
    She said the fabric had found its home
    In inked mountains and scribbled mulberries
    I clench on to my palm
    A stranger's touch
    That never slips away
    Like sand from an hourglass
    The scar stays like subtle lullabies
    My grandma sung on every night.
    Some rediscoveries,
    Never die,
    Like the burning sun
    The raging tides
    Coffee stains on the pashmina shawl
    They are wreckage
    But no one asked me
    To un-clasp my palms
    The sky is blue from bruises
    It smiles when no one else does
    I spread out my palms

    A rush of despair falls out

    //I've emptied myself to the skies
    In the most metaphorical way possible//

    ~M e g h a | They asked for morals, the sky asked for the story