5 posts
  • meghaa_ 16w

    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,
    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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  • meghaa_ 16w


    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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  • meghaa_ 55w

    I lend colours from Van gogh's sky to paint my words in the brightest shade of blue. I'm happier these days, yes . I'm making phrases out of cosmos and syllables out of broken skylines. These days I finding elation strolling between the lavenders on my scarf making my revolting poems smile. I'm learning to draw rainbows on my splintered horizons. I'm falling into peace.

    I want my elegies to be addressed to infinities and paradoxes. I want my name spelled with the skies. I have half-written testimonies to the welkin placed securely inside the fondest crease of my heart. I vibe with the skies when no one's watching. Is it okay for me to wish to be a poem? A poem the sky would recite to feel alive, to feel loved? It is I believe. I honestly don't know if I can fathom smiles the way skies do, I hope that someday I can. I hope the skies would be proud .

    My hope sits faraway from the grey clouds loitering behind the back of my mind. Hope is draped in phosphenes today. I'm trying to fall for myself between every heartbeat. I feel higher than the mesh rubber band that held back my hair, my sweet-tongued friends, sharp memories, I'm higher. I find myself among the melody of wind chimes and warmth of wishes written on stars. I'm falling into happy endings .

    'You're more than my blues, you're brave and beautiful, brighter than the sun', the skies whisper. I felt my smile spreading across my soul.

    I wish to fall into the S K I E S, till forever kisses my soul.


    Last post of the year to something that feels the closest to my heart ♡

    Happy new year to everyone in advance

    @writersnetwork It's has been really tough for the past few days, you made me smile without added preservatives . Thank you for the kind repost ♡
    #meg_wn #skym #mfav

    Small edit :p : Piu, Sadiah, Amu ♡
    Radhika ♥
    Moi *yawns* I hate you. Okay bye :p
    Sakshi Di and Neha Di you've been so inspiring
    Devilika, I adore you *smiles*
    Siddhart bhaiya YOU'RE THE BEST
    Mr Philosopher XD I don't like you but you're an amazing friend. So glad I met you
    Barasiya, Sadrita, Shreya, :D
    Madhav, Sorry and Thank you for everything


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  • meghaa_ 63w

    The ripples in a maple leaf tell me a story I left in the woods. I write an elegy to my younger self in an incoherent frenzy as the tangerines of my sundress fade into the dusk.The edges of my consciousness are so swollen that happiness refuses to build its home, it falls off every time a gush of cold pledges pass by. I fidget with destiny on the lines of my left hand, I question myself. No, even cliffhangers don't make me stay. I wish they did.

    The puddles of hollow fragility accumulate under the foggy glass. Can I ever spruce up the skies with my beaming smiles?Probably not. I probably don't care either. I'm never careful, I hurt my toes while walking over pebbled shores, I let blunt memories cut my tender present. I walk away, I have been ever since. On some days I am an amalgamation of nostalgia smeared in lucid longing on the sepia pages. I wonder about the warmth of wishes dandelions carry. Cerise skies make me fall out of tears, always.

    I stop singing songs at that particular stanza when they start lamenting young love, I feel attacked. I question the crease in my smile. I chose the heartbreak drenched in my favourite song instead of the love next door. When I look at myself today, I find myself more harsher than I used to be. I miss the eye wrinkling smiles and euphoria in my eyes. These days I focus more on the stories tanned leaflets hide than the softness brushing my drained skin. I want to strike a parallelism with nature. I want to feel less guilty about the hearts I broke, I want to fathom the void between palm leaves, I want to find hope in a graveyard, if only.

    A memoir under my forehead scar reminds me of rainbows, beguiling indeed. I look at the cacography on my wrist, I smile, "When looked closely, forever is a smile away, maybe"


    P.S - The world calls for more wallflowers

    @writersnetwork Thank you ♡

    @mirakee Can't believe. My first pod? Thank you!

    @hindrance Thank you for always being there ♡

    _hessa_ imytm

    @say_me_krish while editing that line, I deleted the whole post. Your fault ;_; (no. I'm just clumsy :p )

    #meg_wn #megmi #mfav

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  • meghaa_ 65w

    There's a part of me that wants to let go of the nostalgia kissing my obtrusive today, again there's a different part of me that says otherwise. Our mind itself is the abode of chaos and we turn the music too high to hear the noise. We are bothered, you, me, all of us! by little details we pretend to not care about. Clutching the hem of my not so favourite skirt I start walking towards a bruised memory meandering towards a hardened oblivion. I like my existence like the secluded corner of your bedroom, some dusted journals and some broken quills.

    Someday, I'm going to paint the skies orange from a broken crayon and ally with the clouds to stay forever. I've emptied myself to the skies in the most metaphorical way possible, I'm susceptible to voids, I know. It's just that artistic romanticism of seasons dawn upon me as a mirage because at the end no one writes you an eulogy on a maple leaf. No living person calls a grave home by ushering dried orchids on the cemetery, as a living being these are nothing but myths we tend to hold on to.

    We count our age by the number of heartbreaks, two and you're still young. Something that bothers me on a slack sunday afternoon is how are we try to fit in to anyone's stories, I want to know if it's the only thing we're living for. There are things I want to do besides trading my soul with the one who fits in, I want to sit back and count the colours of a rainbow, stich my torn T-shirt , not crush a leaf next time I'm walking on soft mud. For instance, I want to really stop caring about precision and not just pretend. A summer away from now, I'd be writing an epistle to the 18 year old me telling me that it's okay if you don't fit in anyone's stories, just go make your own.


    P.S- You don't end things, ever. It's just a suitable pause where you feel like you've said enough and you stop. I won't be ending this too, because someday someone might stumble upon and tell you about all the things I missed. This stays.


    @writersnetwork I didn't know how popular section felt like so.....thank you I guess? :p

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