#nostalgia

3305 posts
  • dkurup_03 9h

    Come sit here with me tonight
    Look how appealing are the citylights
    Near that hill, not so far,
    But enough to see those land stars,
    I've got two chairs and some coffee
    Let's enjoy this solitude, just you and me,
    We can talk about the moon in its presence,
    Or the trees, the oceans and the heavens,
    Or wonder about every question never asked,
    Or talk about the future and it's past,
    Perhaps our conversation may last till the dawn is over,
    Or perhaps we'll fall asleep on each other's shoulders,
    Perhaps we'll end up crying and comforting each other like two old friends,
    Perhaps we'll end up laughing so hard, our neighbours yell at 4a.m.
    This might only be for tonight
    Or became an everyday journey,
    So tell me as the dusk waves goodbye,
    Would you like to give me company?
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    @writersnetwork @miraquill #miraquill #poems #mirakee #throughthenight #night #conversation #citylights #nostalgia

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    Through the night

    Come sit here with me tonight
    Look how appealing are the citylights,
    I've got two chairs and some coffee,
    Let's enjoy this solitude, just you and me....
    ©dkurup_03

  • manisha_rameshbabu 16h

    MONOLOGUE

    Jamie you know people leave but places don't.
    They exist holding back all the memories
    And fragrances and trigger those feelings
    Hoarded deep down my heart.

    Now nostalgia knocks my heart door.
    Heart beat be the door knocks.
    But I don't want to let it in.
    I don't want to relive those scars.

    A part of me still wants to
    Let it in to feel things again until
    I perceive those door knocks are from within.
    It's already inside me and banging
    The door hard to let it out.

    ©manisha_rameshbabu

  • 7th_manu 1d

    So many are trapped and crawling there.
    #past #nostalgia

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    The Past

    Everyone is capable to revisit the past, silly
    Not everyone got the strength to come back.

    ©7th_manu

  • khan_tanzeela 1d

    Revisiting my Childhood

    ©khan_tanzeela

    Oh! that feeling of nostalgia,
    When you visit your ancient home.
    When you get to be a child again
    And relive your old, salad days.
    That is how I am feeling today,
    as I visited my native house.
    Everything looked as I remember,
    Just a little worn out with time.
    I roamed around the house,
    Recalling some facets of my life.
    While recounting, I visited my attic
    I saw the glimpses of my childhood.
    I was in awe while looking around,
    When I stumbled upon a wooden chest.
    It looked the same, just a little old,
    Holding in the tales of my halcyon days.
    Unlatched it, I lift the heavy lid,
    To Vouchsafe my hidden riches.
    My Princess story books and Comics,
    My first hand-made family Portrait.
    My Cindrella dress and matching shoes,
    brought me back to my old days.
    There lied Plethora of my soft toys,
    And a faded picture of my family.
    I looked at the beautiful picture,
    Saw a three year old mini me.
    Sitting on my dad's lap,
    Like a queen on a throne.
    Eyes twinkling with happy light,
    As if I owned the world.
    A contagious smile on my face,
    That shows how content I was.
    I wish I would be three again,
    To live that carefree life.
    Smile those happy, innocent smiles,
    Without anything holding me back.

  • prekshita_tanwar 1d

    On surface

    From the freshest of pages,
    Inked words, beholding millions of thoughts.
    To broken artifacts, stories it envisages,
    The memories, like fragrant flowers, it salvages.

    On surface, the qualities, tenacious,
    The depths filled with vibrance.
    The values, immortal, vivacious,
    On surface, all hidden shining in illuminance

    The childlike innocence from seemingly ancient toys,
    The spectrum of memories for crinkly, bright diaries.
    The ideals, traditions of jewellery, filled with poise,
    The visuals of emotions, tranquility to joy to fiery.

    On surface I see behold,
    Culture and memories left for years
    In tangibles the memories enfold
    From victories to heartfelt tears.
    ©prekshita_tanwar

  • fatty_07 1d

    HARD TO EXPLAIN

    Water flows from high places to low places. That is the nature of gravity. Emotions also seem to act according to gravity. When in the presence of someone with whom you have a bond, and to whom you have entrusted your feelings, it is hard to lie and get away with it. The truth just wants to come flowing out.

    #nostalgia #thoughts#aesthetic #wod #pod
    @MIRAKEE@WRITERSNETWORK

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  • fatty_07 1d

    ATTIC

    Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the truth, maybe I didn't want things to turn abstract, but I felt I should say it, because this was the moment to say it, because it suddenly dawned on me that this was why I had come, to tell him 'You are the only person I'd like to say goodbye to when I die, because only then will this thing I call my life make any sense. And if I should hear that you died, my life as I know it, the me who is speaking with you now, will cease to exist.

    It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the truthless ideal which have been instilled into them, and each time they come in contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded. It looks as if they were victims of a conspiracy; for the books they read, ideal by the necessity of selection, and the conversation of their elders, who look back upon the past through a rosy haze of forgetfulness, prepare them for an unreal life. They must discover for themselves that all they have read and all they have been told are lies, lies, lies; and each discovery is another nail driven into the body on the cross of life.

    #nostalgia #aesthetic #thoughts #pinterest #illusions#wod #pod
    @mirakee@writersnetwork

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  • sonalnaik30 1d

    Rough book

    Today I saw a notebook
    Which was a rough book
    But there was so much in it
    That I felt like home
    Imagine, all subjects in one book
    Rough books existed that time, just to write in rough work there, and then copy the fair and fresh content in other subject books, those were the days...
    You would open that damn book to sort out the doubt, isn't it amazing?
    People come and go, but rough book doesn't?
    It stays through your thick and thins and that keeps me going on and on.
    Rough book was the medium of sending chits and letters to the person we fought for time being...
    It brings back all the beautiful memories.
    How cherishing those moments more,
    How cutely we would tell our friends how important they are to us via chits of the very own rough book.
    Today, things and times have changed.
    Now, we just have a rough book, and no other subject books.
    I am still kinda attached with the rough book
    Short one, 200 pages and single lined,
    Indeed short and sweetest description.
    Today, I miss to have that rough book,
    Can't have it tho because it won't give me same vibes,
    And you know why?
    Because we are not in a class, teachers don't communicate with us on a personal level,
    And it is all because of covid,
    Someone has righly said, "a student in me has literally died"
    I just badly wish to go back to childhood days and days were literally fun and amazing.
    A rough book in the attic made my day, I hope it made yours too.
    ©sonalnaik30

  • a_splendid_wickedness 3d

    Gone Rogue

    Rogue winter
    Softens splinters
    Running wild in
    Lethal fields
    Ablaze with fires
    Of childhood minds
    Rogue autumn
    Killer leaves
    Running where
    The wild one breathes
    Brutal meadow
    Orange sky
    Childhood mischief
    Roguish eye

    ©a_splendid_wickedness

  • his_aesthetic_ink 3d

    NOSTALGIA

    Lonely platforms...
    Old stations...
    Wooden bench...

    Autumn leaves...
    Flying birds...
    Feel of thirst...
    Harshness of clouds
    Peeking out from windows
    ...

    Old ships...
    Sea shores...
    Walking without destination...

    Chasing Stars...
    Wondering Moon...
    Dying Sun...
    Snow fall...

    The smell of wet soil...
    The tear of memories...
    The smile at departure...

    ©his_aesthetic_ink

  • above_and_about 1w

    Remember the Sea

    Remember those rainny days by the sea, Dan
    when we felt sorry for the sun’s warmth
    and we run to room 7 in Splendid hotel
    and we bathed together and warmed each other
    and we mimicked the waves

    Those were days of youth and careless being,
    love and delight,
    nature’s way to trick us and allure poor beasts into specie’s industry

    We grew up, Dan, you are a poor old middle man with an upper class car,
    a medium wife and three children,
    besides insurances (plentily of them) and company’s plans you have none of your own

    The sea, the sun and the sand seemed enough those days,
    now you are an adult trapped in different roles, i hope you excel at them, Dan, you used to be a great lover.

    i miss you, i miss myself too.

    ©above_and_about

  • 703hardik 1w

    Zamane part 2
    #nostalgia

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    Zamane

    us zamane mai meri aadhi junk lagi cycle ke tyre mai
    card lagakar bullet banai jaati thi
    aur school se mile newspaper se talwar
    us talwar se phir tab ta jung ladi jaati thi
    jab tak talwar fatkar gir na jaaye

    us zamane mai kisi ban rahe makaan se pathar chura kar
    pithoo banae jaate the
    dus dus rupay ikhathe karke ball lane ke jugad kie jaate the

    jis zamane mai yaar bina matlab banaye jaate the
    jis zamane mai daakia bankar love letter idhar se udhar pohanchaye jaate the
    jis zamane mai be fizul class mai zoro se gaane gaate the
    jis zamane mai ground ka period lagte hi bina pankhon ke udne lag jaate the

    ©703hardik

  • 703hardik 1w

    Zamane part 1
    #nostalgia

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    Zamane

    chalo baatien kare us zamane ki
    jab dard hone par seedha ro dia karte the
    jab koi shaukh nhi tha sakht banne ka
    jab masoomiyat hi ek lauta chehra tha

    chalo baatien kare us zamane ki
    jab ghadi ki sabse chhoti sui ko hilta dekhne ke liye
    dair tak uske aage baithe rehte the

    us zamane ki sardiyaan bhi rui ki razaai mai beet jaati thi
    aur fur wali kamble bag mai band palang mai padi rehti thi
    jis zamane mai light jaane par padosiyon ke generator ka shor
    poori gali ko sunta tha


    ©703hardik

  • accalias_memoirs 1w

    Nostalgia

    It is funny how the lyrics of an old song that you used to like, takes you to places that you can no longer visit in reality.
    But you swear that the memories that are tethered to that song are as fresh as the cut from your bruised knee, which you got just yesterday when you slipped and fell down the stairs in a hurry to get to work on time.
    You feel a slight pang of pain in your knee that takes you back to that time when you were just a child, and you got thrown off of your bicycle when you scraped that very same knee. The pain was much worse, and you cried a river. But the pain was soon forgotten when Amma wiped away your teers and kissed you cheeks and later scolded your bicycle for being responsible for the accident. It also helped when there were chocolates given to the poor victim that I were and what really made my day was getting the chance to sleep next to Ammumma that night.
    She wrapped me in her soft squishy arms, telling me stories about the naughty little Krishna. On her second retell on my demand, I think I dozed off because I could feel the scent of her talcum through her mundu each time I took a breath in and breathed out at her chest.
    My eyes suddenly start watering up on the thought of missing my grandmother. It has been a while since I saw her and I wish I could teleport right this second to Ammumma's and lay down next to her demanding her to tell me one of those thousand stories that she has already told me as a child. I then think of Amma as a child and how she used to tell me about her Grandmother telling her stories, teaching her prayers and also how she taught Amma to cook. My great grandmother passed on her art of cooking onto my mother. Everybody says that my mother makes the best food that they have ever tasted and I wonder in which millenia would I ever learn to match her cullinary skills. I also then wonder if I would ever be half a good mother as she is, to my own children.
    Then I cry some more and later smile, thinking about the fact that a few lines of a song that I once liked, took me on a joyride down my most cherished memories and reminded me that everything and everybody in our lives are connected in our memory palace which we often visit until we really just cannot someday. We named the power of going back in time, a small word called nostalgia.
    ©accalias_m
    emoirs

  • bhavti 1w

    इतने ख्वाब सजाए थे जिसके,
    वो खुद ख्वाब सी निकल गई।
    अब क्या ही बताएं हम, कि
    हमारी बारहवीं कैसी गई…

    सुना फिक्र सभी कर रहे हैं,
    कहो शिकायतें किसे सुनाएं?
    कुछ मुफ्त मिल रहा है कहते हो..
    जो छूट गया, वो कहां से लाएं?

    सबसे रोशन होना था जिसे,
    साल वही सबसे अंधेरा था ।
    याद भी नहीं आखिरी बार,
    यारों ने किस बात पर छेड़ा था…

    क्या पता था वो समोसे, वो मोमोज,
    वो साथी फिर नहीं मिलेंगे,
    उस घास पर फुटबॉल नहीं फिसलेगी,
    वहां ऊंचे छक्के फिर नही लगेंगे..

    हमें भी तो बचपन से,
    टीचर्स डे का खुमार था।
    खोया वो दिन भी है हमने, जो
    सबसे अज़ीजों में शुमार था।

    काश हमारा हक,वो ठहाके,
    वो मस्ती हमें लौटाए कोई….
    काश यादों की अलमारी में,
    न फिर मोबाइल सजाए कोई..

    मत कुरेदो ना जख्म हमारे,
    न पूछो फेयरवेल कैसी रही…
    इस से ज्यादा अब क्या बताएं,
    कि हमारी बारहवीं कैसी गई...

    ©bhavti

  • iruturaj 1w

    Petrichor

    The first rain of the season brings out memories of the last season maybe that's why we like to get drenched in the first rainfall. It's like drenching in memories and that aroma of fresh wet soil is like the presence of the person with whom you spent those days. It's beautiful as what you do is, just stand by open arms and hug your past self to get healed
    ©iruturaj

  • d33_with_f33lings 2w

    NOSTALGIA

    We don't get to understand how precious some moments are until they become memories.
    ©d33_with_f33lings

  • soliquince 2w

    Call that the Soul, pt. 1

    Inside the eyes of the one you love the most;
    the craft turned to style from hours, I'll give a toast.
    To what can't be seen but drives the hands of artists,
    from newly started or departed.
    Newlyweds the first night,
    a mother's child seeing stars for the first time.
    The calm that settles through every brushstroke,
    and that nostalgia of fresh rain on concrete
    on your home street.
    Whistling Robin Hood, having it memorized off the TV.
    I call that the soul.
    Head rocking with no
    music, bopping along;
    fingers tapping a song,
    singing into a spatula
    like a microphone.
    Not even hitting the right notes,
    but it feels alright;
    seelf taught, fixing your bike,
    Grease on spokes, knees hit the curb.
    But you've had worse,
    or so your friends have been told.
    First girl who's hand you'd hold,
    after, feeling 95 years old.
    Grandma's home cooked ribs filling your nose,
    feeling of love in your heart for those
    who feel the same kinda way.
    Both you and they know
    and you kinda choke up.
    Well I call that the soul.
    ©soliquince

  • atokenofthought 3w

    Summer dairy

    Most of my summer nights,
    Are filled with nostalgia.
    I can barely sleep,
    My thoughts are diverse.
    My mind is chaotic,
    My heart felt heavy at some point.
    Most of my summer nights,
    Are full of nostalgic people.
    ©atokenofthought

  • nidhipinkz 3w

    Foggy breeze and cool chills alluring the beauty of mother nature.
    ©nidhipinkz