#prose

19044 posts
  • anandbarun 4h

    नयी सोच

    एहसासों के आधुनिक आईने
    क्या कुछ अलग हैं कहते?
    आदि काल से सुनते आये
    जीवन एक शाश्वत मंचन है
    हम सब बस एक किरदार बने
    अंतराल में आदि अंत के
    सफल पात्र सा अभिनय कर लें।
    इस जीवन दर्शन की सीमा में
    तोड़ अधम अहम के बंधन सारे
    परम सत्व का नव अवतार धरें
    अमृत लोक की मानवता के
    निर्बाध गगन, स्वछंद उड़ान भरने।
    इसी बात को नई पीढ़ी ने
    तकनिकी आँखों से है देख रहे
    जीवन को इंटरैक्टिव गेम कहें।
    विज्ञान ने उत्तरोतर त्वरित गति से
    ऐसे अकल्पनीय हैं आयाम गढ़े
    सच कहता हूँ मित्रों मेरे
    कुछ सांकेतिक अपवादों के अलावे
    हम बामुश्किल पिछली पीढ़ी में हैं जी रहे।
    समाजशास्त्र वैज्ञानिक एल्विन टॉफ्लर ने
    परिवर्तन की गति के आधार पे हैं कहे
    हम समय के ऐसे कगार पर हैं खड़े
    कि आने वाला कल न कहीं हमें
    भविष्याघात से विस्मृत कर दे।
    ऊतारें बौद्धिक निष्क्रियता के लबादे
    व अपने सिस्टम को अपग्रेड कर लें
    और जुट जाएँ खुद को री-बूट करने में।
    ©anandbarun

  • we_are_not_beautiful 5h

    Broken
               heart,
                       parchments
                                           bleeding
                                                         blues
    Withering
                   verses
                             as
                                flowers
                                            hues
    I
    wander
                 aimlessly
                                without
                                            clues 


    #readwriteunite #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #mirakeeword #random #thoughts #poem #quote #prose #wod #pod
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

    #pictorial

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    -jayshree..

  • serrated_ink 7h

    ��

    The rose petals in my journal have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now.. Your fragrance is now fading from that jacket of yours, but our memories still stains my soul.. Your imprints left on my heart, gets a little dark at the night time, the giggles, and the smiles, and the tears, and those cries still crawl my ears.. Though I still smile..

    I grew daisies and sunflowers in your heart and watered them all winter only to lose them into the fall season.. The fall of my heart and love.. The fall which once broke me into pieces, and continued that agony till I found my solitude.. That melancholy, engraved into my soul to a depth of self hatred, but then
    I realized..

    Love like silence is sometimes too comforting, especially when you have been subject to chaotic wars in past.. It makes you rethink and relive, reevaluate the reasons of fights and reweave the unreeled soul.. It builds you for yourself, for peace and for satisfaction..

    Love like silence is sometimes collecting the broken pieces and fixing it into more beautiful art piece called life.. The cracks in it resembles your struggles and your failures, and the story of your renaissance..

    #wod #pod #choose #prose #lalawrites #writersnetwork #writersbay #readwriteunite #mirakee #miraquill

    @writersnetwork
    @writersbay
    @readwriteunite
    @miraquill

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    The more my time runs away from you,
    The more I grow,
    Stronger
    And
    Beautiful..

    ©serrated_ink

  • vatsal_ 8h

    Kaagaz ki kashti leke..
    sapno ki basti leke..
    Kahan mai yu chala...

    Yaado ka khandar leke..
    taklifo ka bhawandar leke..
    kaha mai yu chala...

    Chala jaa ra.
    ruk naa paara.
    Zindagi ki dodh me...
    (Acoustic)

  • _kaushiki_ 15h

    the rose petals in my journals have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for few years now.
    perhaps it was the face similar to yours in the crowd, shone by the soft sunlight of the winter,
    or it was the wind which brought letters of memories, hiding them in my hair for me to walk back
    to the farouche daisies we grew together, only this time without any symphony in my cracked voice as i read them
    perhaps, this was why i find my vision blurry, the rose a bright red from the sparkling sea in my eyes
    my heart stays silent in the caesure of my feelings, as my eyes absorb the warmth i feel from your photographs,
    f e e l i n g s, they settle back with the rose to complete it's existence,
    to fill the gaps of the thorns which were missing on its dried pedicel as i live back the days
    and once again keep my journals back in the dark space of my drawers...
    ©_kaushiki_

  • crossroadkid 15h

    Wondrous beautiful powers of love
    May I be changed with the flight of a dove

    Interacting, ill partake with my soul
    May light fill the darkness of stake driven holes

    Healing surmounted the pain left behind
    And led to a path tear filled eyes couldn't't find

    Wondrous ways of the holiest one
    Attacking the thunderous knots that I've spun

    Untangled neatly and set in a row
    Aligning my feet, telling me where to go

    Point in directions I never have seen
    As I deal with reflections of past times unclean

    Together my angels and I, we will fight
    Throughout the loneliest, darkest of night

    No more pretending, its surfaced by now
    If I choose to listen, they will show me how

    Directions of labyrinth courses and paths
    Meant to escort and avoid worldly wraths

    Confusion has lasted akin to a war
    But now I am changed like never before

    #writersnetwork #wordstoliveby #words #writersormirakee #wordart #prose #author #blogger #poet #poets #writerscommunity #wordsmith #writer #writings #writerscommunity #writersnetwork #poets #writers #bibliophile #communityofpoets #booklove #shortpoem #spilledink #micropoetry #wordporn #love #poetess #communityofwriters #writersofindia #poetryisnotdead #poetryporn #bleedink #blogger

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    Internal battle
    ©crossroadkid

  • kennedy_williams 16h

    God's time is the right time
    When he shows up
    You will be first in line.

    ©kennedy_williams

  • vatsal_ 19h

    In search for a soul, not a ghost...

    Not in search for a lost soulmate
    Not in search for a love that will come flying through heaven
    Just in search for a person to become intimate with without a relationship
    A friend, a best friend
    Of any gender, whether society accepts or not
    A person who you want to stay in your life for forever
    Not in search for a prince or princess of my dreams
    Just in a search for a person who will scold me when I am being stupid
    Not in search for a person who will always love me
    But for a person who will get upset and will have a fight with me
    Not in search for a person who can imprint moon and stars for me on earth
    But for a person who will show me the way to be myself

  • vatsal_ 19h

    Roses and a gun
    Pen and a brush
    You and I,
    I was scared
    Still told the truth
    Ready to accept
    Either a glance of acceptance or of disgust
    Told my parents, I am depressed and I want to go to a therapist
    They said, “sorry, we should have known this soon, sure we will go tomorrow”
    Suddenly I heard a bell
    Clock ticking as it was 12
    I realised I was just daydreaming again
    This time not fantasies of killing myself or my family
    But a lost kid who hold his all courage and told the truth
    Not caring if they decline
    The gun will be the way
    But It was just a dream
    And it will never happen in reality
    It’s just me again
    And it always will be

  • the_speccy_outsider 20h

    Love like silence is sometimes too comforting, especially when you have been subject to chaotic wars in past, glimpses of which still find the road towards your memories and knock vehemently. There are some memories that make the past pristine and then there are some that leave a scar.

    There are myriad of fallacies that make you doubt everything. Even though you are amidst your loved ones, in a safe environment, living a healthy lifestyle, still you'll be intimidated by a probability of receiving a call from misfortune. You'll fear death; you'll fear accident or injury; you'll fear disease; you'll fear loss or insolvency; and so on it spirals.

    When cobwebs sit on optimism for too long then it is hard to clean them for their ferociousness is alluring. It beguiles you towards making you feel that there is no destination. That this eternal abyss of doubt is where you belong.

    But the most effective cure there is on a nightmare like this is Love! Pure, genuine and heartfelt love. Love has the power to bring back confidence; to lessen the impact of depression; to heal someone from paining anxiety; to put a smile on a face that had lost happiness; to show hope when all one could feel is melancholia; to stich up a scar that never ceases to bleed.

    Love is often misconstrued on the connotations for romanticism. But love doesn't have any classifications. It can be from parents, siblings, cousins, friends, family, neighbours, colleagues, idols, well-wishers, or even strangers.

    Find love and cherish it, embrace it in every way possible for only love will get you out of everything wrong you find. And it'll cuddle you in its warmth, ensuring you that everything will be alright. Justifying its status as a cure.

    ©the_speccy_outsider

    #choose #prose #roadc #belongc

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    Cure

    I borrowed
    a handful of blue sky
    from my last lover
    and found a tiny cloud
    filled with love
    that rained hope and optimism
    as a cure for
    eradicating the draught of misery

  • arion_nimbus 22h

    #wod #prose I tried my hand at the prompt :)

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    One last time

    I borrowed a handful of sky from my last lover in an attempt to cherish the atmosphere we wince nurtured, relishing in the unfeelingness I became enveloped in. And when I began to suffocate in the loneliness that I appreciated, they returned from the Blue Beyond to remind me of the loan they granted, the debt I owed. Offering their hand to me, they pull me from my nightmarish dream; the pity I was drowning in, and saved me one last time.
    ©arion_nimbus

  • pallavi4 1d

    Memory

    The rose petals in my journal have dried
    Into shades of brown and your photographs
    In my drawers haven’t tasted air in years now
    Yet your presence haunts me like a persistent ghost
    With no plans of leaving just yet.
    The broken shards of my heart have not yet mended ,
    The scars are still fresh and
    The wounds are still healing .

    I hide them , covering them with
    Unbelievable tales of self injury sometimes
    Trying to convince myself that you never were .
    That you never existed .
    That you did not matter.
    And yet every time I do,
    I know deep inside my heart that that will
    never ever be true….
    So deeply ingrained is the pain that you caused me.

    I still feel you like the winter breeze
    That carries a message of destruction
    In its wake, a cold wave of discomfort and distress.
    I still feel numb.
    I still feel like that rose that was ripped
    Apart by its very own thorns just because
    It fell in love with them and decided
    To give them a chance to get close.
    I still feel like the wood aflame in the fireplace —
    Uncomfortable and undervalued.

    In those pictures that I’ve tried to
    Burn a thousand times to discard memories of you ,
    To rid myself of any shreds of you that still lie connected to me …
    I only see failure.
    A failure to be ruthless ,
    To be heartless ,
    To be able to fight back.
    I still feel like a wreck inside and I know
    My insides are still raw.

    It is delinquency yet I feel one never truly
    Forgets someone they once loved
    No matter how much they hurt them .
    Love like water has memory .
    It retains the forms and shapes it was subject to
    No matter how harshly
    And hence resists replacement.
    The heart does not necessarily need
    What it wants. Yet…..
    We cling for unknown reasons
    To the faded memories of a love that we once knew,
    Trying hard to sniff out the fragrance
    From the dried flowers in our diaries
    Just to feel enamoured again ,
    To feel love again
    Only to be left cold and disappointed.

    I don’t want to remember you, yet I do.
    I don’t want to recognise you yet
    I search for your face in a crowd.
    I don’t want to hurt anymore yet
    I keep one hand firmly on the wounds
    So that they don’t heal completely.
    If they were to be repaired somehow
    Then I feel I would lose you once and for all
    And in the process lose myself once again ,
    Get lost in an unknown wilderness
    That I may not be able to find my out of again.
    So I keep you alive in my life,
    In the yellowing pictures that
    I cannot get myself to burn
    And the diaries that still house
    The roses you’d once given me.

    @pallavi4

    23rd of June, 2021

    Pic credit: Pinterest, picture credited to its rightful owner

    #wod #choose #memory #prose @writersnetwork #writerstolli #writersnetwork #miraquill #MirakeeWorld #readwriteunite #thepoetrycommunity #poetry #pod #writerscommunity @miraquill

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    .

  • kennedy_williams 1d

    The difference between the history and the future is that you got to see today
    ©kennedy_williams

  • madinah_writes 1d

    If independence is achieved on a platter of gold,
    The institution of colonialism will remain forever it strong and old.

    Yet, we dream and follow promises complain their fake-interests.
    Everybody was creating the blames,
    Nobody was fixing the problems.

    Long Ago,
    In the African World.
    The old father's the young immediately after sunsets.
    When it was time for storytelling.
    Our folklores, Alo ati Orin ibile.
    Time for entertainment and moral lesson.
    When was the normal in the black society.

    Grandma tell me this!
    Grandma tell me that!
    Grandma tell me why the tortoise have a rough, shelly back?
    Why is the dog a hunter's pet?
    And why is lion the king of the jungle?
    That was so much fun,
    The children would gather under the gaint mango tree.
    Singing historical and cultural songs.
    Alo o! Aloooo!!
    Follows another set of mind blowing riddles.
    Flashing their smiles, showing off their expensive dimples.

    The children would rack their minds to answer grandma's questions.
    Brain cracking, riddle follows.
    Then, as I heard.
    Children would laugh to Grandma's stories and ask brainstorming questions.
    With words of wisdom where everyone could think by themselves.
    So I was told...

    And now, I'm growing.
    To what our life and living has become;
    Like a bird's empty nest, that was once filled with life.
    Now, I stare at the African life of nothingness.
    What I see is failed promises and bloodshed.
    Bokoharam, Herdsmen attack, EndSARS now!
    A dark, starless world in silence.
    As the youth of today cry and seek for the best.
    Hoping for a future that like a fairytale, might never come.

    When the best is traded for selflessness.
    What are we doing?
    Where are we going?
    Who is our tomorrow?
    When today is full of sorrow.
    Are we getting wiser?
    When all we depend on is Google and the internet?
    Fake news, swimming in the air like flies in dirt.
    Are we even blessed?
    When we await betterment from our so called leaders.
    Would there ever be a change or are all these sufferings are permanent?
    Year after year, we await to fill another hungry lion.
    Or have we forsaken the gods of the land?
    Which is which? I need to know.
    What is next, we need to think.
    Why is our tomorrow,
    Laying at the end of the brink?

    War of independence,
    Seen through it's eyes.
    That sees no transformation,
    All in the name of change.
    They change for the post of power that never satisfies them.
    The war of independence is war of death!

    Lasted with several years with thousand souls, dead.
    Dusted and forgotten.
    Women and children,
    Expecting genuine freedom from colonial rule!
    The independence they promised was not real, ungranted.
    Everyone was hungry to sit by the side of the power pot!

    The rich were getting richer and the poor, poorer.
    We were made as a stepping stones for the colonial masters. 
    Those days and still now.
    Independence turned out to be opposite,
    Corruption and injustice.

    © Madinah_Writes


    #Justice #Africa #folklores #mirakee #miraquill #Acienttimes #Yoruba #writersnetwork #Storytelling #prose #poetry #Reality #thoughts #democrasy #politics #politicalpower #writerbay #wriyerscommunity #pod #qod #wod

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    A Struggle For Justice.

    ©madinah_writes

  • the_impeccablebarsha 1d

    The rose petal in my journal have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawer haven't tasted air for years now your vignette parched with the sillage of the last letter you wrote to me clings to my heart. It's been a decade but this mulish heart still clings over the garden of Shoshannah gathering the remaining multitudes to bear my longings.

    An exiguous osmatic fragrance of your licorice flavoured anise breath meanders in the zephyr and passes through my window pane, flicks my tangled curl falling at my face. A myriad of idyllic memories that we spent together plunges into my cenotaphic mind are indomitable. A flash card from a quint bearing your love compels a poet in obscurity to compile sonnets in proclivity.

    The begetting sun in my Manhattan upheaval the lost memories of ours through the twilighted orenda bearing brownish red and disperse the euology of our love passing over the cenotaph built deep in my heart. A frenzied nincompoop lingers around my street with a caricature of a lost euology, may be of his love who was lost in the destructive war.

    It's been a decade when you left me with a promise and a reminiscent of our love growing in my womb to come back. It's been a decade that am left with memories and trademark of our love. With a hope that you would come back before my memories moulder.

    #choose
    #wod
    #prose

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    Before my memories moulder

    Memories are those reminiscence that is moulded in a satin ribbon and parched inside a memorandum deep within a heart which get buried deep inside the heart and goes into a graveyard embellished in an oxalis parched in catafalque.

    ©the_impeccablebarsha

  • madinah_writes 1d

    *A Struggle For Independence*



    If independence is achieved on a platter of gold,
    The institution of colonialism will remain forever it strong and old.

    Yet, we dream and follow promises complain their fake-interests.
    Everybody was creating the blames,
    Nobody was fixing the problems.


    Long Ago,
    In the African World.
    The old father's the young immediately after sunsets.
    It was time for storytelling.
    Time for entertainment and moral lesson.

    Grandma tell me this!
    Grandma tell me that!
    Grandma tell me why the tortoise have a rough, shelly back?
    Why is the dog a hunter's pet?
    And why is lion the king of the jungle?
    That was so much fun,
    The children would gather under the faint mango tree.
    Singing historical and cultural songs.
    Alo o! Aloooo!!
    Follows another set of mind blowing riddles.

    The children would rack their minds to answer grandma's questions.
    Brain cracking, riddle follows.
    Then, as I heard.
    Children would laugh to Grandma's stories and ask brainstorming questions.
    With words of wisdom where everyone could think by themselves.
    So I was told...

    And now, I'm growing.
    To what our life and living has become;
    Like a bird's empty nest, that was once filled with life.
    Now, I stare at the African life of nothingness.
    What I see is failed promises and bloodshed.
    End SARS now! A dark, starless world in silence.
    As the youth of today cry and seek for the best.
    Hoping for a future that like a fairytale, might never come.

    When the best is traded for selflessness.
    What are we doing?
    Where are we going?
    Who is our tomorrow?
    When today is full of sorrow.
    Are we getting wiser?
    When all we depend on is Google and the internet?
    Are we even blessed?
    When we await betterment from our so called leaders.
    Would there ever be a change or all these sufferings are permanent?
    Or have we forsaken the gods of the land?
    Which is which? I need to know.
    What is next, we need to think.
    Why is our tomorrow,
    Laying at the end of the brink?

    War of independence,
    Seen through it's eyes.
    That sees no transformation,
    All in the name of change.
    They change for the post of power that never satisfies them.
    The war of independence is war of death!

    Lasted with several years with thousand souls, dead.
    Dusted and forgotten.
    Women and children,
    Expecting genuine freedom from colonial rule!
    The independence they promised was not real, ungranted.
    Everyone was hungry to sit by the side of the power pot!

    The rich were getting richer and the poor, poorer.
    We were made as a stepping stones for the colonial masters. 
    Those days and still now.
    Independence turned out to be opposite,
    Corruption and injustice.



    ©Madinah_Writes




    #Blackpoetry #Freedom #EndSARS #mirakee #Miraquill #Acienttimes #Africa #Aficanworld #Writersnetwork #Africanstruggles #Independence #Thought #Emotional #sadpoems #reality #prose #writersbay #politics #power #democracy #Blackpoems

    Read More

    A Struggle For Independence

    If independence is achieved on a platter of gold,
    The institution of colonialism will remain forever it strong and old.

    Yet, we dream and follow promises complain their fake-interests.
    Everybody was creating the blames,
    Nobody was fixing the problems.

    Long Ago,
    In the African World.
    The old father's the young immediately after sunsets.
    It was time for storytelling.
    Time for entertainment and moral lesson.

    Grandma tell me this!
    Grandma tell me that!
    Grandma tell me why the tortoise have a rough, shelly back?
    Why is the dog a hunter's pet?
    And why is lion the king of the jungle?
    That was so much fun,
    The children would gather under the faint mango tree.
    Singing historical and cultural songs.
    Alo o! Aloooo!!
    Follows another set of mind blowing riddles.

    The children would rack their minds to answer grandma's questions.
    Brain cracking, riddle follows.
    Then, as I heard.
    Children would laugh to Grandma's stories and ask brainstorming questions.
    With words of wisdom where everyone could think by themselves.
    So I was told...

    And now, I'm growing.
    To what our life and living has become;
    Like a bird's empty nest, that was once filled with life.
    Now, I stare at the African life of nothingness.
    What I see is failed promises and bloodshed.
    End SARS now! A dark, starless world in silence.
    As the youth of today cry and seek for the best.
    Hoping for a future that like a fairytale, might never come.

    When the best is traded for selflessness.
    What are we doing?
    Where are we going?
    Who is our tomorrow?
    When today is full of sorrow.
    Are we getting wiser?
    When all we depend on is Google and the internet?
    Are we even blessed?
    When we await betterment from our so called leaders.
    Would there ever be a change or all these sufferings are permanent?
    Or have we forsaken the gods of the land?
    Which is which? I need to know.
    What is next, we need to think.
    Why is our tomorrow,
    Laying at the end of the brink?

    War of independence,
    Seen through it's eyes.
    That sees no transformation,
    All in the name of change.
    They change for the post of power that never satisfies them.
    The war of independence is war of death!

    Lasted with several years with thousand souls, dead.
    Dusted and forgotten.
    Women and children,
    Expecting genuine freedom from colonial rule!
    The independence they promised was not real, ungranted.
    Everyone was hungry to sit by the side of the power pot!

    The rich were getting richer and the poor, poorer.
    We were made as a stepping stones for the colonial masters. 
    Those days and still now.
    Independence turned out to be opposite,
    Corruption and injustice.
    ©madinah_writes

  • we_are_not_beautiful 1d

    The rose petals in my journal have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now, the once jovial quills, who used to write and chant the metaphors for the gloomy neighbourhood to hear, are now seated quietly, writing the laments of your absence.
    I remember, one day, with the thunderstorms booming in the distance, and when the sky spewed heavy dark clouds, you wrote a song for me, overwhelmed and with a hallow in the pit of my stomach,
    I said, "You're like a fireplace to me."
    I didn't stutter when I said that, because when the storms are louder than my heartbeats, when winters get too cold, and the coffee is no longer waking up the asleep muses deep within me, you cracked like a fireplace beside me, holding me in your arms till the warm figure of speeches waltzed on the parchments. Now the very parchments I once used to call home, are rustling without making any noise, as if avoiding my eyes, ashamed of me to let the words on it fade away, that I let you fade away. I now wonder, what happened to us, and where did we go wrong, the remnants of all the wonderings we did together, are now lost in the void of unanswered questions. The incoherent talks we had, the laughs we had, the caresses we shared, the food we fed each other, the meaningful days, the blooming gardens within us, and our aligned heartbeats, are gone to someplace else, probably where the azure in the sky is, someplace where we are accepted as who we are, someplace where we are accepted as just lovers. Now I hope, with the elegiac droplets of mists on my window, mocking the state I am in right now, that you are holding someone as delicate and as you, and you are cracking and sounding like a fireplace to someone. Though the rose petals have dried, I wish to protect them till my skin is as shrivelled as those, for they have your lingering touch, and the photographs of yours are getting old with me, for that's the only way I can have you for forever. 

    #readwriteunite #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #mirakeeword #random #thoughts #poem #quote #rwu #read #write #words #pod #wod #prose
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

    #choose

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    And the Moon, that is peeking from behind the curtains of my window, will know from the way I'm holding the quill and the grimaces on my face, that I'm writing about you, not a ballad of your presence, but an ode of your absence.


    -jayshree..

  • human_amiga 1d

    #Prose #choose #wod

    The rose petals in my journal have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now.

    I think now it's all over.... completely. The story that we made together have engulfed it's own characters named as love, care, understanding and trust. Even now my eyes are empty, they don't have the blur now.
    Now my cheeks are not stained by the tears that had the need of you. Now my hands and tissues don't get wet because of wiping my tears. Now I can see the day as it is bright, lazy, in my control..

    You said that you don't love me I think now I should do it too. Now I won't try to reach you and now I can relate to the lines of the song in my playlists "NA MERI YE AADATEIN SATAYEGI TUMHE, NA HONGI YE BECHAINIYA MUJHE-TUMHE" but as I promised you'll be always here in translucent shades, somewhere in my memories but it won't hurt me still " KAMI HAI TERI YAHA, KAMI HAI TERI SADA..................MUJHE".

    ©human_amiga

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    Ps: I don't know what exactly I have wrote but I tried to complete today's challenge...

    ( I ALWAYS LOVE TO SUGGEST SONGS TO PEOPLE SO HERE I WANT TO SUGGEST A SONG AS " KAMI HAI BY ABHIN AND TANISH".
    IF YOU ARE MISSING SOMEONE WHO IS NO MORE WITH YOU THEN IT'S FOR YOU")
    ����������������������������������������

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  • madinah_writes 1d

    Staring at the young night sky,

    It seemed as if it was staring back at me.

    As why,

    My mint blue eyes stars back at it again.

    Longing for answers it it's silent questions.

    Why am I mixed up here?

    Why can't I share your smile?

    Why do I wear this clothes of blue?

    Why can't I be with you instead of being above you?

    I stared back again and again,

    Listening in silence.

    I wear off my clothes like fading scars.

    I'm scared of living like a aliens from the blue Mars.

    Why do I have to change,

    From baby blue to peacock blue,

    Then to electric and navy blue.

    Why do this sky blue drastically changes to Colbert blue and then Royal and midnight blue?

    Then, my mint blue eyes couraged to to to ask.

    How can a tiny girl like me help you?

    Blue sky, what is it you want?

    It sent a whisper, that made me shiver.

    I want to be sweet and cute, I want to be as bright and colour as you.

    Sing me a lovely poem,

    An let me bless you with all my magical whelm.


    #Blue #Sky #Girl #Poetry #Pod #Mirakee #Miraquill #Alone #thoughts #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #prose #sadpoems

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    The Blue Sky

    Blue sky, what is it you want?

    It sent a whisper, that made me shiver.

    I want to be sweet and cute, I want to be as bright and colour as you.

    Sing me a lovely poem,

    An let me bless you with all my magical whelm.
    ©madinah_writes

  • somdeb27 1d

    Till the end

    Last January we met;
    Lets not make it fade;
    The way we came across;
    The way we prattled,the kiss everything we did;
    Were like over the moon
    Not gonna forget soon;till the end.
    It’s the pledge we keep; till the end;
    We believe.
    ©somdeb27