84 posts
  • away_with_words 10w

    @writersnetwork @murryben @mirakee #ceesreposts #pod #rambling #alphabet #alliteration #wordplay

    Aiming alliteration
    allegorical admissions
    Artfully aired, anyway.
    See, spoken thoughts
    are vocal shots
    Itemized inoculations;
    cancerous cures.

    Its apparent

    This epoch is errant.

    Unbroken, the
    surround - sound silence
    Dolby - deafened us.
    But it won't defeat us.
    'Cause just beyond that blankness
    Deeper than words' absence
    There’s something
    Both beastly and beautiful.

    Cause its crazy how
    Countless clowns
    Kept keeping what’s killing them.
    Craven creators,
    Cursed carriers of chaos,
    crisis and loss.
    Caterers of crazy plots
    and cunning thoughts.
    Deeming the demon
    of forgetfulness forgot.
    Finding he'll forever
    face them down if he did not.

    Those goons got greedy
    while the getting was good.
    Half time they're hailed as heroes
    the rest, they're understood.
    Only with iota'd inkling;
    they'd possess it if they could;
    for then they'd know it's value;
    speak of it as they should.

    Put to the test
    they're without rest
    and in defense,
    their bated breaths
    paint poor protests.
    leaving laments laying layered
    like lead-laced leaves.
    their lead-lined leaps
    can't scale that steep.
    The glut of grievances'
    now nearly 10 feet deep.

    Witness weary missives,
    words weaved
    all wet and witless.
    Putting truth on trial,
    with liars as witness
    Finding failure, not fitness.
    They are assailant and victim.
    Somehow, still blind to these
    same old self-made games.
    Played self on self:
    and self-reflection
    no one else

    Ergo, their ego doubles down,
    stifling inner self's shout.
    'Til they forget how its brought
    from inside, out.
    Kept somewhere down south.
    Not the "self" ego plays;
    That one's foolish to keep around
    I mean the "self" that stays hidden
    Like a gem, 'till its found

    Read More

    Aiming alliteration
    allegorical admissions
    Artfully aired, anyway.
    See, spoken thoughts
    are vocal shots
    Itemized inoculations;
    cancerous cures.

    Its apparent

    This epoch is errant.


    Put to the test
    they're without rest
    and in defense,
    their bated breaths
    paint poor protests.
    leaving laments laying layered
    like lead-laced leaves.
    their lead-lined leaps
    can't scale that steep.
    The glut of grievances'
    now nearly 10 feet deep.

    Witness weary missives,
    words weaved
    all wet and witless.
    Putting truth on trial,
    with liars as witness
    Finding failure, not fitness.
    They are assailant and victim.
    Somehow, still blind to these
    same old self-made games.
    Played self on self:
    Themselves, and self-reflection
    no one else


  • starkanonymous 17w

    mental ambiguity

    I hate counting days
    till my head's back on straight
    searching for ways
    to channel this hate
    betraying the channel
    I tune in too late
    the panic attacks
    I cannot abate
    reality thins
    my thinking goes gray
    my vision is tunneled
    I can't look away
    from all of my troubles
    my doubts holding sway
    my conscience is battled
    I need clarity
    distance withholding
    the time of my truth
    the further I'm getting
    away from my use
    my using bloodletting
    the demons of youth
    the cancer I'm fretting
    my constant abuse
    the pain getting stronger
    I'm killing it back
    my will shrinking smaller
    each time I attack
    to answer the caller
    I commit the act
    and further the faller
    into the black

    (All Rights Reserved)

  • taltos 31w


    The audacity of wanting a heart to stay put on one emotion, when stagnancy is a defeat?

  • spicy_sugar 37w


    When you are listening to a song, what will be your thoughts? Is it only me, who thinks about the writer? Pondering on what he went through, how he put it in words. Dissecting the lyrics, like it's the writer's brain. Caressing those exact words with your tongue and lips, thinking what they sound like on the writer's lips. Thinking about the depth of words and how deep his/her voice would sound.

    I was listening to this song, "Beyhadh" on loop, and couldn't help but think about the writer. "dhadkan ko jisne jeena sikhaya," this is one of the lyrics that hit me hard. I wonder how deep is their love to write something so deep. Or is it just a line?

    But there are these few songs, which wreaks havoc stirring the almost dead memories. They will not let you forget the things you try so hard to forget. It is almost like the writer doesn't want you to forget. Like they are a special angel that belongs to your past that lingers around to remind you what you were. Like this song, Arcade, "Loving you is a losing game. How many pennies in the slot? Giving us up didn't take long. I saw the end 'fore it has begun."

    And, then, there will be few songs. With lines, you wanted to write but couldn't. Something you desperately wanted to say but couldn't. Something you dreaded to write, but they did, taking words right from. the center of your heart. Humming the melody of melancholy, like this song of Billie Eilish, "Quiet when I'm comin' home and I'm on my own
    I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that" or this song by Ashe, "Talking with my mother
    She said, "Where'd you find this guy?"
    Said, some people fall in love
    With the wrong people sometimes
    Some mistakes get made
    That's alright, that's okay
    ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ
    ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ɪɴ ᴘᴀɪɴ
    Some mistakes get made
    That's alright, that's okay
    In the end, it's better for me
    That's the moral of the story."

    //Songs can heal and they can also break. It's all our choice. And I chose the second one.//


    P. S- the lines in the quotation marks are lyrics from songs Beyhadh, Arcade, When the party's over, Moral of the story, in order of mention.

    P. P. S - I suddenly remembered why I stopped writing in Mirakee back then :/

    #temporary #songwriters #behindthelyrics

    Read More


  • charybdis 45w

    Dreamy Nightmare

    I paint his picture in my head
    His stare clawed at my heart
    Seeped into my soul
    Then alas, burned in a rampage.

    I laugh.

    Even the fantasy I conjured,
    Managed to make me spell-bound.

    It's probably because
    It's him.


  • acidophalous 52w

    Asylum Ramblings

    Eats at my mind
    As I try to find
    That must be the difference
    Between you and I
    You contemplate how to live
    I contemplate if I'm alive
    Which has made me so combative
    Just to survive
    In this state of limbo that I'm stuck in
    I carve into the stone wall
    'I am nothing.
    That is all.

    -acidophalous aka "mg"

  • fleeing_fossil 61w

    - Advita

  • qaynaat 61w

    What my Daughter Asks Me~•*

    I am expected today to draw something amazing
    to the prompt 'isolation' to the equally amazing year's one autumn's exciting Inktober challenge

    These are artistic challenges to keep the art
    pumping- blowing red- in our artistic veins- to inculcate in artists the true value that, art- is not an exercise in only robust inspiration, imagination,
    desperation, and rush of force of feelings, but also- simple and old, and plain and gold, good old faculty- discipline; and believe me, I fall in line with it all too well too- for haven't I heard it all too well too- too many times from father in fact-

    Also believe me when I say this- I have the most imganitive interpretation of 'isolation- the prompt' planned in my mind- it is the first thought that had popped in my mind, and it's beyond a perfect you can imagine, and for that, I am pretty proud of myself today too-

    Come, think, think with me- let's find out if you can guess it too- what is- come on, what is the most faultless- creased it is- like full and turgid with soft folds as there are on satin- The running- complete- ultimate absolute- fire breathing- living like bloom- isolated chamber-? Think, think, my loves!
    It's the mother's fleshy and bloodied womb---

    With a foetus in it-
    So as I was prepping to shape it, I kept imagining the colors that'd go for it- all reds, and corals, and oranges, and flared flushes,- very much like this autumn that is now that time of the year.

    And know what-? Let me ask you, rather. What is an another thing that is as flashing and flared as this same autumn as you and I are, with the scenery-? Let me tell you-
    It's a fire.

    So now you ask me, where is this fire-? I tell you, it's on a pyre. And you ask, where is that pyre?- That we do not know. And we cannot know.

    For it is in the farthest hell hole of some grubby pathetic village- in a point of time unclear- fixated as the very eye in a nebula of venomous gases soaring from the pyre- such as an unnamed, deciduous autumn dawn without no dates on them- and it's northwards like the Sailor's Star is from us- I mean, it's really that far actually- you couldn't for the life of you, grasp all the facts were they provided to you.

    By the way, it's in a girl's corpse- a mutilated girl's corpse, to be correct- of a little Dalit girl- yeah, little too,- for how much could have a young, meagerly village girl of 19 seen and known of the world experience, so anyway-

    "But, the Dalits, right-?!!"
    Those scavenging, obscene Dalits-!! Whoever would need to know about them, really-!- About a singular Dalit girl that is, who is also dead now, who was raped before she was dead- or gang raped before she was dead- a veterinarian was gang raped before she was dead- that was last year- Nirbhaya was gang raped before she was dead- it was many years before that- and-
    Ah well, Asifa-?!!- She was dead too, but raped or gang- raped, I forget. She was just a child- really,- just so small, you tend to forget all about her.
    For many years have rolled now, as many years will roll again. I just remember she had wandered off somewhere while leaving home to bring back few grazing horses,
    as the Dalit girl burnt on the pyre now had gone to the fields to just cut some grass- for that might be what Dalits do- cut grass when the sun shines in the daytime- yeah the daytime when there's the broad daylight-
    in the broad daylight, in the fresh crackle of the cut grass, in the shadow of the standing grasses all fashioned upwards towards heaven-
    a woman can be mutilated beyond shape and identification- her bodyshyness can itself be twisted out of all configurations- demanding- no separating by brute force- it's possible, understanding, patience, dumbassness, and amicable cooperation from her even as she spills with disgust, fear, scalding panic and ache-
    "But it was only a Dalit girl."
    Only a Dalit girl of only 19-
    Only a Dalit girl of only 19 who was only raped- oh only gang raped- while only working in the fields- and only dead now- and only lodged on an illegitimate pyre- and only incinerated unto cinders- and only- is entirely removed now from the history of rape-
    "So you really have to let such thoughts fall, you know"
    And concentrate more on what's works out with yourself-

    So okay alright, I'd do that---
    Only the thought appeared again
    The blazing of a pyre - equal- to the blazing in an autumn dawn- a nebulous unnamed autumn dawn for the scenery, to be correct- in the foreground, sentries, and sentry- beaten, a wretched father- hapless- in each their eyes- government pressurised- to quickly dispose off a corpse- because it's best to bury all signs of a crime- at the first wake of dawn- pointing towards all your bureaucratic inadequacies- which by the way didn't exist in the first place anyway- even though only on a dead- Urghhhh!-
    and- burns- burns- burns- the same colors in her pyre-

    as would burn in the womb of the woman soon to give birth in my illustration for the prompt 'isolation- the prompt' drawn in artistic imaginative thought- not fervour, really- for Inktober

    So that's how it goes. My mind getting all meddled up in things I read and I saw somewhere. For a while I decide, I'll really attach the two ideas, and draw a burning pyre inside the woman's womb-
    "This idea makes perfect sense in the wake of this time and hour, doesn't it-?!
    This must be a girl child-!"

    "But not father, it makes perfect sense too, if it is also a boy child-" And I do not say this philosophically, spiritually, or overcome overly by emotion-
    It's just this time- this time when all- is already so cold, stale, long dead, and gone---


    So the black butterfly as sweet as a hummingbird you had seen this morning floating like an puppet against the crystal blue of the hour- velvety, and just so plush dear Lord,- was really the night from her high skies. She had sprung from the heights, yes she did- pirouetting earth-bound- flaking like winter snow- come early this year- so we shall have no seasons anymore

    Neither shall we have nights ofcourse. And the wild orange one you had seen flitting from floret to floret on the sky-high Arecanut, was the sun. It has dissipated too- with this excuse and that- for the greatest excuse with the largest heart- the most agreeable of all human excuses for a fall- Oh! The sweet excuse of love-! And upon what for it to fall-?? But upon our very own- cuckoo Arecanut-

    So now we shall neither have days and trees anymore.
    And what is all this, you reckon, but not signs of a quitting-?! When nature has given up on nature altogether, and gone straight to its own doom, alright,- but gone- that's where it intends to be gone at! That the sun has given up on us at last-

    And all for this Dalit girl's father in whose eyes sparkled the last traces of the fire of the pyre of the mutilated gang- raped dead body of his 19 year old young tender small and little happy daughter

    under government pressure in the presence of the protection- providing sentries, and the same sentries who kicked him, and charged him, and beat his chest to pulp indeed, seizing from him and his family, the remnants of the mutilated gang- raped dead body of his 19 year old young tender small and little happy daughter

    But they were Dalits-
    They were only Dalits-
    And they were only poverty- stricken dying Dalits.
    And they have been handsomely compensated now with the fattest amount of lakhs and lakhs-
    And the government is really a giving one- like love is- like the sun was-! But in the first face of the sun again, that her disfigured corpse had to be burnt-

    And it wasn't so nebulous too afterall, you know- her father and the sentries from the beginning till the end had seen it all-

    It was much a secret though- even the shadows were hushed the hour- there can no shadows be allowed- in the premises of a young body being cremated in covenance-
    So all the shadows that were to be, were lapped by the burning logs. Know what, there were no logs too in fact - we shall not have logs too in fact. It was all fragrant
    Sandalwood. In a cremation ceremony a Dalit family could never have dreamt of having- for Sandalwood is not wood at all, come on,- Sandalwood is above and beyond wood- It is holy, and that's why it is made fragrant by God's hands- that's what Hindutva values have long said-

    burnt in Sandalwood and pure clarified butter shall find rest, and a straight gateway to the heavenly heaven. In fact, would you care about the latest update-? It was not Sandalwood too.
    It was some dark writhing body of elements- like they were really dark and alive- like they were writhing with some very vital zeal- they lashed as shadows, but were more like phalluses: man's stunning erections essentially burning and writhing for the very basic need for sex. It was really just the dawn- an autumn dawn, and not a woman at all, that was violated - an other day.

    And for what had the sun grown so crestfallen, it swung to its chosen death, hanging by our Arecanut-?! But that's how falls a Universe, babe- And everything gets meddled with and mixed up- and her screams and the fires- come in our heads. And when man is sans any manliness---
    You say,
    But why, isn't it the only correct certainty of a broken times-?!

    - isolation.


  • wespadeshere 76w

    A rubberball of stress
    Just a hot mess
    Fingers just a callus
    I'm a marionette
    Papercut and
    Carpet burns
    But made of wood
    Don't I get a break?
    Yank my strings
    Chip the wood
    This encounter's
    Just relentless
    Tearing me a new one
    Left right up and down
    Pull my hair
    To give my brain
    More space to breathe
    But it responds
    Only by expanding
    Grip the paper then
    Shred the sheet!
    Stomp the ground
    Feel the rip!
    Revel in the sound
    Of absolution.


  • anonymousquill 84w

    Ramblings in a Storm

    Today rain sings on the pavements,
    And storm clouds lay seige on the towers
    Of a proud cityscape.
    The grey sky lined with silver lightning
    Does shatter to thunder every so often;
    So does my soul find solace
    In the chill breath of the storm
    Winding in through the windows.
    Break my words out from their prison
    And breathe life into them,
    Find magic in the half-shade light
    Of the dim twilight,
    Under the pall of sable clouds.
    Oh we might spy a few old gods
    Silhouetted against the black
    Lit up as ghostly shapes
    From a distant past.
    Rain oh rain
    Trace your rainbow
    With the purest rays of the setting sun;
    That effused into the imagination;
    Carves everything of gold,
    That we may again find
    The rose tinted glasses
    Of bygone childhoods,
    And find wonder in the mundane
    Once more.


  • chimera_spells 97w

    An impact

    A tiny token of kindness,
    A few words of appreciation,
    Or even a sincere, little smile
    Go a long way
    In making an impact
    On the broken souls,
    Who are trying so hard
    Just to make it through the day...


  • behindanebook 104w

    I still can't forget the words you threw at me..
    Years ago..
    But they're still stuck in my head..
    Why reopen my wounds??
    Why spit acids on them??
    Tell me..
    If it satisfies you..
    Throwing your poison in my heart..
    Every single day..
    They said..
    Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten..
    But why does it feel like it's the exact opposite..
    You didn't forget me..
    But you did what's worse that forgetting..
    You hurt me..

  • veesthoughts 106w

    Bleeding to death from all the pieces I've tried picking up.
    -shattered dreams


  • jynxielynn85 118w

    President dumbass

    Sweetie, I'm not someone you should get advice about guys from.
    I'm head dumbass of the fuckboy victims club, eleven years and counting.


  • parzival776 118w


    Imagine being able to see what other people see. As a society, I believe we'd be able to understand each other better and probably get through a lot of issues together and not arguing with one another out of stubbornness, pride, and anger. As a person, I believe you'd be able to enjoy what another person enjoys more thorough and complete as the other person does. Sharing perspectives and being more open minded can truly do some good and that's what I aim for. Unfortunately, our society doesn't allow some of us to connect in the same ways we want to or need to. Unfortunately, our persona as individuals doesn't allow most of us to seek out this open-mindedness that we so desperately need sometimes. Sometimes, being passive isn't always the best way about things. Sometimes, it gets taken for granted. Being able to pull through that and being able to continue to try and move forward can be difficult. But I have to try.

    (And that's all of our author's latest installment of "What's On Your Mind?" Concluding the "Passivity" segment. Join us tomorrow for another session of "Maybe That's Not On My Mind?" Where we will talk about the perks of being aggressive and how maybe it's time for change. Or perhaps we'll spin off with a "I Don't Have Time For This, Maybe Next Week". It'll probably be next week.)

  • djspooky 120w

    INSPIRED (not actually taken) by Hoziers song sunlight
    I know it's not that good
    #rambling #ramblingsofagayman #mirakee #sunlight #love

    Read More


    I feel it on my skin
    Digging right through me
    The brightness, the heat, the love
    Melting me down to the bone

    Your love is blinding and painful
    But God I need that Sunlight
    And dear God do I need you

  • anonymousquill 124w


    There are times,
    Dark and twisting;
    When the wind-chimes
    Bring me no muse;
    Only the wind blowing;
    No more fairies with some playful ruse.

    There are times,
    Truly frightening;
    When the susurrus of leaves moaning relief–
    On spidery branches moving
    Bring me no more witches to believe;
    When the waves once full of magic;
    Postmen of far shores visiting;
    Are no more than the Moon's conjuring trick.

    And oh love! In thus calamity,
    A lost wish is despairing–
    Praying for serendipity;
    So that unimportant errant thoughts;
    And all my languid rambling,
    Will finally find meaning in these ink blots,
    When the dark realm of a sonorous mind;
    Sparking flint and obsidian glittering;
    Will soften to velvety echoes left behind.

    And once again, everyday
    These sundry occurings;
    Will no longer be tired and gray,
    Even this bland city,
    With its skeletal scaffoldings–
    Will be written glorious in all its nitty gritty.


  • priya_kaur 125w

    I don't have it all together. It's easy to
    make it seem like I do. It's easy to
    paint a smile on this face in the
    morning. The people see what you
    want them to see. Might as well give
    them a good show, right? People
    say it's alright to not be okay, but
    it doesn't always feel that way. So,
    I don't talk about the nights I spend
    reliving the choices I've made and
    where I went wrong. I don't talk
    about the moments I contemplate
    my existence, seeing myself as a
    mere raindrop in an ocean. I just
    do my best to contribute to this
    orchestra we call life, adding my
    voice to the mix and hoping someone
    considers this body a satisfactory
    instrument. That's all anyone can
    really ask you for, right? To do your
    best in spite of the odds? To do your
    best, even if that means you don't
    succeed? I'm doing my best. That
    has to be enough, somehow...


    #rambling @maerth @piece_by_piece @odysseus
    @fireblast_ @keeraa @kosachaya @petrichor_tales
    #ceesreposts @love_whispererr

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    I don't talk about the nights
    I spend reliving the choices
    I've made and where I went
    wrong. I don't talk about the
    moments I contemplate
    my existence, seeing myself
    as a mere raindrop in an


  • neverfinishesastory 127w


    She's closer to her destination
    I'm excited for her
    I feel like I'm
    Wanting to run away
    From someone who may only
    Make me better
    I feel myself getting closer
    To my other half
    Even if he feels we are drifting
    I love him so much
    If only he could see
    Maybe one day he will

  • space90 134w


    My chest been a victim
    to armed burglary
    I got mugged by reality
    And now my soul is worthless see...
    So all I have is this pain on my mind
    And the thoughts on this sheet
    I will never be complete...
    I wake up everyday asking what life means
    Then think what has it given me
    My happiness was chewed away
    By Adam and Eve
    So every day I bite dust and rust until I leave