1031 posts
  • the_ambivert_uzma 4d


    The vagabond star is returning
    After being in chaotic arbitration
    Entering the mundane orbit again
    To see either it could bring solace
    Which will let it sit in eternal peace

  • the_ambivert_uzma 5d

    Life is hurling the same stones
    Before, that crushed my bones
    Unable to controll the whims
    Mind is suffocated to its brim

  • captainfatimahabiba 43w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod @writersnetwork @mirakee

    1 : the highest point capable of being attained : acme

    2 : the most profound degree of a quality or state

    Writing is a miracle born out of some accident, once you start doing it, then it begins to happen later.
    Despite of the very tough routine , I cannot keep myself apart from playing with words... bear me

    Read More

    Ne plus ultra

    Sitting in the lap of my mother
    I wished if I could walk like others
    I began to walk and take the steps
    Also my wish got to move ahead
    I couldn't enjoy the warmth of wool
    Watching siblings, wished for school
    Caught the speed then, wish trade
    Struggle for decade for good grades
    Rivaling class fellows to be the proctor
    Pursuing the career, aimed for doctor
    Wishes so far kept on getting fulfilled
    Instead to stop, it aggravated the drill
    Holding the degree, began to sob
    When would I get a marvelous job
    Time passed with the length of week
    An interview call and I was to seek,
    A post that all my peers would admire
    Only this much wasn't the thing entire
    It began to rain coins in my bank account
    Stars that the couples on riverbank count
    Was the next wish to bloom in heart
    What has been in mind, it was apart
    This too came true and over was wait
    With elders' consent, chosen was mate
    Year flew with echoes of laughter
    Wished and born to us, a daughter
    Until then making wish became a habit
    Which kept on swirling my mind, static
    Relations one can, but habit, he can't shun
    Next of the wish was to parent a son
    Till so far my daughter had grown
    She's to nurture with seeds I'd sown
    Previously for self, and now for her
    Circle restarted for a person another
    Same whatever I'd ever wished for
    Name, fame, love, money and power
    Once I'd harvested, for the time once again
    Planted the roots and another crop began
    Life is an ocean with breaths as wave
    Only it stops when the edge is grave
    NE PLUS ULTRA is though a treasure,
    buried for alive
    In depth of death, the seeker is required
    to dive
    © captainfatimahabiba


  • dos_writes 46w

    Kọ́ wa bí a ti ń kaye ọjọ́ wa dáradára, kí àwa ba à lè fi ọkàn wa sípa ọgbọ́n. psalm 90 vs 12 (Yorùbá)

    So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

    365 days marks a new chapter in a man's life, it marks an additional year to our years on earth as well as a year closer to the grave, so always appreciate and celebrate the moments you get to relieve this special day


  • captainfatimahabiba 49w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite
    @writersnetwork @mirakee
    Submitting under #cees_dsm_chall by the recently entitled captain of the ship we are sailing on����❤

    »» There's someone in my head but it's not me , from challenged piece

    »» "for the reason unknown" is an expression (symbolizing #absurdity ) from Samuel Beckett's play, WAITING FOR GODOT

    Read More


    Once in a month, week or day
    Turns my smile in utter dismay
    Among the crowd, self is alone
    Happens this for the reason unknown
    Discussions with dad carry on
    Evening tea is taken in lawn
    Siblings perform the daily fight
    Until sees mom with glare of fright
    Sun keeps to rise and set in west
    Day consumes in making better, best
    Night too approaches on its turn
    Lunacy in lunar light, more I earn
    Vision leaves mind, eyes deny to see
    There's someone in my head but it's not me
    Not in harmony with whom I think I am
    It exerts a power to make me feel damn
    Brings me into a state, sympathetic
    None can empathize, it's pathetic
    Finding no rescue, anywhere outside
    Finally I return to this enemy inside
    Who is whatever but needs not words
    To listen to my anxiety like this world
    The words I guess it never seeks
    Not only to hear but also to speak
    Thus I vent my anguish loud & clear
    Since it's dumb, secrets too I share
    Eventually it makes me feel like master
    Whose servant only knows to say, yes sir
    So the inside storm remains inside
    Once again I sprout to flourish outside

    © fatima_habiba


  • captainfatimahabiba 50w


    Million's eyes from crowd watch
    A single sight at the stage
    Thinking alas it could be us
    Standing under spotlight's cage

    Million's ears from crowd hear
    A single sound from the stage
    Thinking alas it could be us
    Speaking what's on his page

    Million's nose from crowd sniff
    A single fragrance from the stage
    Thinking alas it could be us
    Wearing perfumes of high wage

    Million's tongue from crowd say
    A single cheer for one on stage
    Thinking alas it could be us
    Posing smiles and not rage

    Million's hands from crowd join
    For single man on the stage
    Thinking alas it could be us
    Deserving applause from every age

    Every sense of each of them
    Seems submerged in something same
    Seeking the universe to conspire
    Same luck as his that earned fame

    Alas they see his present only
    Minding not to mind his past
    Mirroring their future in his present
    Want it all to happen fast

    But it's only he on stage who knows
    The price he paid to stand there
    When his self took him vows
    Rest for a moment, he won't dare

    Sun burns bought him spotlight
    Sweat was price for this fragrance
    Slaps he got to purchase claps
    Scolding bought him appraise

    // Silence bribed the tongues
    to beseech
    And finally earned him the

    © captainfatimahabiba

  • captainfatimahabiba 50w

    Yes I Fall in love to Rise above hatred

    Sometimes it'd been home
    Quarreling with my sisters
    And then I began to roam
    Venting out my inside twister

    Sometimes it'd been school
    Arguing with my fellows
    And then I began to cool
    Diving deep in mind shallow

    Sometimes it'd been college
    Battling the monster of academics
    And then I began to seek knowledge
    Practicing the art of dramatics

    Sometimes it'd been virtual
    Minding one sided claims
    And then I began to see it mutual
    Owing a share in blames

    Still continued is rise and fall
    Moving my life, so still
    Peak is emblematic of downfall
    Zenith arrives again until

    Problems themselves know to fix
    Not in fancy I merely dwell
    If needle of clock comes not down
    for six
    How could it rise to struck the
    twelve ?

    Yeah I fell and I shall fall
    but in love's ocean
    To rise above the thundering
    sky of hatred

    © fatima_habiba

  • captainfatimahabiba 50w

    #colour #mirakee #ceesreposts #raven63 #writersnetwork #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite @mirakee @writersnetwork

    The WHITE takes me into its
    spiritual shelter
    The BLACK fills my occasions
    with elegance
    The VIOLET I prefer but not
    when violent
    The INDIGO , when with trends
    I am to go
    The BLUE enjoys my likeness
    quite true
    The GREEN , my favourite in
    the Natural scenes
    The YELLOW , is seen by tongue
    in mango
    The ORANGE , tickles bud with
    its tangy tinge
    The RED , when anger makes
    the senses dead

    © captainfatimahabiba

    Image credits to the rightful source

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    I am a tale breathing in the
    air of poetry
    Tercets in hues of seven
    rainbow colours
    With black and white serving
    the ends as couplets
    Present the genre of twenty
    three shades of my so far life.
    © captainfatimahabiba

  • reneewolfcrowdenunez 50w

    The heart
    It DOES break..

  • captainfatimahabiba 50w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite @mirakee @writersnetwork

    Modifying my long ago written piece for #poets_pen_for_peace challenge.
    Keep penning, stay peaceful ❤

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    Poets Pen for Peace

    You abuse my art
    You scoff my goal
    It breaks my heart
    It aches my soul
    Money, it may not earn
    Status may not elevate
    Emptiness of mind it burns
    To enter, the devil hesitates
    A thousand logics of utilitarian
    Pockets vomiting out currency
    Can't fancy charms to a librarian
    Whose books ease him in urgency
    Keep this gold, do owe all wealth
    Leave me to my fate
    At end of day, compare the health
    And pleasure whose is mate

    //Though we writers ink few, or
    do we write a thousand piece
    Ink extinguishes the fire of hatred
    Because Poets pen for Peace//


  • captainfatimahabiba 51w


  • captainfatimahabiba 51w

    . purplish dusky sky is an emb-
    lem of the glory & glamour
    wrapped inside tiny stars
    that twinkle as to wink
    the one staring at th-
    em to welcome to
    fancy kingdom
    which Filter$
    wishes &
    makes th-
    em come
    true until
    of dawn.

    © captainfatimahabiba

  • captainfatimahabiba 51w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite @mirakee @writersnetwork

    It was going to be a year since her surname switched from father's to her husband's and both were spending the best days where she was particularly blessed with ignorance.
    The couple performed a ritual on every Wednesday (the day they wedded) where she sung him a self written lovely narration and he praised her with clap and kiss. Not single time she missed to recall the time when she hesitated to marry a businessman who is straight in his matters while she used to swirl in swings of her words and poetry and her mother got her agreed by saying that

    //MIRACLES do happen in the world we live, my sweetheart and she surrendered before the argument.
    Who knows it's not the writer always who sees the fiction as a probable fact.//

    But she had begun to believe in miracles when she used to hear the applause and appraisal of her husband when she chanted the verses of sonnets.

    //To be loved is good
    To be respected, better
    and the best is to be understood, she thought with a puff of gratitude.//

    This Wednesday was going to be celebrated in lieu of their first wedding and anniversary and she could be seen breathing a blended air of panic and pleasure for she wanted to make the celebration somewhat special.
    The black of sky turned into blue and with the hit of tik of clock, the couple opened the eyes into the second year of their married life. Both greeted each other on the breakfast table and before leaving for office since business knows nothing but profit, he enquired if she had some plans to celebrate at home to which she replied ,

    "Yes darling you will probably be having the best Piece , tonight."

    She had been composing a poetic tale in which she tried to embed the beads of the memories they made together so far. Blue sky turned into sunny gold while she was sitting on the table with her fingers automatically moving on the paper until it was afternoon when she marked the full stop. She hurried to the kitchen to have something ready for dinner as well and therefore after putting chicken inside the oven, she rushed to the dressing room to ornament her beauty.

    Finally the wait was over and the door opened welcoming the arrived husband with bouquet.
    With no more further delay, she uncovered the dishes and served him a platter and began to sing the #surprise_piece . He was totally submerged and she was quite happy watching him enjoying with such calmness, smile and silence. It got over with the length of half an hour and she could not wait any longer to hear the response when he hold her in arms to cut the cake saying,

    " You speak the truth my darling, it surely was the best, I cannot estimate worth of your fingers who seem to owe the magic, the entire was good but I will never forget the taste of that #LEG_PIECE that was the centre of taste and flavour, you cook the best."

    and then he cut the cake with her hands in his which she could sense as knife moving on her vein. He cut a slice and took to her mouth which whispered with her eyes having a question
    "but those kisses and ....??" to which he replied
    " oh yes my dear , how can I ignore the beauty of your lips that tempt me every Wednesday."

    "That day the voice of her mother saying MIRACLES echoed back to her as #MISHAPS do happen in the world we live, my dear"
    Disillusionment brings the tragic implications and what else could be more tragic for a writer whose #LITERARY_PIECE has been a badly failed rival of some #CHICKEN_PIECE."

    //to be hated is bad
    to be disgusted is worse
    but the worst is when you misunderstand and misunderstood, she thought for the last time, heaving a sigh of compromise.//


    Read More

    The Piece

    Strings of her heart,
    tugged with his brain
    //She is Poetry,
    finds escape in fiction.
    He is Prose, so
    straight in diction.//
    © captainfatimahabiba

  • captainfatimahabiba 51w


    I write
    to recall my past
    to preserve my present
    to dream my future

    I write
    to celebrate victory
    to mourn the failure
    to stay motivated

    I write
    to acknowledge the best
    to criticize the worst
    to record my protest

    I write
    to win the art
    to never lose hope
    to carry on

    I write
    to feed my strength
    to starve my fears
    to stay light

    I write

    //to exercise my RIGHT to WRITE what is RIGHT.//


  • captainfatimahabiba 51w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite

    It's around 23 times by now since 9-11-1996 that I've experienced the frosted dew of December, that I've seen the blooms of April, that I've tried to squeeze the long days of blazing June with the tang of mangoes and that I've stimulated my auditory canal by walking on the crumbled dry amber leaves of October.

    Throughout this life so far, I have been developed and devastated periodically and with a certain clicks of transformation, by now I stand with multitude of emotions and points of view.
    Many came, much happened a lot I did to consume myself that owes almost an equivalent proportion of good, bad and average. But somewhere something remained constant with variable someones that the introduction made me sit on the chair of
    Y ( a person who is centre of
    O attention or talk).
    E , and the imagination bee created a massive comb in heart that dripped the drops of expectations but which hasn't lasted for so long and the reality hunted and chopped it down causing,
    (Sudden end of O
    contact with S
    someone without T
    any explanation)' I
    G. But it's not the end since every ending is a new beginning and so is continued here. Though this breathing monument of 5.4 ft has reached its final size and the construction is over but yet not the process of renovation!

    // Inside me, there is situated a colossal museum with the memories hung on its walls that echo whatever has been mine once, the laughters, the sobs, the applause, the condolences and the still continued expectations, plans and dreams. //

    Various entities like family, friends and fellows kept on switching the ears to my voice and my gratitude still accompanies them like a ghost never mind yet it seems that I almost remained wrong in making the right choices until I met my PEN that by listening to me, itself becomes my voice thus truly becoming my
    R (A trusty, honest
    E fellow).

    // My pen is actually another me who records my state to preserve myself.//

    It made me a soldier in the army where pen fights, defends and attacks instead of the sword. It made me an inhabitant of a galaxy of #M_I_R_A_K_E_E that emits the radiating light of
    E (to do something with soul,
    R creativity or love, to put
    A yourself in it).

    © captainfatimahabiba

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    Semi autobiography
    (Read the Caption)
    © captainfatimahabiba

  • captainfatimahabiba 51w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite @mirakee @writersnetwork

    Though I written it months ago but it suits today the most to re-present it under #wwyschallenge by one of my top favorites, no other than the love bird @shegram �������� , do give it a try to contribute in spreading verbal peace at least��.... here's my humble entry

    Neither I was Pakistani nor
    I was an Indian
    Since the start, till the end;
    I was & will be Sapien
    What use of that Reason
    if brings it not the peace
    War gave glory momently,
    not for good to Greece
    Think we far, plan we huge and
    know we not the truth
    When,Where,How the eyes shall
    close & body gone crude
    For the reason unknown,
    our Globe is burning
    Is all that hatred our
    advancement's earning?

    Image credits to the rightful source

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  • captainfatimahabiba 51w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite @mirakee @writersnetwork

    One shouldn't be recognizing an artist merely through the lenses of paints, colours, brushes, swirling the lines to draw some painting or twisting the words to produce a rhyming philosophy or performing some stunning stunt in front of camera or uttering the borrowed words on stage or something beyond or back the scene.

    Rather it needs to be cross introspective in order to plant every plant of the garden named, ART.

    //at first it's not something to be learned, acquired or taught but inherited, it is breathed in our breaths. //

    >>A new born baby is an artist in his own unique way, his single art of #crying to get him everything.
    >>A toddler's art of random #babbling surpasses the art of mature oration for being so pure so cute so natural.
    >>An infant's art of #discovery opens to him the doors of immeasurable joy.
    >>A kid's art of making innocent #excuses unfolds the ways to get escaped.
    >>A teenager's art to #feel is the beauty of youth indeed.

    //but then inheritance begins to get replaced by earning the learning...//

    When ,
    » » a girl begins to learn the art of #hiding fears.
    » » and a boy learns the art to #overcome his.
    » »a woman begins to learn the art of #comprising her wishes.
    » »and a man to #adjust his needs.

    and it continues by preaching and practising and empathizing various arts of life that one finally learns the #art_to_live but the bell rings and the chapter and class gets over forever.

    //Life is too short to live.
    So stop judging and start appreciating.
    Being artists we can never be perfect being differently oriented.
    But being heARTists , let's give a collective try to master this art of leading the hearts.//

    © captainfatimahabiba

    Image credits to the rightful source

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  • captainfatimahabiba 52w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite
    @mirakee @writersnetwork

    Perfumed air of Spring
    Ripened crops of summer
    Autumn wearing the gold
    Tales in nights of winters, told

    Mere this is not the life, my dear
    But these are only short breaks
    So that you simply don't quit
    The long struggle continued;

    In cruel April of Spring
    Bearing Summers' scorching Sun
    Listening to scolding scape of Autumn
    In haunting silence of Winters

    Seeing the Sun on Sky,
    Superstars on earth
    Many begin to pray
    To prey the central space

    But how to pity on silly heads
    Who somehow become the center,
    Not of shine of success and gain
    But of sympathy for loss n pain

    Just like that one victory
    One struggles for, taste sweetest
    Failure when fails to end itself,
    Squeezes the utmost bitterness

    Life, we try to cage in words
    Like the poets drip in rhymes
    It's secrecy but flies like birds
    Staying a mystery over times

    // When true nectar one begins to get
    River of life meets bank of death
    With everything yet nothing to show
    When we've learned, we all have to go//

    © captainfatimahabiba

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    When we've learned, we all have to go

    Life, we try to cage in words
    Like the poets drip in rhymes
    Its secrecy but flies like birds
    Staying a mystery over times
    © captainfatimahabiba

  • captainfatimahabiba 52w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite @mirakee @writersnetwork


    O DREAM thy lurking shadow
    Keeps outside serene like meadow
    The moment eyes let you go
    Inside stands a huge tornado

    On your land to one's surprise
    Owes a plot each dumb & wise
    No caste color, no height size
    Fear to fail nor lust for prize

    Flavour distinct in every age
    Enriches soul in body's cage
    Affording your ride bothers not wage
    Worths gold currency an empty page

    O DREAM thy only presence
    Paints despair with holy essence
    Makes death bed Thorne, your experience
    Nights appear bright in your fluorescence
    © captainfatimahabiba


    Vibration of alarm with its disastrous effect earthquaked my still pillow just when the pioneering rays of sun were breaking into my windows like the robbers, keeping an eye on the sleep in my eyes so that they could snatch it off to pour the drops of reality.
    The strength of mind can't be challenged since for Milton, it has the power to make a heaven and hell of its own but when you are on the mercy of your sleep, body cannot resist the attractions and distractions. So with the final hit of doorbell, I woke up after a sleep of 10 hours with an over exhausted body.

    How could a sleeping body be tired?
    In case when mind is awaken in dreams

    Yeah, I too, hadn't been resting for a moment in my dreams for last few nights, with a seldom switch to nightmares when the serene roads of Edinburgh suddenly turned into dusky plains of Nagasaki with a sudden explosion which actually was the pressure cooker on stove my mom put while making breakfast.
    How strange is the connection between the things going on outside and the ones happening inside....sometimes I wonder if one could direct his own dreams by setting the settings around....

    //The best thing about dreaming is delimitation, perhaps. Isn't it more than awesome not to be chained to values or logic, but only what pleases you?//

    Well everyone of us has an outside force influencing our post-dreams state.... my force I mean person for most of the time is my mom.... since she keeps on staring at me regardless of my closed eyes just to vent her silent anguish at my late hour sleep.....until finally her patience ends and my day begins;)
    Since my primary talk is about the dreams so my angle to view my mama rotates with the degree of the dream/nightmate that she wakes me from....

    »I affirm in her being the kindest creature when I find a narrow escape from barking dogs and a chasing dinosaur in her scold that seems the sweetest melody that time which has been able to vanish that haunting scene.

    » but sometimes it about visiting so many places on sponsorship and achieving a scholarship when the loving hug of mom seems like a cruel arrest at the time of one's wedding that turns this leading lady to the cleaning lady:/

    So here's your turn to take the flight to your dreams, to never stop dreaming , keep sleeping, because not everyone is insane like me to keep on dreaming with apparently open eyes:) Good Night Writers��

    © captainfatimahabiba

    Bur I would feel happy to know your experience too;)

    Image credits to the rightful source

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  • captainfatimahabiba 52w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #raven63 #yaminiread #writerstolli #pod #readwriteunite


    Today exercising this right, once again I devoted some moments to dedicate a piece for the one who donated himself for the pedagogical services and has justified truly what a teacher means to be. Groping in the darkness of depression, one finds this evergreen soul to mentor and direct the impulse of change in the right direction. He not only owes skills in teaching literature but what's called a life, each of your student wears a crown of pride and gratitude being a part of your apprenticeship lineage, @shoaibmehmood , loads of PraYerS for you.

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    It rather pauses the time for a
    moment whenever it comes to
    join the letters into words and
    n ce s
    to write for someone who him-
    self masters the art to hold the
    pen & split the ink on the page
    t h a t
    pearls enclosed within the shell
    of fine language that the literary
    ocean engulfs to deepen itself.