#restless

285 posts
  • madmans_diary 5w

    He & She

    His mobile phone had a better temperament unlike him , who couldn't stay calm on her texts and calls
    ©madmans_diary

  • tamilselvan_kandan 10w

    Having Someone
    Bearing all the pain with usis a Dream✨but
    Does have a limit and they
    Keep Every flaw aside
    Every mistake we make thrown away✨
    Entering into something deeply
    Restless changing them into something
    They never wish toand changes the
    Hold into a compromise
    Irony is there is a connection without Thread of Love but an Untold Hatred

    ©tamilselvan_kandan

  • kittuhopeful 13w

    Tujh pr sb kuch gawa du kya..!

    Aaj thoda pyaar jata du kya
    Tum mere ho sbko bta du kya..

    Tera hath jo pakad loon m
    Haaye..! Meri jaan gawa du kya..

    Mera kamra bahut udas sa h
    Teri ek tasveer laga du kya..

    Tujhe likhne m din chala gya
    Sochne m raat bita du kya..!!❤️

  • _falguni_ 13w

    And there's nothing about this night that scares me as much as the dark matter inside me. Dark matter, that's born from some primordial black hole.Remnants of a past, I'm unaware of.A souvenir given to me by the universe as a parting gift. A gift, treasured for years.
    It stays dormant inside me like an unopened pandora's box. It tries sipping out bit by bit, leaving me half empty-half full. I keep swinging between feeling everything and feeling nothing at all. Not sure what's worse between the two, to be hollow or to drown.
    Somedays, I open the lid and let it all out. Those days are the most painful and filled with utmost suffering. I pay a cost to take it out. It accepts everything in kind. A thing, a friend,an emotion or a piece of me. Almost anything that meant something to me.
    The dark matter in me is so much alive. It throbs like a living thing inside me.
    Maybe dark matter is just another name for the thing that fuels my body.
    Made from my flesh,
    Living inside me while I die everyday.
    Maybe dark matter is a synonym of that very thing they call it- My heart.
    ©_falguni_

  • mallika10 14w

    An unrealistic dreamer and a restless girl,
    who seeks answer from moon and stars at lonely nights

    ©mallika10

  • kaiotyk 15w

    a ballad of 4:30

    The space heater sings significantly louder than my phone speaker
    which sits under my pillow
    softly whispering into my aching ears:
    a feeling I got once, sitting in the airport
    a knot tied tightly around my stomach;
    tossing what is left of myself to give out on the line, bait and hook
    for any passerby to spot bloodied sleeves and wonder
    if pain really makes the heart grow fonder,
    or if I’d be better off suffocating in someone’s glass case
    gasping for freedom
    like a recycled thrift store buy you know you never needed.
    I’m happiest when I’m anywhere but here
    under the weight of my own sheets, I’m tied down
    cuddled into submission by my own brain trying to eat around the best parts of itself
    as the space heater next to the bed roars
    so do i.
    ©kaiotyk

  • hallgd 18w

    Sleeplessness

    Here I lie unable to sleep.
    There is no noise not even a peep.
    The night is calm the air is warm.
    Yet inside me there is a storm.
    ©hallgd

  • ana_vah 20w

    Knight

    A fitful sleep,
    A restless night,
    Sweat and sheen,
    I wake up to your kisses,
    You're rescuing me
    From a nightmare.
    My white Knight,
    In the restless night,
    Distracting me.
    ©sens_ual_poetry

    9.6.21

  • sillysadar 24w

    A restless stay

    My eyes are barely open
    Whilst my body is as cold as ice
    And my heart feels heavy
    Just a few more steps
    As i walk through the halls
    Leaving a deaf ear to who calls
    And retiring to my room
    As my mind roams through all the thoughts
    Which will soon leave a puddle of tears my pillow will soak up
    But I'll only lay here for a few hours, right?

    Those hours turning into days
    Finding ways to always stay
    Till the seasons changed from winter to summer
    Maybe the sun will change my frown
    Till then I shall stay here as my body aches
    From the pain I've caused myself
    And my eyes now are wide open
    Unable to close them to sleep for a little while
    Whilst my heart is no longer heavy
    But my chest is

    But everything will okay, right?
    Or are all those nights I've told myself it'll be alright a lie?
    Wrapping my reality in my fake delusions
    But isn't that how reality is to some?
    We all become a body in a box buried in the end
    With flowers beside us
    At least we have a pretty moon to look at
    At night when we feel restless
    - Sadar

  • mrspectacular 25w

    THY DEATH IS MY LIFE

    _____________
    A fountain sits in the middle of the park with little fountains surrounding it. The flourescent in its pool makes the water seem glittery. It shines like little crystals have been lodged in it.

    The park bubbles with life, holding an assembly of fun-lovers and tourists. In this myriad of characters is a man with worries too much, he cannot even smile in a place as bubbly as this beautiful and enjoyably saturated area. A man, Donald Wesley, with a salary that cannot pay half of the bills to his name. His hope dwindling like a pendulum. His children wearing clothes so cheap but for which he has to pay an arm and a leg for. His little vehicle, an aged overused sedan whose life appears to be hanging by a thread. The vehicle seems to wish for death. It would go off it on its own accord even right in the middle of the road and would require a lot of time touching a whole lot of connections in its bonnet to get it up and running. Sometimes, he would have to pay to have it towed home while at other times, he would be so unfortunate he would have to push it all the way home himself.

    The fountain flowing with warm water seems too obvious to him, it almost seems it is calling out to him to come over for a drink. For a moment, time stands still and it feels as though the other park visitors have deserted the park all of a sudden and it is just himself and the fountain.

    Rushing at the fountain, he makes to take a plunge in it. The security guards at the park, dressed in white uniforms, grab him just as he is about touchdown in the fountain. They take a stern look at him and seeing a look of desperation in his countenance as he tries to force his way out of their grips, they conclude he is a lunatic and ban him from the park premises. Holding him by the arm as he begs for reasoning, they throw him out of the park.
    He sits there for a while and about a minute later, picks himself up off the tarred ground, wobbles up to where he had parked his car and places himself behind the steering tiringly. He tries to start the car, it stalls for about five minutes but finally starts up and he drives himself home.

    Donald seems unwilling to sleep when he arrives home. He does not want to be stressed either but the episode that occured earlier seems too embarrassing. Sleep seems pretty unimportant to him at the moment, it is not as important as a drink from that fountain he believes would transform his life. In his opinion, such an opportunity may never present itself again so he will have to do all it takes to utilize this one to the fullest.

    He tells no member of his family about the episode, not even his wife but keeps it to himself. All he thinks of is the benefit of drinking of the fountain would do for him and his family, they would be happy again he believes.

    Realizing he has been banned from the park and therefore would not have legal access to the park to earn him a drink from the fountain, he decides to storm the park after it has closed at night. Walking gently and stealthily out of his bedroom by 12:20am in order not to wake his wife up, he picks up his car key. He drives off towards the park speedily.

    Donald, noticing the park is quiet and locked, drives his car a little further away from the park and treks back to the park.

    Getting there he climbs the fence into the park. He hopes no one catches him in the act, surprised at his own desperation. When he is finally inside the park, he takes a deep breath and looks at the fence again, imagining the fact that he would have to climb it again after he is done with his mission-drinking from the fountain.

    'I hope this transforms my life for the better', Donald says just as he is about to stoop for a drink at the fountain. He feels negative and positive at the same time about the act. He begins to drink as much as he can, imagining all the changes he will be expecting from this drink. There the changes begin, he could feel much better about his life.
    Laying on the floor beside the fountain, having filled himself with water, he falls asleep. The sleep seems much better than he has ever had before.
    'Excuse me, sir. Excuse me sir. How did you get here?' the worried voice of a staff of the park rings in Donald's head. 'We are not open for another two hours'
    Donald keeps mute still trying to regain his consciousness of his environment being he is still in sleep mode.
    'What are you doing here sir and why are you wet?', Dr. Triston, the park's manager queries.
    The staff who had been there first explains to the manager that Donald had taken a drink from the fountain.
    The manager, disgruntled, knowing that the park had banned Donald before now orders him kicked out again.
    'I hope this works out just the way I want because this embarrassment is rather too much', he hopes as he picks himself off the ground to his car and drives him. For the first time the car does not stall but he does not notice as he is terribly worried about the wish coming through.
    In joyful realisation of what is happening in his life, he flings the door to his house open, only to see his wife in tears. Confused, he moves towards her to find out the issue but she only weeps more painfully pointing towards the children's bedroom. Eager to understand the reason for her tears, Donald hurries over to the children's bedroom to see his three children lain on the bed.
    In confusion, he turns to go meet his wife again,
    'I'm yet lost', he begins as he removes his clothes. 'Our children are asleep and you are crying. You do know they need enough rest to be strong for us, right?'
    'They are not sleeping....They are dead, Donald.', she screams in painful tears. 'Dead'

    Donald goes back to confirm. Screaming in agony to the high heavens, he holds the cold body of the youngest in his arms. Into his phone enters a message while he is yet weeping, a message from his bank with a credit alert of Six billion dollars staring him in the face. The alert is good news but his children have just been spewed out of life's mouth into death's cold hand. He sees agony standing right beside his joy. He knows not whether to weep or rejoice.
    Pulling his wife close he tries to pacify her,
    'It is okay dear', he begins warmly. 'We will be fine'.
    _________________

    ©mrspectacular

  • mearin18 27w

    Sleep

    Rest is a mystery these days... The hours move way too slow in the morning and excruciatingly fast at night.

  • vikkoo 30w

    You can travel the whole world.
    But planned travels do not make you a gypsy.
    Vacations do not make you a gypsy.
    Weekend getaways do not make you a gypsy.
    Do not insult the brave nomadic tribes, the gypsy nations who live an uncertain, unpredictable life since centuries, struggling, surviving by calling your little trips in between your "settled" lives caged in jobs, rents, salaries, status, your "gypsy" nature.
    If today you were made homeless, your jobs were taken away, your degrees made irrelevant, you wouldn't be visiting your hotel rooms and clicking pictures for your Instagram on your "travels".
    You would be drowning in depression and give up.

  • rhythmic_beats 30w

    All constellations reciting my poetry for you...♥️✨
    What a dream!!!��

    #nighttales #restless #nights #poetry
    #rhythmic_beats #mirakee #writersnetwork

    Read More

    Nights are magical
    When constellations
    Start reciting poetry.
    ©rhythmic_beats

  • rhythmic_beats 30w

    During restless nights
    Moon finds home
    In my poetry.
    ©rhythmic_beats

  • vikkoo 32w

    Like the ocean restless always moving
    Wave upon wave of endless dance
    I hope your soul is always grooving
    With the universe at every chance...
    Most never hear the music
    Lost in the crowd as they are
    Where those who do, do not belong
    But nor does the moon nor every star...
    The purest of joys in this life
    Is to be the only one of a kind
    Whether it's a gypsy heart
    A wild soul or a curious mind...
    ©vs

  • darkness_of_the_sky 33w

    12th March 2021

    I stand here before you,
    Looking at your disapproving gaze.
    It discourages me not,
    For I am longing to be by your side.

    I’m tired of all the fighting,
    Between my bleeding heart,
    My tormented mind,
    Who could come out victorious.

    Winning is difficult on its own,
    Why must man suffer twice?
    Everything hurts,
    Everything has fallen...



    ©darkness_of_the_sky

  • nbtasnim 33w

    Goodnight World

    Written on: 08.03.2021

    The night sky, all dark
    Without any stars,
    Without any sign of light.
    Goodnight world,
    Goodnight.
    A restless night,
    Nightmares crawling out
    From the shadows.
    The nightmare that had occurred,
    That was not an illusion.
    Beads of sweat pouring down,
    But no sign of awakening.
    Countless deaths were faced in the dream,
    The nightmare turned fictional.
    The agony, of dying over and over.
    Hoped, this is the last death,
    Hoped this time, to die.
    But never to wake again,
    To face the brutal world
    Which makes the nightmares seem like
    Beautiful fantasies.
    Goodnight world,
    Hope to, never wake again.
    ©nbtasnim

  • vihana_vyasho 33w

    Someone : Why are you looking very pleased today? I think you spent your day great...Is that so?
    Me : Because I don't know how to expose my pain so I let it out by smiling all day
    ©vihana_vyasho

  • sonal_ 34w

    Irony is you may be an inspiration for others but only you know that you are dead from inside
    -Sonal

  • darkness_of_the_sky 35w

    17 February 2021

    Sweat upon brows
    Heavy aching arms and legs
    But none as weary
    As that of a slaving troubled heart
    ©darkness_of_the_sky