23 posts
  • taetae_ 11w

    #miraquill #writersnetwork #pod #wod #growth


    hiding behind sunday church, little slippers making sound in the dead street, where no butterfly dances in merry. in the evening walking through the shores, fish caught into nets show life stuck in death, as if seeing their own life, young hearts get scared. warm violet hues of sky drift into blank space, as stars don't shine anymore.

    sunflowers tucked in tiny fists, whilst, carefully holding onto cupcakes, standing in front of the grave of a familiar old soul, offering the lost shadows a bite. giggles messed up between sobs, as earth shook everywhere. world left in voids of dormancy try not to break through time. yet, some childhoods still stuck in time, don't get to break through and complete that stage of life cycle. real-time blooming souls find tough to believe their homies; scared to open up about anything and everything. scared to be judged and punished. adamant to lie and hide, they find answers from outer world and niches, that do not either accept nor consider tears and hard times. their own dreams ready to pierce those little brains with questions and answers. museums held arts of contemporary outcomes, unknown to their cotton candy souls, hold onto references of petitioner, who requests peace through fight. still, recovering from the wounds and scars of inner child, they run in the same circle/wheel of life.

    stamps collected from postcards, flowers secured in books, money or old notes and coins left in the drawer, all are mere memories in the old home. towns rushed into metropolis, cosmopolitan monthly issues of magazines replace 5pm play along the greenery.

    moonchild stuck in abyss, adamant to break easter eggs, searching for goodness in the brutal space, finds nothing but daydreams like "timelapse" to enter a stage without proper growth in stages.

    while some souls found solace in adulthood,
    their counterparts dwelling in dreams,
    portraying parallel universe,
    still fighting in wars,
    natural calamities,
    search for a proper childhood
    with less of cloudbursts or storms
    and more of spring and sunshines.


    Thanks for the repost, Bestie! @writersnetwork ����
    Thanks for EC! @miraquill ❤️��


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    moonchild stuck in abyss,
    adamant to break easter eggs,
    searching for goodness in the brutal space,
    finds nothing but daydreams,
    like "timelapse" to enter a stage without proper growth in stages.


  • taetae_ 11w

    //I love you a little more than I loved myself - Grow//

    winter petals covered her pale face, her dark eyes stuck on the sangfroid sunshine ready to shoot up the sky, after a thousand maps followed, she reaches the altar to burn her burdens. Instantly the red fire turns blue cold, ashes fly into summer.
    blinking she turns those blinds, hidden in the old attics, beneath lies a dragon breathing distinct
    horrendous stories at the night.
    blazemoche in fireplace, cacti resting all over her brain, heart and ofcourse bookshelf. passing by western winds provide hurricanes, only thorns flew by, and the cactus remained not wanting proses (water). abolished, abandoned, abscorned, and many more to call the walked past stranger who proved that self love is priceless priority and possession.

    //You turn a page and touch another life - Stay//

    vagabond surrenders to unknown streets, falling apart in the books, she breathes. ripped halcyon donated like in charity to the birds nested in the next page. she drifts into melancholic nostalgia. critics called her out. she resides in past, present and future, as an author, she cherished her work.
    embellished verandah with different genres, she had her stay in mysterious collections of vintage editions printed in fall.

    // A lone girl and a familiar song - Remember//

    solitary reaper resides in her home, autumn flew back from the west, she held the same book and found the author, she hums to enjoyable read. a similar wanderer just like her, remember the beautiful scene, and along her scars, as stardust kept leaking, she wraps the cottony gauze around the wound. her voice silences the roars of seas and fireflies flew by her, lightening the same night.

    //The moment between saying goodbye and leaving - Walk//

    obscured portraits of the fantasy of being successful, kept hidden behind the silvery mirror, he walks past the dressing table sensing his own energy sweeter than anything else. the practice of art, he gained verses, singing along her dreams, he painted mirrors with smileys wanting to keep the art alive, he drinks the last sip of wine to celebrate his art, only he could see, her soul saved in his mirror.

    //What died before death - Feel//

    capernaum receives the last call, and so does the earth. artists gather around for one last time before the world's ruined. writing, singing, painting, building, all the way to reach the skies, they dance along the clouds in air. he or she whoever awaits heavens found peace and abode in their own belief.
    no wonder, just before the catastrophic disaster, one last time they feel the wind gushing through spring for the other world to theirs, the snowflakes from other world to theirs and the sunshine.


  • taetae_ 12w

    #miraquill #writersnetwork #senses

    //Peace is like//

    sight of -
    tangent rays of sun
    from the horizon
    trying to break
    through the sky
    into those eyes
    that were soaked in dark.

    touch of -
    daffodils blooming
    in white light
    grazing skin that's crumbled
    with scars by thorns.

    sounds of-
    fluttering translucent wings
    of butterflies
    that scatters
    dreams onto buds
    that'd bloom the very next day.

    taste of-
    silver strokes of moonlight,
    peeking through
    from sakuras,
    like honey
    into the dry throat
    of traveller, seeking love.

    feel of-
    burnt ashes
    finding fresh air to blend with,
    phoenix rising
    with a new same smile.

    smells like-
    jasmines whorled into silk threads,
    hiding behind
    mother's hair,
    whispering old memories of love
    everytime freshly brewed in her heart.


    Happy Joonie Day! ����

    Thanks a lot! Lysm! ���� @writersnetwork


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    Peace is like....

  • taetae_ 13w

    #day #miraquill #writersnetwork #pod

    Writers block! :(

    Thought I had a writersnetwork block too.... ��
    @writersnetwork ❤️


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    stay happy my dear eclectic poet!

    according to the universe, contemporary proses existed along the light years. some were heard, some were popular, some were unheard too. when bells of mountains ring, and everyone gather around the pride rock, getting pulled by the gravity, we all surround our pride rocks!
    that's where we begin.

    the last shadows concurred to alleviate in niches and provide history. mirifical vellietie comes true, scintillating from the parallel universe, fire set to burn class and destroy emotions, were all
    recorded by a poet on standby.

    ink underrated always for being alive, fields of art and science, fiction and crime, horror and reigns, all were problems of community. but still, something lesser known or never known is that a soul is a community itself. mirrors never align others to resolve insecurities, neither does the word "outer" "community discussion" "states"
    resolve an inner war.

    similar strokes, similar letters form different words, and show different meanings. similar shadows and similar stories form different wounds and different destinies. similar organisms, similar minds, meet under different pride rocks and
    get stuck in different mazes.

    apologies to all the greater or older writers, who never skipped into other universe. flow never was to begin in uneven landscapes, but once even a single cloudburst can lead to flood and hence storms move mountains. works, pieces, scriptures, diary entries, stories, scars, are never less. every soul has it's history and lessons, as well
    a future to keep inking, binding destiny with love.


  • taetae_ 15w

    #miraquill #writersnetwork #pod #wod #city

    Agree mirakeeans? ;)

    Hey love! ������ @writersnetwork


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    Miraquill- the city!

    it's the brown strokes with gold glitter of bulidings wearing lamps on the sides, red hearts stitched this time, onto the sleeves, pieces held tight with glue of fate. it's trees that belong to my roots and sunkiss to my brain. the old art of handmade apologies on the walls, like fences to thieves and glasses to deal. their window panes holding dreams of the city, lit up at 3am, allowing the fallen stars into their caskets as tassles of moon-dust left attached to those stars show a shining path to those angels. it's, finally making into the lavender fields, pouring the lost essence of winds into valleys, the green meadows blooming with red roses, for me.

    jasmine in their chic braids, mirrors to their silk sarees, tulips in their vases, peanuts in the fields, pearls in their seaside and corns on the streets.

    lanterns and holdings hung onto it, direct the wanderer into unknown places

    fluently how the colourless tears leave and land colourful onto blank pages, library for some while escape for many.

    beaches with sunrise for the joggers, but waves incoming with fresh tides for the insomniacs.

    it's the city of poets for me, wines prepared from their fresh wounds that make other thirsty sunflowers get drown and drunk in love. "many" languages define the same tragedy but turns into hope when conveying again to "many". innocent ink on the pure paper, their incomplete rant with heart wrenching truth compiled into brilliant metaphors.


  • taetae_ 18w

    //Meliorism (n.)//

    x y s t ~

    Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
    sulking with the silk bugs, silky threads sunkissed,
    planting birth in heaven, the good boy cheers up,
    irenic nemesism fondles with sciamachy,
    long lost enemies reflect in the air.

    c i e l ~

    lavender fields beside orchids and queens,
    sunflower's dialect's greek while luna latin,
    euphoric paints and love studded,
    good old man draws some hills,
    "listariance" she witnesses while being blind.

    v o e u x ~

    holding freedom flags, rainbows twitched in the sky,
    what are those humans upto clouds pass messages,
    they who seek birds hear seatherny,
    they who kill lay in blood(y) guilt, insomniac,
    severing anteric meridians, earth collapses.


    #pod #miraquill #writersnetwork #wod

    Thought you left me! Glad you didn't �� @writersnetwork


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    Meliorism (n.)

    the belief that the world can be made better by human effort.

  • taetae_ 19w

    I know, this ain't new, nor unknown.
    2021 or 20/21?

    #start #wod #pod #miraquill #writersnetwork

    I love you more! @writersnetwork ������


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    Endings are not always as peaceful as sunsets,
    some major redolent stances, of a scene that needed decision, immediate action approaches our toes at evening, wanting to attack our heart first and then slowly our mind. One of the strongest stimuli, smell, acts role.
    The proust effect immediately acts,
    the smell of food,
    triggering the familiar spices
    and flavours brushed along
    to our favourite recipe
    served along with petrichor,
    a similar aroma catching our heart off guard. Calling out the same name, "Maa!".
    //We search the same person, who doesn't wish to appear in front of us.//


    You think it's over and yet in an ordinary midnight,
    you wake up clutching the corners,of your sheets, trying to scream, while no-one, is there to hear.
    you need the same person, "Dad!",
    to rush into your room,
    hold you tight and
    //see through your fears.
    And bring you back.//


    Not all poems are
    written to be read,
    you hide those painted with acrylics,
    glittery book jacket
    that holds your teary words.

    /not because,
    you're not sure of your words,
    you're not sure of the reader./

    you hide those fears away, and
    pretend it's fine.
    you hide those tears away, and
    show you're strong.
    Some way you built yourself, and still,
    you're unaware of the world.


  • taetae_ 20w

    #miraquill #writersnetwork #start
    #pod #wod

    #1. - 00:01 a.m.

    // s t a y //

    I would rather weave poems with your leftover memories than winding my stories with tears.
    /tonight, she reads the unknown scriptures,
    thats secretly written in her scars, smootly differentiating arteries and veins, plunged with rose gold "love" and blue "hopelessness". Diving into deep waters that end into another realm, she swims across the universe reading "stories of scars"./

    #2.- 01:65 a.m.

    // t r u t h //

    You are like the wind, no where in sight, yet so crucial. I hear about your hope, but never find you around. none of your poems describe you now. you cried to write about hope, instead of pain. inflicting your own opinion didn't matter you now.
    /you led the lotus bloom in muddy water. lotus matters than the mud, so does goodness and persimissive thoughts. you left the world with hatred in the autumns, leaving an eternal spring of life in love./

    #3. - 02:96 a.m.

    // h o p e //

    I gulped the night and chewed your fragrance. vengeance nourished in my pathetic brain, I stumbled upon your good deeds. determined of finding a reason to let you free, I failed.
    /every similar sympathy you showed before comes around me, waving, along with the manipulation, I walked. your love was similar to a poison, and here I am fighting death. before the death engulfs me, I gulp the night, holding it in my throat, distracting myself using your fragrance, I erase any records of yours in my mind, the dates you dived into my past, and now I'm allowing the aurora to let me sleep, in its arms./

    #4. - 05:30 a.m.

    // c h a o s //

    your name rests between my lips like a prayer, a hundred storms passing by me, skinning my skull to ur memories, I chant repeatedly, my only wish being, you in peace and safe.
    /tormenting nights, holding the candle light as the only source for my eyes to see you, I scan every air particle to find your traces left behind. Every single trace could lead me to you, any kind of energy being emitted from the fire of your soul, could lead me to you, the burning ashes or smoke left could lead me to you. I follow a star, that lights on only you. A star that left to stay with you, that doesn't die, and watches you./

    #5. - 06:00 a.m.

    // p e a c e //

    Mornings bring endless battlefields and nights bring the regretful results of those wars. I find myself amidst my dears trying to defeat me. they're helpless, as I'm alone yet strong.
    /their only hope is to fool me with love. yet I don't fall enough for the old school tricks. I choose my own path and leave the war in between only to find them screaming with joy of my departure. hatred never won, but when there was no element called love, there is never a win./

    Bestie? Eh? ������❤️ @writersnetwork
    Thanks for EC! @miraquill


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    their only hope to defeat me, is to fool me with love.


  • taetae_ 20w

    WHEN YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT a feeling really is?
    Chained by hatred and insecurities, unstable mind with dreams like a loaded gun kept beside, when someone approaches you. And you like an emotionless psychopath chose to neglect tears.

    /As winter approaches dead leaves and summer approaches dead flowers, you don't care what their autumns and springs mean?/

    stating empathetically, you assume omneity, but whisper your stories at a dark 3am, seated beside empty railway tracks, covered with snow.

    /walk aways are usually the option in every problem, yet you chose it every time, like a routine. tired, yet honestly you speak about wounds with strangers at the omelas, while sipping a cup of fresh honey extracted from the "dew-adored flowers"./

    exhausted to put a facade of being justice itself, answering the questions half heartedly, someone who finds the other half of your heart left by the fireplace in omelas, ready to be burnt. You shut their call, denying the fact,
    "the heart ain't mine."

    tears well up in the corners of your eyes, as only you knew,
    how it feels to get drenched in those lovely metaphors, bask in those lovely proses and feel warm with those lovely fictional personas left in your bookshelf be crying along with you every night.

    people laugh sarcastically, seeming "you know no springs." only you knew,
    /you once stored those roses carefully in your book but the zephrys of hatred blew those petals away one by one. Now what's left is just thorns.
    little did they know that, amongst the nodes you cultivate the cauliflorous patterns.

    lilies and dreamflowers grow
    from your thorns of roses alone./


    #inference #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork

    You know that Ily rt? @writersnetwork ��
    Thanks for EC @miraquill ��


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    "you know no springs."

    "lilies and dreamflowers grow
    your thorns of roses alone."


  • taetae_ 20w

    #miraquill #writersnetwork #pun #pod #wod

    Facial features of parents,
    get reposted by children! ��

    Thank you for the repost @writersnetwork ��
    Thanks for the EC! @miraquill ❤️


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    Why is it always pink and blue?

    great minds pink alike,
    weakest pinks support saddest blues,
    while what blue wants blue gets.

    //A sunday, with wine from vine,
    celebrated by books to be (b)read.//

    broken hearts say revolution,
    unite the guitar strings to untie the red strings.

    //measly ronald gets a beautiful granger,
    potter guy gets drunk with gin(ny)!//

    piece of the world vanished, yet,
    the only smiles picked up on earth, are,
    graduates in photographs screaming
    "say peace"!

    //21st memory of my 19th century receptor,
    been kisses from hershey, says p(br)ain.//

    //sipping harshmallow latte,
    from my mallow grave,
    swiping cards,
    to print my will I pay.//

    Fateful features of parents,
    get reposted by children!

    So honestly,
    It all started when (p)ink is also available in blue.


  • taetae_ 21w

    Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left ...


    ~~~~�������������� ���� ���� ����������~~~

    I'm floating on in unknown medium,
    strange enough to fear,
    I still see no one around me,
    it's dark and none to hear my roar.
    clutching onto corners of my destiny,
    to unfold the last chapters of my life,
    I find nothing but blank space,
    and a pen,
    to fill it all as I please.

    I began writing, the last sun rises, in pink,
    the moon already reaching me,
    while I cry out my fantasies to the god,
    shiny lil flowers, bloom after 3000 years.


    filling my quill with those petals,
    the sweet scent,
    drenching my parchments,
    I write, how would stars in thirst of moon,
    they fall and touch the earth,
    reach umbra,
    kiss it.


    monotonous scripts carved into my heart,
    coughing out those pink petals,
    unrequited love stuck in my lungs,
    wine of those petals,
    running through my veins,
    I cherish the last days,
    just fine.

    drawn onto the wet sand,
    petrichor alive,
    nourishes my soul forever.



    umbra = shadow of the moon
    blooms after 3000 years = youtan poluo

    #pod #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork #roarc #imagery

    Thanks for the repost! @writersnetwork ��


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    monotonous scripts carved into my heart,
    coughing out those pink petals,
    unrequited love stuck in my lungs,
    wine of those petals,
    running through my veins,
    I cherish the last days,
    just fine.

  • taetae_ 25w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #wod #pod #spice

    Oh....just to wake up and find its 2006!

    Thanks a lot for the kind read and repost! ❤️ @writersnetwork
    Thanks a lot for EC! ��
    @mirakee @writersnetwork


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    missing millenial years...

    still to remember, the biryani made back in millenial year's new year eve, authentic flavours merging with aesthetic emotions was the best. those people visiting each others house to wish luck and others who search serendipity being alone, wrapped up in the cozy warmth of their house, while enjoying due, enough to stay indoors were the best days.

    star anise, lovely stars like pluck from the sky, reddish and brown spice, dazzles in sunshine and grown in hometown, when sent to cousins along with the basket of dried fruits, a handwritten letter coloured with crayons, (better than instagram feed/posts or fb msgs) storing them in a small box to find them fresh after years.
    //like charting stars in the skies//
    the star anises were small, beautiful and pretty; looks like flowers that never wither, whorled appearence intolerant to frost, standalone plant, sundried to turn them from green flowers to brown ones, exactly are fragrant flowers, the best.

    flavoured spices tucked in the vibrant and colourful satin cloth or packed in bright, shiny, handmade velvety drawstring bags or filled in small coloured glass jars were sent to neighbours defining love amd prosperity. gen z didn't involve into the millenial 00's back then, so silence was covered with laughter, meetings and good relationships in humankind.

    love layered one by one in those huge lunchboxes, fragrance of mom's magic in the whole classroom; the other scenario being, colleagues drooling over the homemade recipes with rare spices, were the best gossips of the day.


  • taetae_ 26w

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #wod #abandoned #pod

    Miranda: latin word meaning "to be wondered at".



    ivy that carries fingerprints turns cold,
    gold leaves and black roses fade away.
    fireplace burns down the bookshelf,
    still, a familiar scent of my poetries thrives in air,
    while abience surrounds my heart to avoid love.

    many smiles plastered on walls now vanish,
    my ink that fled my house seems to be lost,
    never returning those sweet letters to me,
    sour tears drawing from eyes stain all the sheets.

    floors covered with crushed parchments,
    snowflakes stored in deep freezer,
    fresh juices of tangerines, still the same,
    but my abandoned house (soul) never stays the same.

    nights steals stars from my scars,
    aurora steals sunshine from my wars,
    proses left in my eyes drown in
    myriad of dreams that are numb to this world,
    that I write to live, but fear to be in real.



    @writersnetwork Trust me, I missed you! ��❤️
    Thanks for coming to me! Thanks for the repost!
    I luv u! :))


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  • taetae_ 33w

    - Where am I from? -

    I'm from skies,
    born above the stars.
    zillions of sparkles or gallons of raindrops,
    millions of ounces of petrichor, or,
    countless fairy floss hanging in sky,
    nothing has been comparable to me ever.

    I'm from beneath the lands,
    below the graves,
    rusted hellfire is helpless to my shine,
    roots from ashes of burnt fields,
    still carry the innocent
    scent of flowers, that dies in winters,
    waters from glaciers aren't as pure as me.

    Love lost in the air in my lungs,
    sanguine thoughts with silver lining of crescent,
    my works still alive in my dead brain.
    What's left is,
    my bones,
    that have been inscribed with metaphors,
    still breathing through gravewax, neat.

    I'm the main lead of lost stories,
    the books with no readers,
    like a beautiful moon lost in nights, I'm alive.

    But the truth is,
    I'm the sunshine that lasts alone,
    from the beginning of,
    verses to universes.


    #mirakee #pod #wod #roots #writersnetwork

    Thanks a lot for the read and repost! ��❤️✨
    Itna pyaar?! LOVE YOU TOO! �� @writersnetwork


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    /but I'm the sunshine that lasts alone,
    from the beginning of,
    verses to universes./

  • taetae_ 33w

    Giselle, is a ballet form, first performed in paris.
    There are two acts for Giselle performed.
    The story of Giselle is a romantic tale of innocent love and betrayal; of philandering Count Albrecht and a trusting peasant maid, Giselle. Although she has a weak heart, Giselle loves to dance. Her beauty has enchanted Albrecht. ... Giselle loses her reason, and the first act ends with the famous mad scene, and her death.
    The second act is largely dominated by the Wilis, the spirits of maidens who died after being betrayed by their lovers, and take revenge in the night by dancing men to death by exhaustion (a popular theme in Romantic-era ballets). Led by Myrtha, the Queen of the Wilis, they summon Giselle from her grave and target her lover for her death, but Giselle's great love frees him from their grasp. They gain their power in numbers as they effortlessly move through dramatic patterns and synchronized movements, and control the stage with their long tulle dresses and stoic expressions, creating an ethereal atmosphere that builds as they gradually close in on Albrecht. By saving Albrecht from the Wilis, Giselle also saves herself from becoming one of them.

    #mirakee #refrain #pod #wod
    #writersnetwork #writersbay #pbegc

    ✨ G i s e l l e ✨

    What good is a day,
    to recognise what true love is.
    /stories made by god are true,
    for love or hate, is always due./

    A poor heart stuck in love,
    prayed everyday to confess.
    /stories made by god are true,
    for love or hate, is always due./

    The warmth in her heart, turned cold soon,
    bitter truth of heart-break, the deceitful man left.
    /stories made by god are true,
    for love or hate, is always due./

    As snowflakes cover her grave,
    a little flower managed to escape.
    /stories made by god are true,
    for love or hate, is always due./

    The soul, wandered to save her love,
    from being lost in evil conspiracy.
    /stories made by god are true,
    for love or hate, is always due./

    Myrtha, the Queen of the Wilis,
    tries to kill the, poor maiden's lover,
    /stories made by god are true,
    for love or hate, is always due./

    Giselle saves him and herself,
    practice of love had an amazing effect.
    /stories made by god are true,
    for love or hate, is always due./


    Thanks a lot for the kind read and repost! ❣️��
    I'm glad you liked this ��❤️✨ @writersnetwork


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    /stories made by god are true,
    for love or hate, is always due./


  • taetae_ 46w

    // Again, if we begin? //

    Again, if we begin,
    to draw those skies towards the grounds,
    to sweep off those dandelion fields with love
    to connect the stars and,
    sew them, to stay together forever,
    would we reach the destiny?

    /I killed 3 things tonight,
    I killed 3 things tonight,
    our sky, our dandelion field, our stars,
    And I followed you to the graveyard./✿

    Again, if we begin,
    to hang the cherries onto the trees,
    to ring the bells when someone prays,
    to paint the pale wings of butterflies,
    and sprinkle some stardust on them,
    would we reach the destiny?

    /I killed 3 things tonight,
    I killed 3 things tonight,
    our trees, our butterflies, our prayers,
    And I followed you to the graveyard./✿

    Again, if we begin,
    to make the sour memories sweet,
    the broken hearts meet,
    the dead escape back to life and, greet,
    the sombre summers of their lonely beloved,
    would we reach the destiny?

    /I killed 3 things tonight,
    I killed 3 things tonight,
    our memories, the broken hearts, our summers,
    And I followed you to the graveyard.
    to which, the heart has left,
    leaving the soul behind./✿

    Being the same person, some conflicts tend to be

    //Again, if we begin,

    ✿ apart from the seashores, we sail ✿
    ✿ above the clouds, we fly ✿
    ✿ around the moon, we play ✿
    ✿ along the sun, we rise ✿
    ✿ at the horizons, we meet ✿
    ✿ adoring the beautiful deeds of ours ✿
    ✿ a heart and a soul live together in the same ✿//


    #escapec #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork #pleiadespoem


    #thesunshineloves_wn #sunshine_iu

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    Again, if we begin?


  • taetae_ 62w

    #mirakee #sings #writersnetwork #pod #ffossil

    If I could then, I would've been making self love easily accessible for the needy!

    ̶��̶̶��̶̶��̶̶��̶̶��̶ ���������� ������ ���������� ������ ��̶̶��̶̶��̶̶��̶ ��������-�������� ������������������ ��������!

    House, the calm ends of shores,
    The shop floats on the ebbs, but still stays by the shore.
    Whatever a person needs for self-love is served.
    Potions made of some crumbled old pages,
    that once preserved roses.
    Soups of charm, luck and courage.

    Every soul sings about its long lost love,
    they collide with each other and leave together.
    Fantasy lives in their mind,
    that's why they can't realise the reality.
    Sanguinity is too slippery for them to stand on it.

    Wearing plethora of metaphors,
    many decent souls walk past my shop.
    Some metaphors were shining like diamonds,
    while others were burning like fire,
    Wandering like some ships in the night, those stars, swim across the sky alone together.

    / Every corner of their brains has witnessed love,
    That their hearts failed to preserve. /

    candied eyes with cacophonous voices were kept apart in a jar, they weren't bought by any.
    while sour souls + sweet potions were taken, planted in pots filled with stardust,
    potions poured little every night, made them to bloom.

    I can see your shadow on the clouds.
    witnessing that thorns bore a bloom,
    don't get swayed by (love in) the air,
    self-love ain't selflessly wandering in air.

    /But, bitter coffee and its aroma
    can make you feel better.
    Savouring favourite delicacies with
    lovely music can help you.
    Following the sunshine can help you.
    Travelling with the rains can help you bloom again./

    Love for oneself can't be bought by someone and poured. Get it yourself.


    Thanks a ton for the kind repost! @writersnetwork ❤️��

    Thanks a ton for the kind read and repost!!! I really feel this is not true..... Thanks a lottttt for the POD!!!!!!
    LOVE YOU SO MUCH @mirakee ❤️��


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  • taetae_ 73w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts
    #flowerc #pod #julietscorner

    Written and posted on: July 13 2020, 3:08p.m.

    Thanks a lot for the kind repost

    And my first ever pod!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️
    Thanks a lot for the repost!!! @mirakee❤️❤️❤️

    //Winter Sweet//

    The snow pearls cover us,
    Arresting the warmth in us.
    I'm unable to see the love in you is growing for me.
    For you're born for me and living for me.

    The buttery-yellow petals of yours,
    cover up the love in you,
    When you bloom out of my tears,
    I get to see the love you hid in yourself.

    I was never aware that your fragrance increases
    While you're facing me.
    The truth untold seems to break our hearts,
    As the world doesn't let me notice your tears.

    Adorning my heart with you, on the top,
    Your sweet nectar dripping in my heart,
    Makes my broken heart heal better,
    leaving no scars.
    Your petals cover the thoughts in my head
    to make them clear,
    And make me believe in myself.

    Alongwith the precious storms you cross with me, still reminds me,
    That you'll always be there with me
    To hold my hand.

    We'll live many more winters,
    As you bloom in the last season of the year.
    Stay close to me, as I'm your winterbear,
    I'll collect your love and keep it warm in my heart.
    Ruffling in the bitter snow, yet warm due to the scent of your soul.


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  • taetae_ 87w

    Nature breathes out an unusual parable,
    It's epilogue meaning,
    For us to live with hope and determination.
    Until the eternal petrichor and psithurism continue to amaze.



    #poetrywednesday #mirakee #writersnetwork
    #writerstolli #ceesreposts #julietscorner #yaminireads @sumana_chakraborty @preetkanwal @soulfulstirrings @shegram @crogers180 @john_solomon @mann_se_ @wind_chime7 @ak_anjali_daydreamzz

    Thanks a lot for the kind repost @writersnetwork����������


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  • taetae_ 111w

    Let your breathing soul,
    Hear your enunciating heart,
    Weaving soft dreams,
    Into a beautiful reality.
    Let your hands gently be
    Touching your bleeding wounds,
    And enjoy your success
    Achieved after immense hardwork.