269 posts
  • balaji_venkat 1d


    My heart changed
    just as the seasons - change
    from cold winters to warm summer's

  • sugandhswani_ 3w


    You see they are now turning around,
    The winds that once left your side,
    Bringing along thick covers and cushions,
    As they take over the firmament far and wide.

    And they are not planning to return alone,
    They are here to celebrate with pomp and show,
    The onset of summertime and all things fresh,
    You see them trees now taking a bow.

    Welcoming the loud laughter of thunder,
    As it slices the sky with feisty fires,
    Lighting up the deepest and darkest corners,
    Of celestial realms in orange attire.

     Oh, and the winds will roar with rains for days,
    To wash and wet the warm beds of loam,
    Getting them ready for the tints of summer,
    For flowers and fragrance to feel at home.

    29th March 2021

  • caged_inks_ 3w

    Under the yellow-bright sun and below the basil green canopies,
    I sit.

    I sit, and wonder if the caressing winds,
    the swaying limbs and the tiny sparrows are trying to tell me a story, unheard of.

  • mrittika851999 5w

    Trying to write my heart out I guess? What was your experience of the moment when you realised that you have fallen in love? Comment down below and let me know! Would love to interact with you all!

    Thank you so much for loving my content and please keep supporting for more contents like these to show up on your feed!

    #winds #romance #love #blossom #him #moment #mirakee #mirakeewriter #thoughts #heart #emotions #happiness #pod

    @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork @readwriteunite

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    Winds hit differently the moment I realised that it was him. Yes, he is the one who has been missing in my life for years. He is the one my heart longs for. I believe nature changes just like everything does, except, it changes gradually and easily. Winds used to be harsh and cold then, they are much more fragrant and soft and warm now. Instead of stiff twigs, blossom petals get showered on the roads. Waiting to fall asleep through all the trauma changes to waiting for that one phone call to ease it out altogether when I am with him. Is this how it feels to be in love? How is it different all the time? Some movie dialogue once talked about that people fall in love once but I think, I would disagree, happily.


  • the_speccy_outsider 7w

    The frame on the wall speaks to me, in a language lost in memories of her. It was as though looking into a mirror, except that there wasn't one. She loathed them for they highlighted her flaws. She felt that the mirrors laughed at her, calling her a chimerical creature. Hence, she loved midnight when everything was dark and pointing out one' flaws was a difficult task.

    It was madness though, for the flakes of winter were announcing their arrival. It was the end of November. The chilly weather worked like a seed for our soulful proximity. It wasn't physical, just plain platonic.

    Never in my wildest dreams I thought that the most romantic thing in this world would be walking down the road under moonlight with cold winds covering us like a cosy blanket. A subtle yet dignified way of expressing admiration. Although, it is nothing but pure madness that makes one do certain things that seem frivolous at first but start to make sense once a revelatory realisation occurs. Of nothing but a feeling, a deep and pure feeling.

    Love is always depicted as a flight of stairs. One goes upwards when a certain chronology is followed. That is how they do it these days, a pre-planned chronological procedure. Gone are those days when one could feel the heat from a distance. When actual fireworks used to take place, bestowing one with the feeling of satisfaction which can be mirrored when November descends into December. Transcending into a world that is astray whilst in the company of tranquility.

    //Like a native shelter it protects us with appease of bewitchingly dignified intimacy//


    #nomirrors #subtle #shelter #talkingframes #stairs #seed #flowerhaiku #winds #eulogyc #flakesc #midnightc #chimericalc #madnessc #picturec

    Picture Credits: To the rightful owner.

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    Like the blooming of
    Yellow rose that signifies
    The Platonic Love

  • itsmedash007 9w


    I have been walking down these roads for a time long enough now waiting morbidly for someone or something to accompany me in the pinpricks of this world. I feel lonely enough while sitting by the roads again doing nothing but indulging in the game of hope for somebody to show up across me magically carrying me to my destination. The afternoon sun pricking like thorns of the desert and the night so chilly that gives you frost bites of Alaska. Here I'm in this time trying my luck but nothing comes off it. I just keep sitting wandering if I made the right choices. What could become of me if I had been on a different journey with people that tried earlier to stop me. But I don't regret this opportunity traveling down south when the winds offered me to carry in its motherly lap to up north. I refused humbly walked past luxuries denying myself the privilege of enjoying glory. I walked and walked tirelessly like some sage in search of the doors to heaven. Becoming somewhat close to one city haggard myself. No I don't need the sympathies for I'm no destitute but another wanderer unsatisfied looking for love over pleasures. At the end I've traveled far to lands I've never seen before but found very little of what I'd hoped for. But would I stop? No no shrill cries came within me and I set off again on the fiery tracks bound southside. 

  • itsmedash007 9w

    "The Town of the Living Dead"-A Musing

    The late winter's night as I sat across the room eyes transfixed gazing into the blemishes of sky
    filled with a blanket of dazzling diamond like minute entities conspiring to let bystanders lose
    time in awe of their glory and beauty. I too one of these looked into their games of forming
    random shapes or constellations as you may have rightly guessed imprinted in the dark pitch
    black canvas like one of Van Gogh's paintings. The night to me appears like his last painting for
    sure before he suffered traumatically to his grave but I'm in awestruck of this night and not in
    shambles mourning an unfateful death. Amongst all these stars there was the everlasting star of
    the late night show hidden behind the childish nonchalant clouds preying upon the old hound
    unaware of its mighty old existence. The never stopping clouds young, ruthless and filled with
    lust for life moving frantically around the aged but surprisingly undull moon. The actual king of
    the night who has stood his ground, thumping upon the twinkling stars. It's serene light guiding
    the wandering souls through lost nights. Oh! How I'd relish the opportunity to sail my night
    through the luscious sea of stars to my moonland. Far far away from the commotion, the
    madness that runs intricately in our lives that we've become complacent captives of our motives that we can't differ the living from the dead. What are we then 'The Living Dead?' running behind money, power and holdings. Have we thought of the adrenaline rush of the exhuming flare of our youthful days in admiration of some bitter love story which we relinquished with utmost difficulty leaving us broken or remembering those chirpy minutes with friends for old time's sake spending time with people who mattered. We've forgotten to live. To enjoy is to live. To fulfil dreams is to live. To admire the beautiful is to live. I'm living when I'm musing in awe of the moon and its pals the dazzling stars. The boats empty, no commuters wandering are these clouds in search of souls waiting to drop them in moonland. All interspersed in letting us live few moments to lie back in some distant land, on the mountain top bareback and barefoot on soft grass breathing fresh gust of sea wind gazing into the moonlit sky. The damp soil touching my
    soul not skin. My putrified heart and soul blended into one for few moments when I let my
    aspersions not take control of me, I exhumed with all due exuberance the thoughts that latched
    onto me and returned my days of chirpy childishness infront of my dazy eyes like a dream I know in the subconscious if I wanted to I could wake up but no I lived it all again in mere few
    seconds. Those days of living shall remain etched in my memory and I headed back for the
    dead and deserted town of the living dead. The living dead my present my future into continuum
    until then the cloud my wayfarer, the stars my bridge and the moon my destination.

  • distilled_thoughts 10w


  • laveenapintoserrao 11w

    As crazy as it seems,
    I still dream....

    #winds, #change, #writersnetwork, #mirakee, #PoemsdeLaveena

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    Winds of change

    Winds of change are not too far
    Wipe away your pain and tear
    They'll bring with them hope and cheer
    Winds of change are very near

    Did you hear the whispers of hope? 
    With new promise  winds softly stroke.
    Waking eyes dream of a new world,
    where evey race fit the human mold

    Leaders of nations big or small
    Solely seek to bring down the walls
    Reaching Mars their least of concerns
    Service, is their new found passion. 

    Saw a vision, the new age globe
    with just two shades, other boundaries fade. 
    Ah! That dream! That beautiful dream! 
    Oh! Winds of change please swiftly come. 


  • sugandhswani_ 15w

    Do they answer your questions too? The soft winds that blow at night?
    #wind #winds #night #stars #moon #music #dreams #heart #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @mirakee @mirakeeworld

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    These Soft Winds

    Every night, as I walk up to the roof,
    To reflect on the long day that was,
    There blow these soft winds that join,
    My tête-à-tête with the sheeny stars.

    They sit patient on brawny branches of the trees,
    As I raise questions and express my desires,
    Listening to the silent words the eyes utter,
    In a passage of smoke from the heart’s fires.

    And then they prepare the leaves to reply,
    On behalf of the stars and the moon,
    As they twist and turn and gently quake,
    Almost playing piano as they swoon.

    For I hear tender music as the winds blow,
    The tunes that tie some knots between
    My soul and the soul of the soft subtle nights,
    Whispering the answers to those wishes, and dreams.

    4th January 2021

  • nimmi_r 15w


    I can't change the direction of the wind
    But I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination

  • feuillesfall 15w

    Lost in the track of winds
           The storm maybe has left, but the wind is its aftermath, it blows in any possible direction there is, moving at the fastest perceivable speed. It is wintry, the chills run up my spine as I let it embrace me and penetrate my skin. No piece of clothing could make me feel warm as I keep remembering the bareness, and the coldness of the past.
           I wanted to know why I cannot leave the things that remind me of you, why I cannot leave my own memories behind, now I knew that it was because I still hold onto your words, as your words still linger in the depths of my mind. Your words were the sweetest, you made me feel loved and valued just by talking, but I never did know better than I do today.
           Your words were poison, you left me holding onto it even if the one who uttered all those already left. Your words were poison, as they were the only ones left of you but they  eat me up as I try to reminisce and relive our memories. The poison has brought coldness, it brought the winds to me, and your words, your promises, had lost their way in the tracks of winds.


    This is included in the book I have written and published online on another writing platform called Wattpad.

    #wind #winds #promises #writersnetwork #writersbay #filipino #filipinowriter #filipinopoet @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Lost in the track of winds,

  • samanthaivy 15w


    the winds have been strong lately
    it’s as if they have their own
    stories to tell
    stories we know nothing about

    when these winds get strong
    the waters rise
    Poseidon runs the waters
    does he have a story to tell?

    maybe we should listen to
    for he knows all
    maybe his stories will teach us


  • bethinkful 16w


    The fires of difference
    have never burned so long
    as the Wild falls, thundering,
    to waves and flames of rage,
    beaches battered, along with
    cities that have already, in past lives,
    had to succumb to potent winds.

    A Greek alphabet brings hurricanes
    of change (for aren't we all tired
    of burnout, tired of our collective,
    hibernative sleep?) while pandemic reveals
    the energy of shadows that worked stealthily
    behind closed corporate, church, townhall
    doors, the domination that once was
    unrealized, but has now been released
    upon the awareness of the masses.

    Oh, America:

    the novelist writes us a new edition
    of our worn out, tattered story, since
    we have not the ears to listen to it
    read aloud, told to us, any longer.

    She - novelist, poet, creatrix - begs
    her audience, her nation: please,
    let me make of you a story; it can emerge
    in you as a blinking face of change,
    but you, dear ones, my natives, you settlers,
    must help me write it, new...

    Help me, please, to join together
    our reflective shards of struggle
    with the fire, the water, the loss and building,
    the merging and fusion and amalgamation -
    so that what reflects is something
    we long to see

  • bethinkful 33w

    Her face is her facade
    Splashing on the shores with tide
    Roots trying to cross, or tunnel under
    The ever lengthening black pavement
    The countless species sprayed with
    Poison, run over by drivers checking
    Their screens, or losing their thoughts
    To worthlessness.

    Her face is her facade
    And it tells all, the face of a mother
    Longing for love from those her womb
    Birthed, gave life, provided sweetness
    To tongue, composition to eyes, ways
    To spend hours without mentioning
    The word waste. Do we glance at her
    Facade, notice it?

    Her face, her facade, is screaming,
    Burning, spiraling in violent wind, her
    Fever rising ever higher (ice baths too
    Little, too late). Our divisiveness and self
    Interest prevent real action, which
    May be all that saves our dear mother;
    It may just take all our sparks combining
    Into fire of heart.


    ©bethinkful.com / First Line from @ashamurali !!!
    Image courtesy of Shivam Tyagi (Pexels)
    #lastwordsc @writersbay
    #motherearth #sparks #action #unity #climatechange
    #wind #winds

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  • bethinkful 41w


    Your DNA melts, heavy, drip drop, into Earth's rooted wellspring; every spine and blossom alert to attention, ready to help fuel your journey

    You rise on yellow and black flutters, so light that the wind controls your rising, and you attune to your body below, sleeping beneath the constellations

    Of a dark, deep night, which as you now know, was always there waiting behind the clouds, waiting to break open its mist, to show your soul

    The archetpyes of meaning that the dense, fearful night holds in her womb; but tonight, you are not worried, for, it turns out, you are the night

    And the wings that carry you, the breeze as well, the twinkle of light. All can be seen from this dark, starry vantage, and you laugh at the old fear

    That kept you from being absorbed into this beautiful oneness, this loss of the lonely, from suctioning into the stardust, the big bang...

    From emerging as creator.

    The mist droplets rotate, in darkness and light, pulsing with anticipation, and all you were waiting for is released, as you slip into waking sleep

    Revealing the swirling fractals that contain the total of All in their tiniest section. And they whisper to you (thank God you no longer have ears), yet, you hear:

    I Am the knowledge - You Are too - that
    You were never just you
    To begin with


  • bethinkful 45w

    fragments of a soul, his
    soul, flutter around the
    windows, away from the
    fragments of what he blew
    apart, winding through
    the wind, pushed along yet
    not quite carried, because
    he still has his own places
    to go, hearts to visit,
    whispers to breathe in
    to her ear, her mind's
    eye, after all, he knows

    She's listening


    © bethinkful
    Art derived from ©MM Anderson

    #suicide #depression
    #deadbutnotgone #reincarnation #lifebetweenlives
    RIP R.H.
    #fragments @mirakee @writersnetwork @writerstolli
    #wind #winds

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    fragments of a soul, his
    soul, flutter around the
    windows, away from the
    fragments of what he blew
    apart, winding through
    the wind, pushed along yet
    not quite carried, because
    he still has his own places
    to go, hearts to visit,
    whispers to breathe in
    to her ear, her mind's
    eye, after all, he knows
    She's listening

  • emilene 46w


    Untouchable, untameable
    Feeling without seeing
    Mysterious and kind
    Wild and fierce
    As a child I wanted to chase it
    Follow wherever it led
    On an adventure away from certainties
    Making its own path
    The breeze cools me down in the sunlight
    It comforts me with its sound and fresh air
    I listen to the currents,
    As they send pictures through my mind
    Telling me of their journeys
    They speak with no words
    You have to open yourself to them
    Or you will never hear
    The wonders they tell

  • bethinkful 54w


    We sat down
    On the earth
    Desperate to get away
    From the wood floors,
    Cleaning, fighting,
    Washing all those dishes
    I told him to listen
    He didn't have much practice
    But believe it or not
    He could tell me the difference
    Between the rush of wind
    And the whisper
    Of the breeze


  • bethinkful 74w


    The Origin of my soul
    Is the same as the fly
    Buzzing around my face

    As I lay beside a rock
    That's too cliche
    For sitting on.

    She succumbs to the wind,
    Lands on my skin
    Scraping more than my outer layer

    And, at the sensation
    Of her elemental touch,
    I can't help but wonder:

    What is the life
    That she's made of
    And can I possibly (please?)

    Bring it inside?