Miraquill
I've been absorbing
A lot of things lately
Things that are almost broken
Things that aren't mine to fix
Things that keep breaking
No matter how hard I try
To hold everything together
Because it is not mine
It was never mine
To feel emotions of others
Is both a blessing and a curse
Even though I feel like the only one
Who can understand the problem
It isn't mine to solve
I can try.
I can try and succeed
Once. Twice. Thrice
But we still end up on square one
Because the lesson wasn't mine to learn
I cannot continue like this
I cannot live on like this
Even though I want to help
Even though I cannot stand the fights
I need to loosen my grip
I need to accept the fact
That my involvement in the matter
Is not doing wonders
Just ruining me day by day
I feel like an overused sponge
Feeling, absorbing, grieving
Making everything mine
Tearing off at the edges
Losing my own sense of self
Neglecting my own needs
It's cracked in too many places
And I cannot fill everything
Without breaking myself into pieces
Just to hold a family together
It's been a vain effort so far
A petty waste of time
And I cannot go on like this, mom
I'm sorry
Amnesia
fadedautumns
-
-
fadedautumns
72w
Read More"And when I'm gone
Just carry on, don't mourn
Rejoice, every time you hear the sound of my voice
Just know that I'm looking down on you smiling
And I didn't feel a thing
So baby don't feel no pain
Just smile back"
~Eminem
Note: If you're a serious nihilist (skeptic, cynic), I believe it's different. That could be counted as a choice, but I don't really see the point in believing nothing because even then you're strongly believing in the idea that nothing is to be believed.Reasons
I don't have a real self
What you know is what I show
A million faces try to shield
A face that even I, fail to see
Which one of it
Would you remember?
The one that held you through your nights?
Or the one that you had to hold?
It's not the same, how can it be the same
How can a person be known
Within a couple of days?
Maybe you'd seen a value I keep
But you don't know what other values
It stems from
So I'd been kind to you
But you don't know what made me do it
It could be a thousand of reasons
You can't even tell if it's real
And yet
You believe it
Because what other choice
Do you have?
Amnesia -
fadedautumns
83w
Read More
A RUN TO THE START
Three miles from the line
Four hours into the forest
Five feet deep in my mind
Six tears set the fire alight
Seven words I’ve spoken today;
Listen, I want to be left alone
Eight seconds for the words to sink in
And I’ll be back here before dawn
Nine scratches for the pain to feel real
Ten red eyes watched me leave
Eleven trees heard me make no sound
Twelve dark spots made me stop the count
Shaking, standing on the edge
Where no one could’ve followed
And it’s not their pain to bear;
Not their hand to hold
I could feel the warmth in their eyes
But no words could possibly explain
This glacial frost now spreading inside;
It’s getting harder and harder to refrain
Its better I’m left alone
Solitude is the only healer I’ve known
I hold on to a pulsing light, and it
Takes me to my only home
Deeper into the woods
I’m falling, there’s no way out
But I know if I keep going I’ll reach
For I’ve been here before
A clearing, a fading moon
Slightly blurred at the edges I see
Two strangled howls rip the night apart
As one lone wolf sinks to her knees
Amnesia“Hold this rope while I dive into my soul; don't even bother pulling it if I don't come up on my own.”
Ahmed Mostafa -
fadedautumns
88w
Friends
They live inside my head
I feed them
I raise them
And they're tearing me apart
The shouting is becoming
Unbearable these days
Nothing I do is falling right
Too many voices
Cut like knives
And they shout at me
For falling weak
And I let them live
For it gets lonely otherwise
But they are taking all my space
And trapping me in
And sometimes,
They take on the form
Of a monstrous hand
And make me scream
As it closes down on me
Yelling at me
Throwing swears I've never
Throw at anyone else
It's getting out of hand
All windows on my head are closed
The voices are getting
Louder and louder
And no one can hear them
But me
But we're only YOU! They say
Who's name do we bear?
Which other face could we have?
It's your own thoughts
That we echo
Your own resentment
Ricocheting off these walls
Angels, demons, demons, angels
It all stems from you
It's you screaming inside your mind
It's you breaking
Cry after cry
And we feed on your tears
Your fears
And I know I can't
Separate them from me
Their vacancy will only
Generate more of them
I keep coming back in circles
Everything keeps repeating
I feel like a puppet
Whirling in this ocean
Thrashing from shore to shore
Only to be swept off my feet
As the tide falls
And these friends of mine
Cheer me on
Whichever way I turn
Amnesia -
Cursed
Thrice the dwarf flapped his wing
And gave me a curse wrapped in blessing
"You shall sing; but hate your voice
You shall speak; but without choice
You shall dance and swing and rhyme
Until you get tired of time"
And till date I try to shake off his words
But each one seems more and more rehearsed
As it falls out of my teeth
Maddening whosoever I am present with
Ask me, if you want to know the weight
Of all the words leftover on your plate
Ask me if you want to know the price
Of one single literary device
It ruins the line, when together crammed
With similes and puns and metaphorical jam
And funnily enough, it brings more than one
Meaning to a meaningless pun
All my friends left me alone
When I asked them to bring home a garden gnome
Now stranded in the forest, I gloomily pine
For one- just one disjointed line
So lest it be set adrift
I will now pass on my gift
Tell me, who next will volunteer
For this noble art of blasting ears
Amnesia -
fadedautumns
93w
Read More
Write-ups seem incomplete, I keep losing track of what I wanted to say
The dam seems on the verge of its break these daysPointless
There is a dam made of pebbles
Inside me
Everything I do
Is measured by the virtue
Of its strength
And every lesson I learn
Piles up against it
And when it breaks
It creates the most beautiful flood
I have ever seen
Cleansing me of pain
And washing everyone else
With it
The wall shatters
And so does all my restraint
Control is anyway
An illusion
I was never in control
Of my own self
We are only experiments
Of Nature
It's a chance existence
Accidental creatures
Feeding on each others' emotions
Wasting decades
On burying them
Building dams
To keep the spirits in
To keep the others out
Seeing everything
But the point
In it
Amnesia -
Ricochet
Say it with silence
But you're the first to scream
When night inches
Confidence
Is a slippery apparel
Which will soon tear
If you don't stop
Pulling at it
This one doesn't suit you
Because it's not yours
It's borrowed
Like this very truth
You're already
Half asleep
How long do you think
You can last?
Shout at me if you like
You're hardly making
Any sound
Strike at me
With what you have
You're not leaving
Any mark
Because everything you have
Was someone else's
Because everything you say
Is but an echo
Of what has already been said
You're fading away
Too soon, too quick
Time has swept your feet out
From under you
Already, can't you tell?
You're not you
Anymore
Amnesia -
fadedautumns
95w
Blind Dive
Yes they can see you trying
But the water is too deep
All you need is a deeper dive
To get higher than you've been
And it's tricky of course
The storm is here to lure you in
But you cannot sleep
Not this time;
When the cliff itself is calling
They've seen your fall
And they want to see one more
You can only play along
Till your lungs are filled
Breathe quietly now make no noise
You have to come up again;
Accept your mistakes first
And then they'll forgive
But the only way down
Is the only way up, still
Amnesia -
Agitation
Lay down now
You've fought hard to give up
Even the stone is cruel
It sinks into your spine
Fold your elbow
And make it snap
Twist your face skywards
Who's sneering at you?
There's a threat in the air
Around which
Your fears condense
Invisible ropes
Try to lift you off the ground
Make you stand
Make you fight
Your vile thoughts
Wrap around your throat
Finally-
They've been holding back
For too long
It's time now
Get down and stay there
Close your eyes out of
Pity for them
Virgin senses
That you overlooked
In a hustle to reach nowhere
You should've chosen the sea
Atleast it let you fall
Atleast it let you drown
You can't turn back now
It is but futile
So shut your mouth
You've exhausted your screams
Your thoughts are your ropes
And there's no threat
Only your fears hang over you
Lash at them
And break your fingers as well
It's an absurd struggle
You've lost already
Your mind has turned against you
Who are you fighting now?
Amnesia -
fadedautumns
96w
Read More
I once read that language was developed to connect with others, to bond. And every time you use it to hurt someone, every time you break the silence for any other reason you are drifting away from its purpose. Soon you'll lose the connection with yourself as well and won't realise it until you're left feeling drained.
Unforeseen
Empty words are cursed
Stuck in a perpetual freefall
Some get carried away by the wind
And some fall into your brain
Some are meaningful enough
To form a sentence
And some are clever enough
To slip through
The pause that you make
In between your sentences
And then they break and reform
And accumulate bit by bit
Creating a false high
That grows to fill all space
That once held the truth
Inside your mind
So when your soul
Searches for words
All it finds are their carcasses
And it will scream
And drain itself out
But you will be too busy
Throwing empty words at others
To notice
Amnesia
-
ariachez
38w
don't get me wrong
but i don't love you
that much
that i want you
to find
someone better
i hope
i'm enough.
©ariachez
aug292021 -
ariachez
40w
i keep
looking for reasons
for doing
something
selfish.
as if my
own happiness
is not reasonable
enough.
©ariachez
aug162021 -
branthan
42w
Read MoreI do not know what I feel about these intelligent machines. On the one hand, it is exciting how even though you are not an artist, a program that you wrote can generate art that can make people feel something. Who or what generated that art becomes irrelevant, it is all about what that art makes people feel. And on the other hand, a few API calls can replace your whole purpose on this planet!
For me, the deeper question of existence is not about whether a program can replace you or not. The important one is how a machine ended up replacing us or specific parts of who we are? Deep down are we nothing but some predictive equations of existence with certain features that can be replicated with some lines of code?
Not everything is art, and not everyone is an artist. I think art is one of the highest forms of intelligence, just as smart as the physicists and mathematicians of the world. So when we say everything is an art and everyone is an artist, then it means that everyone is as smart as Einstein, Galileo, Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Mozart, Shakespear... I know my below-average intelligent brain can easily be replaced with some lines of code.
But then again, art is not about everyone creating masterpieces like Starry Night. Sometimes we get connected to some four lines on a grey background that we came across on the internet by accident. We are somehow deeply attached to a certain part of our existence. There is something about the way art connects with people, it is like it is part of us from the very beginning. A certain way to find belongingness amidst the chaos.
But there is always a war between the underlying objective reality and the poetic side of existence.
With the current state of deep learning, a program can easily write better poems than most of the self-proclaimed poets of Instagram, we can generate paintings that are better than most of the artists out there. But, there are always outliers. A few brilliant creative minds that are hard to replicate with a few lines of code.
But creativity is simply a better feature recognition and representation, isn't it? What happens when the machines finally figure out these neural pathways and feature recognition and representation tricks? When you combine the manipulation tricks of our brain to these lines of codes, then it can create anything that can influence the masses. How far away are we from this reality?
What happens when the GitHub-Copilot starts to write better code? I do not think it will replace all the coders. But instead of fifty coders in an organization, you'd only need the brilliant five coders and a machine. What happens to the rest? What happens when one-day GPT starts writing better poems and novels on its own? The same goes for lawyers, medical staff, engineers, workers in factories, data analysts and scientists, artists, designers, drivers, and much more. Every single thing a normal human can do, there exist a machine that can do better. If you don't think so, just look at the dildo reviews on the internet. Wake up, machines are taking over.
Then again, there is this much deeper question, "Can a machine understand the poetry that it writes?" But what do we know about art in the first place?
All of this may not happen in the next couple of years or a decade. But what happens when this reality finally arrives? What's going to happen when you are in your thirties and forties, and suddenly losing your job to some API calls? What happens when there are no social systems to protect you?
I trust AI, but I do not completely trust the people that are making it and I certainly do not trust the incompetent, uneducated politicians and policymakers in power. Especially when you look at the incompetence and scientific ignorance of both the left and the right, you can only see a bleak future ahead.
There are different ways to make money when you know how to manipulate the masses tho. Just look at Rupi Kaur, zero talent in writing but smart enough to trick people into believing that she is a poet and an influencer to sell her books and merch to become a millionaire. Pretty smart salesperson indeed, isn't it? Same with all the fashion brands and artists, it is more about selling merch to make that quick bucks before it all turns into hell.
I'm always curious about what people mean when they say "that's what makes us humans". Is there any global truth to it apart from the underlying biological reality? Does this objective reality take anything away from the subjective experience that we feel so personal and connected to?
I think we romanticize too much about the flaws in evolution, yet we are in no way the best optimized elegant designs that exist in the universe or maybe even on this planet.
Language itself isn't optimized when you think about it. When you're having clear thoughts inside your head, you have a much better clarity most of the time. But when you're trying to speak or write those exact thoughts, there is always a disconnection. Often you won't find the original thoughts and the words when you try to speak or write about it, because they are part of different sets of processes inside the head. So, we end up struggling to find the right words to tell what we feel, there is always that disconnection.
So what if we could communicate directly from the origin of the thoughts to one another through neural chips? Wouldn't that be much more intelligent and optimized? Or is it gonna take away what it means to be human? A flawed creature, only at the top of the food chain because a few people figure out clever ways to get there? We are always evolving, figuring out better, creative ways to survive the physical system that we are embedded in, and as the physical system evolves we have to evolve too.
There is a lot of human bias that goes into these deep philosophical questions about existence. And these biases are a result of our innate survival instinct when you think about it. Whenever we create an intelligent machine there is always a human bias that goes into it. Be it in the data or the code or the underlying architecture or the simple thought behind it. Does that mean that it carries a certain essence of our thoughts as it evolves? Even when we are long gone, they carry certain parts of us? Now, there is a deep poetic side to machines. Maybe they are our descendants carrying a part of us through the universe till the end of time. Now that is poetic
We fear this sense of insignificance. Most of our emotions are a response to this realization, from anger to the long stretches of desolation. How far away are we from this age of insignificance? I do not know any answers to these questions. But I wish one day we will figure out the reality of things. A coexistence between man and machines and at the end, like Asimov said;
Let there be light, and there was light..Age of intelligent machines
Let there be light and then there was light
-
branthan
42w
Read More
There are always these questions, questions that never lead you to any destination but leave you astray. I came to the realization that I do not know what Tolkien meant when he wrote "Not all those who wander are lost". How do you know whether you're lost or not when you don't know the destination? Even the idea of a destination sounds rather illogical, the divine purpose was always a lie to make us feel better about the mundanity.
Meaning is just a human construct, it has no validity beyond us and our subjective experience. When you dive deep into the whole "search for meaning" you end up in a state of helplessness.
All I could ever comprehend at the end of the day was this reality of how everything is nothing but a result of some simple neurochemical computation. All the happiness, the sadness, the love, the despair, the calm, empathy, everything is simply the existence of certain chemicals inside the brain. When you are lucky enough to be the one with the good genes, it makes the whole survival a bit easier. Apparently, nature does have favorites.
Humans are nothing but these prediction machines that are running wild as if the subjective experience associated with these computations is blessed by the divine.
There is this beautiful definition of life someone said, "Life is simply an information processing system in the flesh where we represent ideas about the world in the quaternary representation and nature is the one that selects whichever representation is better suited for passing it down".
One plus one is two, but you don't know what you feel about it. You don't really feel anything, one plus one is two and that's the end of it, there is no feeling associated with that reality (unless you are a woke Karen with a liberal arts degree, then there is this whole privilege theory and how math is racist and sexist and stuff. but let's just skip that to keep our sanity).
Maybe we are evolved to feel that way, never to understand the underlying computations but only to understand what they make us feel. It is quite a beautiful process when you think about it. An elegant reward process to make us survive the complex physical systems that we are embedded in.
Deep down you are happy only because of certain chemicals, you are miserable because you don't have certain chemicals. And when you are smart enough to figure out how to change these chemicals inside the brain for your own devious plans, the whole world is yours to play with. Smart people and corporations and the algorithms that run the world knows just enough to trap us in these illusions of choice and freedom. That is a heavy burden that we shouldn't ponder too much about it.
One of the most beautiful things about all of this existence is, how we are billions of years of lineage. Billions of years of casual history that is compressed into the genome and keep passing it down to the next generation. Maybe it could be one of the most beautiful pieces of art that were ever created, we are just too dumb to understand the beauty of it.
Maybe we do have our own ways to understand the beauty of it all. When you see that someone on the mountain top watching the sunset in silence, you don't think about the causal history of existence, you don't think about the lineage or the genome or all the computations that are happening inside the brain. All you are thinking about is the same old cliches and cringe poetries about the way they smile, their eyes, and that deep human connection that just makes sense in that simple moment.
We are always haunted by the questions to make sense of the complexities of all this. From the obvious questions like, what is intelligence to why this subjective experience is associated with the way we perceive the world to are we some agents bounded by the genome and the environment, or are we something more?
One thing that I have learned over the years is that when you start asking deep questions about life, it branches into more questions rather than giving an answer that you want to hear.
We are aware of this existence but are completely oblivious to its mechanics and nature. There is this sense of helplessness about it that we rarely ponder about, yet we walk like we know the destination.I decided to write/rant something after a while, as much as I miss my grey, and forced to look at these bleak shades that have no life, words fit quite the same, but do they feel the same?
-
rhapsodist 43w
Read MoreTW: ANXIETY, DEPRESSION
My anxiety is like a politician, a confident manipulator, a diligent liar, a poor promiser and as we have read, " bad politicians are elected by good people who don't vote" and I think I refused to vote it out every time I felt I couldn't do something, every time I felt I wasn't worth something, every time I failed at something and denied myself to accept and do better instead I called myself a loser, every time I made myself believe that loneliness is independence and traumas arent killing my childhood but making me stronger because when Andrei Tarkovsky said, "where childhood ends, poetry begins" I thought poems are making me tougher and I thanked traumas for making me mature instead of thanking myself that I survived them alone by the help of ink. I understood that I've to write because my childhood was a dense bunch of canopies that allowed no light pass through it, I knew I've to write until my brain stops fighting with me, even if I don't put my alphabets on paper, I knew I've to let the words come out of my mouth, somewhere in sense, someone would inhale them like poetry freshly written on a paper.
1. I wouldn't call myself a poet but an observant who knows why a man in that cafe is drinking his coffee resting his teeth on the cup without making a weird sound that might attract even the slightest of attention, I know his jaws are clenched and his mouth tastes salt despite putting 6 sugar sachets in his coffee, he wants to be at home and make chai for himself sitting on his couch, slurping his tea in his old favourite cup which says "Be yourself" where he could avoid the world, where he doesn't have to be anxious why the barista wrote his name wrong, and how he spelt "latte" wrong, where no one's gonna laugh at him. He feels if there is a hurricane of salty ocean water in his mouth and his tooth is holding his jaw skin tightly in case it'd go away with the flow when teeth do not wanna leave their house, why should I?
2. Why should I leave my house and it is weird because it is the same place where I wanna be and I don't wanna be, simultaneously, how to put it in words? "It is like the walls are climbers, I watch them grow, I watch them protect me but I know they are holding my legs by roots too." It makes me anxious that the scissors which I must use to get myself free from these vines are the ones that have been hurting my hands constantly defining my stress rashes and palm burns.
3. My palms burn like someone had lit a constant Diya on it to convince God for ending my struggle leaving red rashes as a witness of the times when I clenched my fist too hard to let the emotion go, when I buried my sharp nails in my skin so that I don't fall asleep, I've been so cruel to myself that I don't feel sorry anymore but I deserve an apology from everyone who did hurt me and I need to forgive myself too
4. I need to forgive myself for making the torture feel like a lifestyle as Susan Pease Bannit once said, " we often unconsciously stop feeling our trauma partway into it, like a movie that is still going after the sound has been turned off", and my therapist said the same thing that my subconscious mind thinks a lot, "A LOT", she emphasized. It sucks to know that my mind hates me, wants to trick me, wishes the worst for me, my brain, my subconscious state forces me to question my anatomy that I start feeling my heart is in my throat and any kind of input will turn out be a volcanic eruption. Raging thoughts of my brain collaborate with my digestive system and since I do not allow my feelings to leave through my mouth and eyes, they form an alliance and betray me. I vomit through my nose and mouth burning my food pipe leaving me for a minute of no oxygen shrinking my veins to death, I've faced death and I've survived it, no one is stronger than I am.
5. No one is stronger than me, a woman who wore ripped jeans to show that her knees are bleeding and she isn't ashamed of it but proud of how she held herself strong when her own body was executing conspiracies against her. How the world claimed that it values her but instead made her feel vulnerable, excluded and abandoned. And now this world is gonna lean on a glass shelf outside the room of my achievements, drooling and sliding its hand on the wall in regret and cussing itself for not being a part of my journey or should I call it a success story? Or struggle, it is the same we often tend to ignore the pain in someone's life when it is the only truth, the only way to live glory.
~rhapsodist
This is raw, might have typos :)My anxiety is like a politician, a confident manipulator, a diligent liar, a poor promiser...
©rhapsodist / read caption -
What good is a thought
if it doesn’t grow wings
and escape my mind? -
myrrhc
43w
Read More"have you tried fishing in these places before?"
"once, with my dad." the leaves were rustling at every step as we headed for the river beside the woodland rays. the daylight wasn't particularly bright nor warm. just enough to spill a sight suitable to see the crooked pathway.
"he told me that there are seasons where the fishes are abundant," i continued. "and you don't need any assistive gear during those."
"assistive gear," he repeated. "like spears and arrows, axes and daggers?"
"crossbows and maces," i corrected. he smiled.
the peak of autumn meant the presence of color schemes. usually, they'd range between red and orange, yellow and brown. when the leaves overlap upon each other, as though a smaller tree grew under a slightly bigger one, they'd give off a faded golden streak of gleam like the sun's rays. i hadn't been sure if i ever told him yet, but if you put your palm precisely under that line of light beneath the leaves shone by the sun, you are, by which, a witness of a heavenly body grasping hands with a portion of this world. it's like holding a part of the sky, a similar thing made from the same element the rain gives you.
"how about you?" i asked.
"what about me?"
"have you been to a camping trip like this before?" i remembered the first time going to the mountains with my family. although the view was beautiful, exceptional, exciting, insert all other adjectives that describe the stars the same, i couldn't stop thinking about how the ground was continuously uphill. and the more we stepped, the higher we were. what exactly was the probability of us falling into this den of bushes that was actually a forest of trees below, and the number of broken bones limited to survive the way back home? yes, the journey was memorable, i could say. but breathtaking was a more fitting term to me. both literally and its figure of speech.
"i've been to high places before, and those sceneries," he looked upfront. "definitely are one of its kind. but huge forests? not as of i can remember."
"you don't overlook everything, do you?"
"overlook?"
"like snakes being around these branches or spiders on the tree trunks. worms under your shoes?" i looked at where we were stepping, the shades of leaves reflecting on ground. it reminded me of how john green described them. the sky being split looked like traces of cassiopeia.
"no," he replied. overthinking, it might've been my middle name but i always knew he wouldn't do such a thing. "but it's just like walking at a park, don't you think?" he continued. "a city or a town park, but with maces and crossbows as you say. so it should be like taking a stroll through the woods sixty five million years ago."
"definitely to not try and steal some fishes from their ancient rivers," i uttered. we laughed.
the flowing water sounded closer the further we went. the birds were chirping as well, but not too loud either. they were dispersed high enough to stay on branches of trees median in height. this forest was always closely intertwined in equidistant symmetries, and i always thought i was the complete opposite of it.
the river was already visible upfront. we stopped by the nearest tree as i tossed my backpack, and he placed his next to mine. i retied my shoelaces tighter as i focused on a creek that laid a little upfront. we headed there.
the flowing water wasn't as strong as i expected, which was a great thing, of course, because falling into the depth of that i-don't-know-what-in-the-world-lies-in-its-dark-oblivious void was probably not a good idea. rocks were sitting by its sides and across, some huge enough for its surfaces to remain untouched by the stream. my dad once advised that between these solid platforms laid the most vulnerable paths of prey. i leaped through a few of these spaces, a meter fall by its edge, and i was going first as he followed behind. we stopped at the one with the least strong current as i could see a few fishes already jumping alongside.
"salmon," he said from my back. i faced him.
"and catfishes." i could see their whiskers flashing droplets as another jumped by. we both bent down on the rocks we were at, the space between these platforms managing as our possible source of dinner.
"i'll try to catch it first?" i said as another one leaped by. he glanced at me then back to the flowing water.
"since they're slippery, i'll serve as the second bait."
i nodded in agreement. i wiped my hands on the sides of my shirt (wasn't anxiously sweating, was i?), prepping them closely on the little space this time. i looked upfront as a salmon, which i assumed was heading to our direction, rapidly curved itself for a jump. i raised my hands just in time to catch it, trying to grip its slimy skin. it slipped up and i grabbed hold of it again before it swiveled its body, leaping towards him. he moved fast enough to clasp its body, as they fell down the edge in the water below.
there was a quote i remembered that virginia woolf said in her book "to the lighthouse." it went as, "so fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea." although he wasn't weightless and i knew not that he could (possibly, you know) fly, but he was like the wind virginia woolf described at that specific moment. not the clouds but the sails up on the sky, and not the sails but the clouds into these waters. and i couldn't tell if that were of any good at all.
he was glaring at me, a meter below, arms crossed with his hips down in the water, as drops of the river streamed on his forehead from his strands of wet hair. i could still see the movement of the surface as the fish hurried away from him.
"i, uh." i covered my mouth, trying to find the words at first, because i believed it was pretty much the most rude thing i could ever do to laugh at what in the world just happened. but i did, i laughed, a bit much i became teary. i looked back at him, expecting an eye roll or probably a punch or a slap (either of which i'd gladly accept), but as i did, he started laughing as well. i shook my head before kneeling down on the rock to offer him my hand.
"i'm so sorry," i said, wiping my eyes with my other hand. "i didn't think that would happen. i should've warned you that you might fall belo--" and before i could process my words, i was already beside him, drenched the same, after he took my hand and pulled it. he laughed and so did i, our voices echoing amidst the trees nearby and the sound of the flowing water.
i couldn't tell which part my head was remembering, which detail i couldn't tend to think. the ever-changing colors of light, splashes of autumn leaves' shadows falling and swaying by as they reflected on the surface of the water, or the way he was happy. i looked at him for a split second. sometimes, i whisper to God how beautiful life is, how infinite are the little things. we are tapestries, and we are astonishments of His marvelous wonder. but i glanced away just immediately as he faced me.
"i think," he said. "there are edible mushrooms we passed by earlier. we can have those for food instead." i laughed a little and nodded in reply.
the actual wind settled in, rippling the water as it did. i thought of the stars and the figures they lined we call as constellations, as if the waters don't show the same. at once, i wanted to say it out loud, how the river, this river, would take us back into the becoming of something that was beyond the lingual way of differentiating moments over photographs, something light and time couldn't capture in its exact. about how diane arbus said that "a picture is a secret about a secret, the more it tells you the less you know." and i knew in that moment that even if i could stick a camera under his nose, about how he was asking why i was smiling under my breath as we walked back to our bags, clothes wet and soaked, that i wanted to write my gratitude to green, woolf, arbus and more, for expressing things i myself failed to do so. that i wanted to freeze, in light and time, a genuine smile i hadn't seen yet. something i could hold to my palms, underneath the rain and the sun's rays. someday i pray for, someday i will.
maybe my head was as messy as i thought it was. but perhaps this was what they meant, to be solely, utterly, indescribably, be in awe, as the little things are to be written. as prayers that are meant to come true.
©myrrhc.
-
I sit quietly as a flame of light
and watch darkness
falling through me
Or I hold the darkness tight,
make it still and fall down
in the bottomless abyss
Not that I like arising with the light
Not that I like falling down in the dark
All I know is rise with light
and fall in darkness
Perhaps that's my truth
Or the biggest lie
But whatever it is
I have to live by its rules
and die in its mystery
©the_late_night_tales -
brain_dump
43w
Read More@writersnetwork thank you❤️
#wnrepst
Nature has it's own way of conversing, in awareness and in self.I've witnessed winds
Stormy, tempestuous and gusty
I've been to the shores
Serene, soft, dramatic and sandy
I've observed trees and grasses
Withered, mundane blue and frosty
I've seen nature in it's best
And puffed it when was moody
I've understood all the moods
In all the moods I understood myself
~udisha -
fallen_42
43w
Some clothes I dare not to wear
Like offshoulder dresses and courage my mother exhibits every time I say I want to kill myself
Like pyjama shorts because they look good on people with golden skin while mine is nothing but stretch marks
Screaming how time expands over body and leaves footprints behind
Like saree which looks good on a woman with strength
While I am no one but prejudiced twenty three years old girl who thinks sarees could be stereotyped.
This is not to say that I don't want to wear them
But sometimes an oversized tee helps me engulf myself into a version which takes least space on this earth where every breath is calculated
Every dress, a tailor's masterstroke at being remembered
Every cloth worn, a sign of times opening up like flower buds
Slowly, and with a grace that only flowers possess
Some clothes I dare not to think about
Like a swimsuit which reminds me of oceans which remind me of all the things that are off-limits
Like being liked back by a friend
Or being told that I am someone whose life make a difference
I have seen beautiful girls wear dresses with flowerprints as if they want to show the world that it is their body they like the most
While I have hated my body for years
That I can't stand the sight of it while I look in the mirror
Girls with grace and grit
Girls whose slender hands their lovers hold
And proclaim their love
As if loving is the most daring thing they have done.
Some girls I dare not think about
For they are so complete
Their skin glows with pride
And eyes shine with a life that takes birth every single morning
Some girls I have dared not to fall in love with
Yet somedays when I look back
I see them smiling through my past
Only to be loved by their lovers
As they carry their sweaters over their shoulders
And kiss them with eyes closed
Some girls I have always been envious of
Only to be a girl in the corner
Who writes poems about other girls
Who have learnt the art of being themselves too flawlessly
That it hurts
It hurts to have grown in pieces that nobody remembers
To be someone you could never be
To be in a body
That never becomes home
To ask questions that nobody answers
To be just another girl
Watching people laugh
And thinking how does it feel
To be so full of life
That eyes become the witness
And muse becomes the poet.
----------- I have been in love with a girl who I wished never existed
