To be honest, we loved the name MIRAKEE❤️. It was inspired from a Greek word, Meraki used to describe doing something with soul, creativity, or passion.
But the realisation that the word Meraki has a broader interpretation and can be used to describe cooking or preparing a meal, arranging a room, choosing decorations, setting an elegant table or even purchasing the perfect gift for your best friend, made us rethink.
Therefore, the name MIRAQUILL was coined to better reflect our focus on the appeal of written matter as this app was designed with the writers and readers in mind to bring more attention and visibility to words. A quill is a writing tool made from a bird's feather used in the past as a primary method of written communication. So adding quill as a suffix makes it more compatible with our objectives and aspirations.
Although we will always be MIRAKEE in our hearts, we are very excited about our new name Miraquill because it is more in line with our vision- a global interactive platform for a truly creative community of writers and readers.
Tell us in the comments how you feel about Miraquill!
Along with this name change we have offered you an exciting library of unlimited photographs brought to you by Unsplash. You can update your app and search for photos.
However, with this new addition, we have removed the upload image option from the app. This step has been taken to ensure that creators are credited for their artwork. We also want to make sure that photos with nudity, violent imagery, screenshots are not allowed on the platform. We expect writers to respect the original work of photographers and the guidelines of the community. If you would like to upload your image to the library of photos permitted on the app, we can guide you with the process. Please write to us at email@example.com.
My prompt:- ( ) The quote:- There will always be a reason why you meet people, either you need them to change your life, or you're the one that will change theirs ~ Angel Floris Harefa @say_me_krish just added the quote, sry 4 being late... *_*
/I want with you, a hundred things like love!/
Like the first page, of any book, you told me to leave you. at the second page, like any book, you again told me to leave you. the very first chapter, had no flow, the very next chapter, had no glow. ̶W̶̶h̶̶a̶̶t̶̶e̶̶v̶̶e̶̶r̶ ̶I̶ ̶f̶̶e̶̶l̶̶t̶ ̶a̶̶b̶̶o̶̶u̶̶t̶ ̶y̶̶o̶̶u̶̶,̶ ̶m̶̶a̶̶d̶̶e̶ ̶m̶̶e̶̶,̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶t̶̶a̶̶k̶̶e̶ ̶y̶̶o̶̶u̶ ̶i̶̶n̶̶.̶
//ɪ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ, ᵃ ʰᵘⁿᵈʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˡᵒᵛᵉ! //
You didn't have to stay, all along the night awake, shining so bright in the deadly plaque, you lost nothing again, just yourself was gone away, ̶l̶̶i̶̶k̶̶e̶ ̶l̶̶a̶̶m̶̶e̶ ̶w̶̶a̶̶l̶̶l̶̶f̶̶l̶̶o̶̶w̶̶e̶̶r̶̶s̶. I miss to read every line, I follow your eyes, the tears of a wise, that pulls me in between the lines.
//ɪ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ, ᵃ ʰᵘⁿᵈʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˡᵒᵛᵉ! //
No soul heard "love" for the first time, not even mauves that cuddle the sunshine. No bird had been singing catholic lovenotes, not even the stars that crush on the selene. ̶H̶̶o̶̶w̶ ̶e̶̶v̶̶e̶̶r̶̶y̶ ̶h̶̶o̶̶u̶̶r̶ ̶p̶̶a̶̶s̶̶s̶̶e̶̶d̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶t̶̶h̶ ̶m̶̶e̶ ̶t̶̶r̶̶y̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶k̶̶n̶̶o̶̶w̶ ̶l̶̶o̶̶v̶̶e̶̶,̶ ̶o̶̶h̶ ̶c̶̶o̶̶u̶̶l̶̶d̶ ̶A̶̶d̶̶a̶̶m̶ ̶h̶̶u̶̶r̶̶r̶̶y̶ ̶u̶̶p̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶m̶̶e̶̶?̶ A dark world knows nothing like love, it searched amongst the forests, zemblanity, it found a ball of fire burning itself, but lighting up the world.
if your stelliferous scars, pastel poetries, acrylic alliterations, ᵗᵉʳʳⁱᶠⁱᶜ ᵗʰᵉᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ᵒⁿ ʰᵒʷ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ᶠᵒʳᵐ, ˢⁱᶻᶻˡⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘʳⁿᵗ ᵃˡⁱᵛᵉ, packed in silky dusty parchments, can let me love you, wouldn't world be a better place? ᴀˢ ɪ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵃ ʰᵘⁿᵈʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˡᵒᵛᵉ, ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ!
If my heart would've been Da Vinci's sketch or a painting sculpted by Van Gogh, sunsets would've visited it more fervently, along with double edged rainbows to add colour to my heart's vintage sky, and let the stars absorb blue ink till they glow. "I would have stopped the break of dawn" and let the shades of sun float.
If my heart would've been a sonnet written by Shakespeare, syllables would've traveled in the compartment of each line, so that an unheard poem beats inside the voids of my chest till my dwelling heart is read by every teenager whenever those beats together rhymed.
If my heart would be the city of oranges then summer on its bare foot would've roamed with hungry heart and unquenched throat till it sucks all the citrus and greenery, but migrating monsoon would've visited the barren lands of my heart too till Ambazari lake overflowed with certainties.
If my heart would've been Taj Mahal then the mortal souls of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz with their immortal love would've explored each marbled chamber till all my heart could pump is love, till each vague tale could inhale and exhale, is love.
And if my heart would be a somnolent lake, I would've dropped a tint of blue ink till each wave rage sapphire, I would've dropped a stroke of yellow ink to bloom daffodils layer by layer, and a pinch of black ink to outline hills and valleys, till my heart turns into a canvas of life. ~Purva
Desires, ambitions, targets, success, I have everything yet I crave more Fame, money, joy, and pleasure But worthless heed I need no more.
Every time stepping on to the dais, In front of the toxic interviewers, I try to catch those haphazard eyes, Which hold the desperate glares. They have their cameras in their hands, Shooting every movement I make, Waiting for me to utter the words I crammed. I speak those meaningless phrases, Stumble upon lies, Yet my words flow smoothly enough, And they don’t deny.
As I talk about myself, which is not me anymore, I take a walk through my caliginous mind, I walk through the stygian forest of thoughts, And glance at my reflections staring back at me From the mirrors of obscured pain. They are me, who are bleeding inside, Been stabbed with questions I can’t answer, Being forced to say things I don’t mean, Make promises I don’t want to keep. I’m the only one in the battleground, Fighting the shadows of anxiety, Not for long, I can keep myself up, As it is joined by insecurity.
Afraid if I could keep up with expectations, I step off the dais, The applauds and cheers go unheard by me, Now for a while, I’m left alone and free, To prepare myself to go to the next battlefield.
They buried her memories in me– in an empty wooden frame All her moments, all her screams, all her lies, all her cries in this one wide frozen smile. Do you still remember the day when she first walked and how she fell thousands of times? I was still there, with a different frozen smile. Do you still remember the day when she spoke her first word? "Goodbye", she spoke. I was still there watching her predict the future. Do you still remember the day when she giggled and waved at a passing train, her tiny mouth uttering that newly learnt word? I was still there, in her hand like the friend who is always by her side. Do you still remember the day when she called the boy next door as her "lover"? I was still there laughing and waiting for two beautiful smiles to embrace me. Do you still remember the day when she was first heartbroken and she cried for hours just to forgive him? I was still there, empty with dented edges and broken glass, letting the photograph burn. Do you still remember the day when she wrote a letter to you all with a single word written on it? I was still there, helpless and letting her go. I wanted to tell her that it's okay, you are not a motionless photograph. I know you are broken but you are not a frame that can't be healed again. All these days, I was the closest thing to her, I am a dirty, old frame that still remembers her touch, that still remembers the taste of her tears, that still remembers the sound of her silence that still remembers the day she was lost. I still remember HER. Every day, I see them crying who buried her in me and I keep on reflecting that perfect smile of her as if she was never lost. But "She was lost in her longing to understand"