To any person/ reader who has ever read me you must have noticed that I use bright, colourful illustration that I take from many artists who inspire me. So I have created an art account
Hope you all can give the same love that you gave to my channel and speaking of writing. I'm not coming back any soon so sorry. Take care and stay safe. I'm still inactive and won't respond to messages here so ..sorry
artwork by Sahana ( if I give mine away what will be the fun and suspense)
Those days when the skies and your pleated skirt twinned Those days when sweat dripped of your temple generously like a running tap on leak While the plumber went for his annual summer vacation while you a dutiful child stuck here in a room No less than a temple An alcove A nook of divinity A hook for summer shadows You feel the evening breeze slip away from the tip of your fingers that hold a fancy Reynolds pen
The smell of the incense sticks nauseates you You stick your head up look at the ceiling In wonder as piles of homework now lay scattered around You have just received the award for the tidiest room
Legs dangling from the corner of the bed Can you hear? The TV and it's angry blares Amma chews betel leafs Watching elusive witches and snake women Your Hindi textbook narrates a cunning constitution a decree by nature that the lion and the deer must sip water from the same brook that passes through your collarbone Peace is temporary A state of not waging wars isn't peace Do not confuse You mumble entranced
You look up at the ceiling again The fan dangles It's lip latched onto the roof Someday you would stand on one foot trying to balance the world in your temple like a revered deity sweating marble tears with the gait of a crane other days you would want to donne dresses with v cut as graceful as two swan lovers twinning
To all the people who do not know the mythological context In Ramayana, Jatayu was believed to be the son of Aruna and a nephew of Garuda. A demi-god in the form of vulture, Jatayu was an old friend of king Dasharath, father of Lord Rama. Jatayu was the first person who tried to rescue Sita from the clutches of Ravana while he was taking her to Lanka. He fought valiantly with Ravana. However, Ravana clipped his wings and severely injured him. Even as Jatayu was battling with life, he managed to inform Lord Rama about Sita's abduction. Sensing that Jatayu won't survive, Lord Rama, a Vishnu incarnate, decided that Jatayu must attain salvation. In present day Kerala, Chadayamnagalam, a few kilometres from the Kollam district, is believed to be the place where Jatayu fell after his wings were clipped.
Dedicated to Sakshi Di. Imagine my happiness when @writersbay gives me her name and to dedicate a poem to her just one day before her birthday.
Happy birthday to the most versatile, very loyal absolutely beautiful and my biggest constant in my entire writing journey. Sakshi Di ❤️ I have never shied away from showing my admiration towards you. You are a strong, beautiful and courageous woman who I will always love and look up to. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Kasturi- it is the musk of the deer that sits on its navel yet the dear keeps foraging the jungles for it. Our roots are where we stand yet we keep searching for them across man made maps Artwork by Manal Mirza
This is based on a personal day to day experience of colourism All the events mentioned above are real and have happened with me. My skin has always been something I have been criticized for. This poem is me, reclaiming my worth, my territory. @anvaya thank you for being there and pushing me to write this poem
Dead girls carry keys in fists and aphrodisiac in their sleeves
The first woman who was a feminist died single and failed to carry on her genes forward according to the theory of evolution by Yuval Noah Harari conclusion, women who were submissive lived on to carry the blind inheritance
P.S- this poem took me a lot to write. It forced me out of my comfort zone. I would be glad to get some honest reviews on it. It's napowrimo and I really wanted to experiment and get out of my comfort zone. So here it is #gtnapowrimo21
People with mental illness, please know that your brain is an organ, like every other. If your kidney develops a stone, you don't blame yourself, organs can malfunction. So can your brain, you're allowed to feel, express. You matter. Even if everything tells you otherwise.
Fighting with depression is like a battle. Like, fuck you, I'm choosing to live today, and doing that for every day until things start healing. Don't give up. ~ matt haig ( author of reasons to stay alive )
Also, please limit the comment box to the topic, that way people will have easier access to things. Thank you.
Give me the instagram aesthetic love. I've never slept under the sun in fields, with grass singing melodies of heartbreak springs, lie with me, for you I might. The waters glimmer like your pearly soul, but I never dare to step in, never did I purify, sanctify my soul, ask me to, for you I might. Give me the boring love. I want to empty buckets of ice cream watching movies, crying shamelessly looking at dogs, sit in the couch, messy as my mind, instead of emptying mascara bottles, instead of dressing up but ending up regretting my life choices. Ask me to, for you I might do that too. Give me the trusting love. Get mad at me for buying a 10th dog or 5th cat, and let me, witness you love them more than you love yourself, because for you I might. I dont know, how to pluck stars, steal flowers, or run naked on streets for a bet, but I'll give you, a cracking hearth winter, sleeping til noon summers. Give me the cliche love The one of playing your favorite songs when you're not around, because for you, I might. Know all your sins, show you all my crimes, but love anyway, Bonnie and Clyde. Give me the extraordinary love. You. For you I'll do the same.
People single to an unhealthy extent mustn't write such posts. But fuck that. Im gonna mock this place until they cry. Miraquill enough?
The walls of my room are a screaming twilight and the epithelial within me, is raging iron the colour of the sunrays i feel is the stolen wealth of kings and queens the shade of my mother's children with true roots is ember and emerald.
My skin and mind fight with my bones, who quietly wait, knowing that they'll wither in the end. What is this war within me? ~sat chit ananda~ ~sat chit ananda~
I pray like the blue of their sky and bleed like the Tangerine of their sun and cry like their amaranthine love and they sit on clouds weave lives underneath oceans And smile, smile, smile at all so ever aubergine like broken souls
My throat and eyes fight with my heart who loudly reminds that its a famished cripple. What is this war within me? ~sat chit ananda~ ~sat chit ananda~
Monsoon plays the gramophone Its tender echo against my windowpane The rains have a saviour complex It checks on me every while You don't explain feminine tears, Or rains in tropical zones But it's so humane to leave Yet so natural to stay The thunder knocks upon my reverie, You're never here when it rains.
Skies suffer a 2nd degree burn While the skylines bleed poetries, On my bare forehead Pastels of sunsets Paint my soul The festive moon Is a caretaker of gloomy autumns And dry monsoons It's when October Lets out a muffled sigh Into the pinafored horizon I realised it's hurting A little worse than lovesick poets I feel a metaphoric tap, On a left shoulder October whispers knowingly "Tell me aren't you hurting too?"
The wooden windchime bells, wriggling under my window pane nudging nostalgia in my head, of our euphoric past existence, midst the murky-greyish clouds voyaging against the vintage sky, painted with pastel puce shade, the sun skimming beneath horizon, the old melancholy oozing out of my wretched hopeless heart, still restlessly reciting your name. The teary clear canvas of my eyes, searching for your hidden shadow, in the puerile low-lit new moon night, stars blanketed by the blistered fog, decorated with the fire-emitting-flies, celebrating my austere agony, gifted to me by a gleeful face, disguised as a delightful love, cruelly pushing me into a crevasse, with a knife stabbed in my spine, saturated in sanguine throe of betrayal.
@miraquill YOU KIDDING RIGHT??? THANK YOU A TON. I CAN'T BELIEVE MY EYES. SECOND TIME?
I MEAN - I WASN'T EVEN GOING TO WRITE TODAY. Also all the people who are gonna randomly repost or like my work because mira(kee)quill gave me a POD, please don't. Be genuine fellow writers/readers. Please. It's nearly one year that I've been seeing this place. Yes it's has given me amazing friends and unfathomable accomplishments but trust me, if you are not a genuine reader here, then there is no point for you having an account here. I want you all to please please make this place what it's meant to be. A safe space for everyone. Give helpful feedbacks and let other people learn and grow, and grow beside them. Peace
Pandemic in our country, Was like the meek man by the window Who ended up high jacking the entire aircraft You have told me two times now How your house help takes after your Two year long dead mother. In two ways How she hangs a lemon at door, At the mere sight of a black car Or the way she's intrigued by horoscopes You're 8 more than two decades old Yet when she goes missing for two days, You brood like a two year old It's been 2 months of the pandemic now But 2 forevers of us Yet when your neighbours ask About the missing 2nd person In the apartment You don't even take two minutes To announce that it's over It's an irony, Two eyes, Two hands Two lungs Two breaths But just one heart of yours That's so cold to me I reckoned two was your lucky number But then it was mere a coincidence One was always what you wanted to be But you are my one and only.
The priest says, the grimacing fireball, Sits on the driver's seat of your horoscope Which is to say, your sun sign makes up for your rage, This poem is its personification For all the times You pushed me towards uncertain cliffhangers And unannounced tragedies Intimacy is extremely personal But we struggle like racing cars Who make it to a dead end I forget your zodiac sign is leo Sun governed Yet the grimacing fireball smiles at me 'You've been strong', he whispers The sun has your back But it sets drowning my sorrows So that the nth time you don't mean your sorries I can still manage to say it's okay When it's really not.