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  • greypages_ 1d

    Will you bother to care
    For the game -
    In which
    You chase
    Your lover
    Till she is being caught -
    To control
    The fate of you
    And your lover,
    To exist within
    It and let it
    Never end,
    Having her
    In front of your
    Eyes, forever
    Smiling, breathing ;
    Or just catch
    Hold of her,
    In your arms,
    On your lips
    And die along
    With the game, forever?

    ©greypages_

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    @writersnetwork #writersnetwork #pod

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    Picture credits to the respective owner.

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  • greypages_ 1w

    Biased blessings.

    A man
    Is pleased
    By the adorations
    Tied on poems
    By the mirror
    Every single morning
    Under the Sun of blushes -

    The shadow
    Sleeping behind him
    Tries to lift
    Itself to look
    In the mirror,
    Incessantly struggles
    And fails,
    Embedded under
    The man’s name
    And brick -

    It did succeed
    To look into the mirror
    One night
    When he was asleep,
    Yearning for poems
    And tongues to
    Recite hymns
    Of praise,
    But under the skies
    Of Dark
    The Moon
    Slipping under
    The mountains
    With the Sun to make love
    And in the morning
    He is up again
    To brim with blushes -
    How can one at all
    Blame the mirror
    In this Sea of
    Biasness?

    ©greypages_

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    Picture credits to the respective owners.

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    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #writersnetwork @allbymyself

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  • greypages_ 2w

    Sore.

    If I switch beds every night,
    Will I not revert to the
    Same fire? -
    The one that burns my eyes
    And the one I’m not proud
    Of owning -
    It is drizzling midst the fire
    And I’m out of pillow covers;
    Can I stitch them out of curtains?
    Does the fabric is all that matters? -
    I wish for the day it wouldn’t rain
    The Sun will gulp me up,
    How strong and fierce is the Sun
    Under the reign of ruthless downpour?
    It all feels like an unheard tune
    With just a known notion that I play it
    Every time I go for a bath,
    What’s so monotonous about habits?
    And, how many times am I bathing? -
    It feels all wrong, all forced, all caught up -
    It’s the overlaps of blues
    And I need new pillow covers
    With Suns packed inside -
    I needn’t switch beds, maybe, rather,
    Just shift mine in the bathroom,
    But the bed is just too heavy to lift,
    And my eyes, too sore.

    ©greypages_

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    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #writersnetwork

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    Picture credits to the respective owners.

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    @pen_and_paper @lines_of_coke @hayat_

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  • greypages_ 2w

    The muscles
    Of my belly squirm -
    A voice that owns
    Realms in it
    Makes the lanterns
    Within it glow -
    I begin to
    Understand from
    Then on
    How my belly
    Feels under the
    Touch of emptiness
    Wanting to be filled upon
    And how brimmed bellies
    Stand in the line
    To be emptied again
    A cycle governed
    Merely by a voice
    That knows every muscle
    Of my belly
    And owns tankers -
    The roughest disasters
    Happen in my belly
    Every time the governor
    Pays a visit -
    I foresight even worse
    When there’ll be
    Fingers, eyes and lips
    Harrowing my abdomen,
    When my clouds will
    Rattle under the
    Rains of Touch -
    It will be a catastrophe
    Demolishing every
    Ability to escape
    The torment
    And just oceans
    Will be in sight.

    ©greypages_

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    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #writersnetwork

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    Picture credits to the respective owner.

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  • greypages_ 6w

    Another night, another drink.

    Why is it that he always bleeds
    As the night descends?
    There are places he yearns to be,
    But he ends up with his words
    On his desolate fingers
    Every single time the moon blooms,
    He bleeds into inebriation,
    The storms pay reverence to his poetry,
    And so do beggars on their plates,
    And mothers in their dreams.

    They’ll take you to the clouds, his words,
    In dark corners and empty corridors,
    In fires and in the bloodiest woods -
    Even if it is a trance, the beauty in intoxication,
    You must allow yourself to drown
    In his words and fly in his seasons,
    You must brew up an imagination
    Without the fear of being questioned,
    It all is in the words, and those oceans,
    But you must dare to claim, firstly.

    With all the scents that fill up the
    Smoke in the room, he bleeds,
    All night, under the temple of The Moon,
    He attempts to reach the next daylight,
    And somehow along the way,
    The scarlet blood of his bleeds
    In which he found hope,
    To make it to the next day,
    Hurts him now, alike a wound -
    How can something that delivers
    Hope into candles to keep flaming hurt?

    He tries hard to escape words,
    The parts of poetry that heals seagulls
    Now reside in the air, hanging -
    He needs something more, something concrete,
    But its too vague in the head to
    Find the tune to start with,
    It’s too empty a place -
    Films, stars, prayers, fireworks?
    He endeavours every of these domains,
    Every night he begins to drift to bleeding
    And hunt out no solace, no solitude in any -
    He beholds an image from the future,
    A blurry portrait of a heavy meal to consume,
    A war to fight, a lot to endure, a lot to come,
    But for now, it hurts, just a little too much,
    When it bleeds,
    But nevertheless, it does happen,
    Every single night, with every single drink.

    ©greypages_

    Picture credits : Kira Schwarz on Pexels.

    #pod #writersnetwork @mirakee @writersnetwork @allbymyself @pen_and_paper @thehemantkashyap

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  • greypages_ 6w

    A lack.

    Which thought -
    That you were
    Poor or the one
    That you are now
    Rich -
    strikes you first
    When you
    Suddenly wake
    Up minted
    One day? -
    You can’t say
    For sure which
    One occurred
    Your mind first -
    You find yourself
    Relishing a lavish
    Dinner while
    Looking outside
    your window at the
    Hut where you spent
    A hundred nights.

    ©greypages_

  • greypages_ 8w

    Beneath the sky of my mind.

    Under the
    touch of the
    eventide,
    I struggle
    immensely to
    grab balance,
    clothed in wounds
    and bruises;
    I see a car
    speeding towards me
    to kill me -
    I’m asked to
    kill the injured
    woman lying in
    the middle of the
    road -
    “Crush her off”,
    I ordered her
    as she expedited
    the car
    towards the
    bruised woman -
    the evening floods
    with sins and mazes,
    the wheels are the
    weapon,
    while the mirrors
    play a cruel game,
    where I exist as
    a helpless,
    a regent
    and the monarch -
    all of same flesh
    and blood -
    beneath the sky
    of my mind.

    ©greypages_