@Miraquill thinks that everyone can become a poet but from my point of view becoming a poet is not everyone's cup of tea. PHIR TOH SAB AERY GERY LOG GHALIB AUR AMIR KHUSROW BAN JATE
Real poets are those who have that spark of pain and reality in their Poetries, and everyone can't be a poet because writing mai hakeekat aur dard hona chahiye aur ye sab logu kai bas ki bat nahi hai, everyone can't have that feeling so everyone can't become a poet until they have that pain, emotions, deep feelings and intentions, and these are those things which most of the people are lacking in their talks, toh unki writing mai ye sab hona, dour ki bat. hai.
@miraquill take my advice and try to upgrade your thoughts and writing stuff, I mean you really need to learn some writing basis from @yourquotesapp , sorry to say I speak truth on the face, I don't like backbiting or talking behind the backs of others, whatever I feel I write and expose directly, I am not like reality pata hone kai bad bhi ap kai han mai han milawu.
But still i tried to write on this, as I always relate my thoughts exactly with the given prompt, I am not like others who write anything foolishly and without any meaning and in the end try to put the given prompt in the finishing lines so as to show that they had written meaningful stuff about the given topic
And it's not important that a poet should always be stressed or sad to write some sad hurtful Poetries, sometimes happy souls can also write some happy motivational inspiring poetries❤
#end#wod#pod @miraquill@writersnetwork Simplevocabused. Have a read only if you want to know how depression feels. :) Just a try with a mix of numb feelings! I wanted to write this since so long, finally. :)(
There's a salvation when, your feet don't long to melt in the footsteps of chaos and you share this breathing space word by word on a blank leaf. A home you made, a temple it looked; where whole universe is draped in an explicit cloak of a rhyming poetry.
There were times when, the world was painted in green except for the blue skies and sapphire oceans, where we made love in epilogues of rainbow and loosened-letters called stars of dusk. Moon did brightened, twilight borrowed some hues; when the geometry of our souls was drawn amidst the syllables of a beautiful poetry.
There's a closet opening in my arms, of flowers that smell of hope and books that read self-worth when sunshine wraps around me and clouds leak pride. A wound I kissed, It bloomed into a rose; where scars are sown and raised as strength into the empty spaces of a free-versed poetry.
There's peace in silence when, the words turn down to ashes but are still sung upon in poems admired by each passerby. A dream you weaved, a beauty that flourished; where the midnight rustle of leaves and the blow of air is treasured in the collection of poetry, and in a touch of moment with ink I understood, Everyone becomes a poet. ~Purva
I am afraid of this humanity,where human is praising beast on the name of everything they like. If senses of right and wrong will be lost then how will we identify difference of rights and occupancy. #metaphor