Miraquill
©hasnath_mubeena
hasnath_mubeena
instagram.com/hasnath.mubeena?igshid=qncradwqouhe
I am a perplexed galaxy. LOST! ⌛ Tag #hasna So I can read your write ups.
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hasnath_mubeena
55w
Read MoreFACE: (the first petal of hydrangeas)
Ripe my heart open
with your favourite poetry
without uttering a word.
The empty lips and your
deep stare erase all details
of my existence.
Take me under the same tree,
where the horizon of colors sink,
like a pale truth.
The empire is falling apart
from yesterday's handwritten letters.
We crave for love like a broken kid,
but do we feel all those immeasurable
amount of lives our breathe touches.
Autumn leaves withering like
yellow snow, this desert will see blooming
flowers and smiles of a book.
Paint your own face, fill the tints
of your heart, let this world walk in
like a niche for the nomads.
Folly be the voices calling you back
to the darkness behind the curtains,
For it has been sent, to eat a little bit
of your fear.
Let go of the grief, flaws and splinters
of glasses piercing your eyes.
To the horizon we belong and it is
sinking.
The horizon is sinking.
And now we've been holding
eachother, let us fly.
The horizon is sinking,
let the ship's anchor reach the depths
of your nerves.
The horizon is sinking,
also the distance between you and my pulse.
©Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha
#pod #face #artjournal #writersnetwork @mirakee @writersnetwork©Hasnath Mubeena
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hasnath_mubeena
61w
Read More
I'd love to write poetry on everything that labels your ignorance. Maybe our stomach is like an ocean, yearning for the secret wisdom. I've been watching your madness slowly finding a cause to fight. Where to find light before the Big Bang? I want to rebel against my Coffee for keeping me high when my feet and eyes are tired of overspoken matters. It's not where you belong or how you should be, it's you and who you're in your own mind and it makes you brilliant. The journey seems to have a potential to flip the sunset. O dear soul, the October is here on the door. © Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha
#pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @mirakee
Spread inspo #EnolaHolmes
Exams khatm for now©Hasnath Mubeena
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hasnath_mubeena
62w
Read More
Why people write about heart breaks often?
Don't they realise that the only thing that
night loss from the day is "Light and noise"?
The chaos of the world on one side
and the agony of not making art on the other.
Holding back all the words that is scorching
my throat is a bizzare journey to madness.
The footprints were remanats of the coffee stained
journal, spilled with some reverie.
Maybe this sea will bring peace someday,
let the storm howl, it looks like a glass spread
reflecting everyone sitting along the Marine drive.
Wake up tonight, this reckless moonlight
seems to have a life full of wailing memories.
I always think about future everyday,
in the hope of earning it one day.
Remember, everything has a page
on it we can shed some colors instead of emptiness.
Breathe slowly, for this air is filled with love.
This bag tucked in the corner of the room
isn't bleeding with justice for all your pain already?
The vermilion streaked sky is hiding a secret
you won't believe what living in space feels like
If I'd say, about all the strayed satellites sending
back the signals, the existence of you and me
is real, for sure the dying stars gives its spark
to the universe, from where it all started.
Breathe slowly, for your lungs is gasping for the sun.
Breathe slowly. Just Breathe. Breathe.
©Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha
#pod #writersnetwork #pathosplant @writersnetwork @mirakee
PC: @hasnath_mubeenaDear Pathos,
Aren't we already breathing in same phase?
Stay connected to my nerves, breathe slowly.
Breathe the celestial soul inside my fingers.
©Hasnath Mubeena -
hasnath_mubeena
63w
Read More
I don't wanna go home tonight,
for it has started turning like a cliff of the mountain.
Maybe I should catch the fire and pet it,
I hope it'll never burn me like my heart does.
Maybe this evening is not meant for the first sip of coffee
Or the last bite of truth, which I don't wanna gulp.
You know what is more painful than
the splinter of consciousness stuck in my eyes?
Everything I urge to write goes down the ally of
reader's mind, who is oblivious of my story.
I don't wanna go home with the same legs
those are shaking since long, like a puppy left in snow.
Maybe, this world wants me to hide all my emotions
and is willing to kiss the weakness behind the facade.
I feel free when I write, I feel free when I write, I feel free when I write.
Maybe, my words are nomadic birds,
they search for warm nests in someone's life.
You know when I cry under the shelter of happiness, even if the cocoon of anonymity is cleaving?
Everything I dream must be written on air and engraved on gold, at least I crossed someone's memory for a while.
I don't wanna go home tonight, darling.
©Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha
#pod #writersnetwork #home @mirakee @writersnetwork
( Writer's block and exams)
Picture Credits: ©hasnath_mubeenaThis drop of water don't wanna
mix with the ocean tonight.
The cleavage of your heart is coated
with stars, zipping all the blackholes inside.
I feel free when I write. I am free when you read.
I want you to be free like your name.
©Hasnath Mubeena -
hasnath_mubeena
68w
Read More
A Reverie:
I swim in the vast desert,
like an angler fish escaped
from the depth of a mirage.
When I see you, my pupil
enlarge to swallow the
demon behind your poems.
One more grain of sand
is left in the crannies of my nails,
where you can paint Van Gogh's "Starry Nights".
Whenever the person in my mirror,
travel back in time,
she brings me cassettes
and lyrics of all the summer albums.
Don't forget my heart,
my smile and this tale.
For this ocean in front of me,
speaks the language of selkies.
Can you feel the glitches
in this air, that siege your abode?
I'm like the wave driven by the
storms and scattered like dandelions.
I grow wild, bravely like Bougainvillea.
I'd still let you go like you never
belonged to my shore.
The neighbors on my window,
the cat walking on the tallest walls
and the hydrangeas blooming in my soul
will always remember you.
Not like an unsealed/unhealed
wound, but as you love me,
still and always will.
You're not the pain slung
on my ribs, you're the reverie
sneaked into a poet's metaphors.
©Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha
Picture Credits: @hasnath_mubeena
#pod #writersnetwork #reverie @writersnetwork @mirakeeAn empty handed mermaid,
pearls in the chest and
a golden cascade filled with
scriptures of love, are all the medicine
posses.
©Hasnath Mubeena -
hasnath_mubeena
70w
Read More
Dear August,
I love the way you wear Monsoon like sweater knit by a mother. People celebrate you as you're the symbol of Freedom, but you're a fighter who made peace with my soul. There's still some hope left in the wrinkles of your eight months old eyes, when you smile behind a sunflower on your face. This year, you're a different person from my vintage journal who speaks about humanity and coexistence. Whenever someone asks me what you smell like, I show them my heart. How gradually you sneak into our lives and build a home in a nook of our world and leave without any adios like scintilla. This year is bizarre like old albums filled with unknown faces, but you're here like the rainbow after the rain. You're a dream that appeared in one of my eyes, the other is anticipating the unbound mystery of healing the time. I know you are here, and would never turn me empty-handed. I can't love you enough, so here I'm to unwind my drenched nerves and tie them like a bracelet around your hands. Come let's find unique ways to love each other in 31 golden days. You are the immunity of the year. You sell Coffee as souvenirs.
©Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha
#pod #august #writersnetwork #eidAugust2020
Thank you so much for this ����@writersnetwork
Thank you so much �� @mirakee
Piece inspired by @mariah.javed (ig)
PC: @hasnath_mubeenaHow to unlearn all the patterns of hate?
Call me "August" I'll write your name
on every flowers that's to bloom tomorrow.
I know my past is forgetting me like
words of a sacred book and hymn.
©Hasnath Mubeena -
hasnath_mubeena
70w
Read More
Dear Mirakee,
I walk through the memories and embrace the frozen path under my heart. When I don't write anything, I think of every possible feelings and happiness to write. Hence, the halcyon days and the bottled up emotions find an abode somewhere under a green sky. Poetry is not an abditory, in which the pain dissolves. It is a niche of life, time, love, secrets, everything between the wormholes and whiteholes. Nostalgic is my soul, about a the bricks, leaves and air of curiosity town. If I have the might to change anything, I'll carve my name on this moment Beautifully with a chisel of courage, a hammer of existence on the granite of fear. I'm just a sentence on everyone's tongue and a fire in your eyes. I'm with you when I'm under the spell of metaphors of a classical poetry. I still crave for a home in your heart.
©Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha
#pod #writersnetwork #famliy @writersnetwork @mirakee©hasnath_mubeena
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hasnath_mubeena
71w
Read More
Like one of my blind eyes, through which the world seeded my imperfections, there's is a mirror deep down inside everyone of you. You see what you think, I see you as a person from tomorrow who is afraid to accept the change, because you see yourself as oblivion. Every art is soliloquy of the artist and so you, and so me.
©Hasnath Mubeena
#you #writersnetwork #pod @writersnetwork @mirakee.
©hasnath_mubeena -
hasnath_mubeena
76w
Smile For Yourself, First!
There're days when a triple shots Espresso won't kick in.You just feel empty, tired unreasonably. Things doesn't turn our way, they fall apart over and over. Before collecting them all, please collect yourself which is more important than anything. We often get so much lost in this uncertain world that, we forget living our life to the fullest. This is injustice to ourselves. Let not the external negative elements affect your mental strength and faith. Always believe in your first instinct! Be there for yourself first, before you can be there for your loved ones. Don't let your soul sink in confusions and chaos created by this materialistic world. You are the wall, hence you can paint numerable masterpieces. You deserve more good things than what you go through today. Just have power to cross this darkest phase of life even if you can't see a tiny light on the other side. You Matter always no matter what! Your happiness depends on the way you think about things.
Stay alive to live the good, brightest days you always deserve. Smile for yourself, first. You've come all this way, through the toughest/hardest/heart-wrenching years with more courage. You deserve the happiness.
©Hasnath Mubeena
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i_faha
41w
Read MoreNow I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that's what.
- Salman Rushdie
Thank you @mirakee @writersnetwork for the pat on my back ����
#ghost #lifestages #writersnetwork #mirakee #wodLife cycle of a poetry
Often born out of a very dark place,
twisting and turning through a tight space,
nuzzling and nestling between thoughts & fingers,
Robins of spring, or 'raven'ous harbingers.
From tumultuous toddlers, to rebellious teens,
Identities of their own, eager to be seen,
Trapped in the cycle of likes and views,
Huddling for survival with their types, to schmooze.
The patient and resilient inching towards their prime,
embraced or rebuked for speaking their mind,
the claps don't matter, the slaps do not hurt,
these Casanovas of ideas, and Coquettes of flirt.
Grizzled and lonely, in their feed they now await,
for a fresh pair of eyes, to read and relate,
turning hopes to dust, falling like grains of sand,
hanging fire to a quietus, for the muse to understand.
the expressions have expired, the emotions didn't last,
beneath all of that dirt, lay ghosts of the past.
The soul finally departing, like songbirds out of a cage,
Leaving a heirloom skeleton of words, from childhood to old age.
©i_faha -
tamanna3
41w
Read More#purple #wod
I'm more happy than ever coz it's a purple POD��
Thank you @writersnetwork ��
Thank you @mirakee ��Purple- not a blend but a consensus
Beauteous woods,
Earthy tones blended
With seraphic viridescence.
Linear patterns,
Rugged surfaces,
In the suburbs
Of an old town.
Dulcet tones,
Rustling leaves,
Shifting sands,
Foreign winds blowing-
Bugled awaited warnings.
Wars on crop fields
Shed purple blood.
Luxury and devotion-
Fingers on opposite hands
Of same individual.
Owners of my land
Swear in blue voices,
Skeletons of tangerine skies
Buried within grey caskets.
Incense sticks burn,
Their fumes smell fishy-
Now that evil apples
Sell at low prices,
Their curses too futile
Like regime's promises.
Hangs in between-
Constitution and laws,
Races and genders,
Hypocrisy and casteism-
Sanguine love that knows
No bigotry at large.
May this love be not-
The red of battles
Or the blue of tears.
Let this love be purple,
Not a blend but a consensus,
Of earthy patterns-
In leaves and barks,
Together in a dwelling
Of co-mortals.
©tamanna3 -
Defying all hurdles
Words fled my mind
to the rendezvous
Arranged by the pen
On the paper hall
When the poems
Got the brusque birth
to croon the ebullience
and vivified the dying
©afrozakhan -
allbymyself
41w
Read MoreHow lovely must it be
that I have the liberty
to seek my own way
and make my own mistakes
safe in the knowledge
that you have forgiveness
seared into every corner
of your infinitely kind heart.
How lovely are the words
that breathe life into
a sunrise, the words
which form the flesh
and bone of a song
the words which don't
make it to the page
yet make you cry.
How lovely is the pause
that split second of silence
the beats of your heart
that shadow at the door
before the chaos breaks out
and screams rent the air
and you think of a child
who showed you love
and taught you to care.
- Avitaj
@dopamine @raika_ - Well, I wrote
Picture credit- Theo EilertsenPauses, Mistakes and Songs
Writing doesn't confer importance. It reflects it.
- Little Women -
fireblast_
43w
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Ebony clouds hover high above, embracing the evening.
Drifting below the ocean's face, a spectator I am,
onlooking the spectacle, as the storm takes its first breath.
The soft whispers of the daunting abyss underneath me,
the deafening roars of the beasts riding the storm above me,
striking the surface ceaselessly,
yet I remain unscathed, submerged, for I am but a spectator.
©girl_in_white | Vaishnavi -
allbymyself
44w
Read More
They say your face
is a 5 AM sky, a sun
that is yet to rise
a mockingbird that's
yet to croon, they
say you are dressed
up in layers of possibility
shielded by the shadows
of an uneven spring
trying to unfurl a
torrent of wildness
a wave of summer
that never quite
comes to pass
a slice of winter
that acts as a hymn
at a Sunday mass.
They say you spin
fire when no one
else is looking, and
if they were to look
straight into the amber
of your eyes, they
would be able to
count flames on
the other side of
eternity, so when
the clocks stop
the stories fade
and the stars blink
brighter than before
you would hold on
to the threads of time
while forgetting
to untangle them.
- Avitaj
@dopamine @raika_
Picture credit- Mike Palormo5 AM Sky
Once more into the crowd
Temptation wears you down
Go home, your heart too loud
Always
- Seen Enough, Dryer -
.
-
khushboopradhan
44w
Lost and Forgotten
"I never wanted to be away from her.She had the spark of life" - Grant
What is it to be young?
To be dangling under a galaxy mixed with someone else's adventure.
We try to fix our skulls into understanding and joining the puzzles of someone else's life bit in the progress, we forget ours.
What is it to be happy?
When she sits under the moist apparels and speaks her tale and poetries of the men in war. The brave men who sit by the banks and discuss the raptures of the explosions in the weakest trial of returning to her.
What is it to be true?
Not to portray yourself in the tragedy of the false. In search of someone who isn't you. She said 'It's someone who isnt in search of himself, bit of another person whom he perceives to be himself' .Thats the time, truth falls behind and you creep inside someone's atire.
“Isn't it true however far we've wandered into our provinces of persecution, where our regrets accuse, we keep returning back to the common faith from which we've all dissented, back to the hands, the feet, the faces?”
GORDON
The snow will melt soon
and the Lillie's will hence shy.
The streets will buzz
and the crickets cry
She will bend her ways
He will forge the bars
She will skimm the milk
And he will hail the war.
©khushboopradhan -
Bloopers
We, bloopers, errors, took off for convenience,
Of people's quicksilver moods, of nasty needs
But, we linger, in each other's eyes, every autumn
To see, how gifted cast offs look on ripe holes
Dancin' midst sojourner of falls to pink propel
Juggle, your broken parts, in the flames of air
Existentialism in very edge, blunt or incisive
Focus the dynamism, of life, she ain't friendly
For, everything, stop-gap, building a survival
Catch, leave but don't miss out any moment
You ain't, just a bystander, for your life battles,
Witnessing moves of sword, not ready to block it
Construct bridge midst knuckles with courage
Let the disasters chase you in dreary nights
Very dawn, windows show you new gateways
Aptitude in your Adam, to get through phases
That's why, you, a human, runnin' on diameters
Of chaotic circle, of unanswered question dot
You explode, but never fade away like smoke
Finding own self, in the lost alley, your direction
Videotapes, diaries - antidepressant for you,
Locked ages of past, uncaging self expansion
Join, dot to dot, create pattern out of changes
Relive felicity, face bitter memories till bones
For, life is, sojourn, in people, in circumstances
©jeelpatel
