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  • i_faha 1h


    I'm overwhelmed by your suggestions and feedback in response to my last post. And I realize that all of us are looking for practical help in making our writings sharper and impactful.

    There is an ocean of data available over the internet for each of our doubts. I absolutely love the idea of consolidating and baking this raw data into warm, decadent cookies of techniques that we could bite into. But I'm apprehensive that I would turn into cardboard like crackers instead, without nurturing it with the time, attention and respect it deserves.

    And so, I request you for your patience, while I attempt to wrap my head around this humongous task in my personal catacomb. Perhaps, I could share a few of these golden nuggets of information, that I might unearth from the data mining, over my Instagram stories during my stretching breaks. And you could give me your precious feedback which would act as the miner's lamp to guide me through the dark ignorance.

    Meanwhile to keep the accountability going on here, on our home ground, at our drawing board, I intend to come up with a daily post of the tools and quirks that have personally shaped my writing so far.

    Pardon me if I do sound ostentatious by now, like I know any better, but do trust me when I say, that I have stayed at the edge of the pool for a long time, crippled with self doubt and chasing the perfect stance, to dive into an opportunity. And somewhere down the line, I realize that I can never learn swimming out of a book. That I would never feel ready. That I must simply plunge and pick up the skills along the way.

    And that aligns perfectly with my today's takeaway.
    "That I must do, before I do my best."

    And hey, go easy on me. ��

    Here is the your cookie for today.

    #30cookies #mirakee #writersnetwork

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    Cookie no 1

    Create more often. Most of it would be trash, but the good news is, that nobody has to know. Keep it to yourself if you don't feel very adventurous, and on a golden afternoon, draw the curtains and sift through the trash - like an old lady rummages through the junk she's been hoarding in her attic - to find bits of usable doodah, that might snugly fit and elevate the trajectory of your content, on a different day. The formula is very basic. The more you write, the higher are the possibilities of discovering these doodahs.

    ps: in case you didn't spot it already, doodah was the doodah in this case


  • i_faha 21h

    Happy festivities to everyone celebrating. It is time, yet again for new beginnings. And once again, I hope to push myself and the passivity I'm stuck in with a 30 day challenge.

    However this time I'm not clear what I could write about. There are a lot of vague, ambiguous ideas floating in my head, but nothing that feels compelling enough.

    What better than to ask you, my valuable readers for your suggestions for an appropriate theme. Should we endeavour on a joint project to learn more about grammar or technicalities of writing, or should I try to entertain you with short stories . Should I experiment with building vocabulary or should we begin a #howto series. Is there something else altogether that might be apt for me to break out of this rut?

    Waiting for you to let me know in the comments.

    Meanwhile find below a recipe to break out of a writer's block that usually works for me. ��

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #recipe

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    Caught in a rut

    One full challenge
    1 jar of affirmation (any brand)
    1/2 cup routine
    1/2 cup self discipline
    1tbsp accountability
    1tbsp originality
    Crushed quirk for garnish

    1) Cut the challenge into 30 or so bite sized pieces.
    2) Marinate them overnight in a jar of affirmations. For this recipe, I have used the 'I can and I will'. You can choose any other, as per your preference.
    3) In the morning, drain the portion out and allow it to leaven at 100° intention.
    4) Identify and visualise the exact time and vessel in which the challenge will be cooked.
    5) To begin the recipe, add 1 tbsp of accountability to a hot pan and allow the intention to crackle, preferably in public to avoid escapism.
    6) Add into it, finely chopped routine and sauté it until golden brown. Next add the diced self discipline
    and keep stirring on medium flame to avoid it from burning.
    7) Put the lid on distraction to prevent any steam from escaping and gently simmer till the challenge is completely cooked. Season it with resilience.
    8) Deglaze the pan with a dash of originality and let the fond steep its unique flavour into the braise.
    9) Plate the recipe in a neat little post and garnish it with caramelized quirk. Repeat daily until the entire challenge is complete.
    10) Reward yourself with satisfaction, stimulation and self respect at the end of the challenge.


  • i_faha 4d

    That's part of the joy of being a submissive. None of the decisions are yours. When you can't refuse anything and can't even move, those voices in your head go silent. All you can do, and all you are permitted to do, is feel.
    - Cherise Sinclair

    *Mature content ahead. Mind your head, please.*

    Excerpts included from the poetry,
    Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.

    #writersnetwork #mirakee

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    Bone(r) of contention

    Beg for a warm release,
    Darling, aren't you frigid and cold?
    Oh no, No iffy questions please
    Just do it as you're told.

    Turn on the ambient light,
    Peel off your pants and sit..
    Pick one between sound or sight
    While your hands are off limit.

    Isolate and amplify every sensation
    As I get to work between your legs
    Attune and resonate into my vibration
    As I drain your drink to the dregs

    Meanwhile, read me a poetry
    in your late night breathy voice
    And as we sync(sinc) in the coquetry
    Surrender.. like you have no choice.

    "he gives his harness bells a shake,
    to ask if there is some mistake"
    --come on, keep reading without a quiver
    Slow and steady, let the words not shiver--

    "Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way"
    --let the symphony drive you to dizzying heights
    But be mindful to not let one groan escape--

    For if you collapse on your side of control
    My lip wouldn't move, my tongue wouldn't roll
    So build the crescendo without a moment's defeat
    Or I'll drive you to the edge and make you repeat.

    "The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
    But I have promises to.. keeeep,
    And... miles to go... BEFORE I.. SL.. EE.. P...
    before... I...... eee. ppppp."

    Now that's how I like to hear some poetry.

  • i_faha 1w

    'I have no privacy. But I feel so alone.'
    - Susan Beth Pfeffer

    #paradox #mirakee #writersnetwork

    Read More


    It's 1:37 pm,
    and it hits,
    a thick blanket of malaise,
    and in that moment,
    I find myself aching to
    snuggle under it
    and self soothe.

    Fifty seven
    moments later,
    I wake up
    to discover myself,
    kneeling down,
    staring at the open fridge,
    beads of sweat condensing
    over my cupid's bow,
    an electric eerieness
    humming in my ears.

    And it hits once again.
    the slightly burnt, sweet char of
    roast chicken wings
    sizzling away in the pan,
    the cold draft of stale air
    on my sweaty lips,
    as my little one snatches away
    the blankie and shrieks,
    'Peekaboo, I found you!'

    /thank god, you did,
    I had almost lost myself/
    *Alexa, reschedule the breakdown at 11:11pm.*


  • i_faha 5w

    To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

    Ralph Waldo Emerson

    #writersnetwork #mirakee


    The Shoulders of a Married Man

    He had an unusual display picture on this obscure app. Contrary to his conventional, sophisticated popular social media profile pictures, this one was peculiar with its prominent focus on his sharp jawline, slender neck and his bare, provocative shoulders.

    On a first glance, his shoulders were taut and ordinary. An uninquisitive mind would have easily dismissed his suggestiveness as a subtle call for validating attention. It was hard for my curiosity, however, having delved further, to not notice the gentle stoop to his shoulders. I wouldn't call it a hunch; perhaps he was folding into himself, under the burden of pseudo family respect and societal judgements.

    Typecast into living the moral code of a conservative, married man, I notice a pixel of rebellion, in his want to feel desirable, with this spilling display of seduction, held back by filters of guilt for craving this want in the first place, especially when you're legally, socially and culturally bound to unappeal yourselves off every other favoring eye.

    How do I conclude this, if you ask me, I would point out to you, the unusual way of him cropping his identity out. It was a unique mishmash of him declaring who he was, then hiding behind his own declaration, before a 'well wisher' hunted him down, to admonish him with a disapproval or punish him with ostracism.

    And just like that, I'm left wondering, how many more of us must snip our true personalities to fit into this box of acceptance of those who barely know us anymore.


    Read More

    The Shoulders of a Married Man


  • i_faha 5w

    You know the days when you get the mean reds?
    Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?
    Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat, and maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid, and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

    - Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's

    #color #wod #writersnetwork #mirakee


    A good writer
    feels and thinks
    his words
    in the shades and tints of
    the same color.

    If pain is red,
    burgundy is suffering,
    agony is scarlet,
    and crimson is tormenting,
    ache is sepia,
    hurt is dusty,
    anguish is vermilion,
    misery is rusty,
    throbbing is carmine,
    excruciating is bloody,
    lava is deep,
    and soreness is muddy.

    and then there is dard,
    vivid and intense,
    pulsating in tones of
    maroon with a tinge of
    darkness in the
    brightest of reds.


    Read More


  • i_faha 6w


    Mere halaq ke qāf pe qabzaa jamaane wale,
    Mere kaanch ke qile ko kafas banaane wale,
    Qareeb se gaur kiya hai maine bhi, teri haraka'aton par,
    Tere qaafile mei maujood the ham bhi, taaliyan bajaane wale..

  • i_faha 8w

    Why would you make out of words
    a cage for your own bird?
    when it sings so sweet
    the screaming, heaving fuckery of the world..
    - No plan, Hozier

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #observation

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    Let the budgie fly,
    into the skies
    as it sings

    you can't observe a bird,
    by hacking away its wings.

    what good is that dirge
    hummed beyond its will?

    let the birdie loose
    & it'd perch at your window sill

    just don't come any more near
    stay still and quietly peep

    or it shall fly away off fear
    & you may never hear its cheep..


  • i_faha 9w

    Now 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 #wod

    Read More

    Life 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 9w

    I feel you, anyway
    In every tear that I might shed
    In every word I've never said.

    - Schiller, I feel you.

    #promise #writersnetwork #mirakee #wod #wordbombs

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    I feel you

    Not all promises are made up of words.
    The finest ones are made up of a quiet understanding,
    intangible, still palpable, like the unspelt promise
    between the voice of an anonymous poetry & the unacknowledging silence of its hesitant admirer.