kanikachugh

www.instagram.com/mysticlandwriter/

Author of ~My Bitter Moon~. Now available on Amazon �� IG- mysticlandwriter

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  • kanikachugh 8h

    The pleasure of exclusiveness largely brings pain.

    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 14h

    Rising Sunsets

    Have you ever drowned in order to survive?
    Ever been breathless in your placidness?
    Trying to find your meaning in this lost world,
    with such desparate optimism
    with no concerns of tautologies or oxymorons.
    But you are intentionally trapped
    in a non-familiar family
    under a limited sky of thoughts
    with a somehow-fixed broken heart,
    with silent roars,
    forced choices,
    like a living tablecloth
    that protect stains
    keeps a dull shine,
    overused but not paid heed.
    You are growing
    towards nothing
    just like Sun
    rising to finally set.

    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 1d

    I wrote this fiction (and funny) poem years ago as to why Sky chose to be blue.
    Don't know if it makes sense but have a read ��

    #blue #sky

    Read More

    When blue was vibrant
    And the taste craved was white currant
    Giant desires insisted
    To go overboard and be a tyrant

    “What’s in the diet?”, questioned heart
    Outraged Mind, so prepared a chart.
    “No cheat day, anymore stud”
    Designs were made for your fat to shunt

    “How about we clinch and come to an alignment”
    Little did they know about the upcoming arrangement
    “Let’s choose the day when sky chooses blue”
    Since it was an era when heaven bore every hue.

    So Mind agreed, no reasons to be defiant
    One day in a VIBGYOR week, was the new alliance
    No one knew, why sky took a tweak
    Ever since that day, blue was there—every day, every week


    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 1d

    To
    the azure sky that never abandons me,

    They asked me to use a limited space
    as though my succinct style would do
    justice to your illustrated beauty.
    But every day, without fail,
    I tilt my head, lift a gentle frame
    and scoop out your cotton pieces
    to save it in my ombre gallery.
    I know you look back at me
    when my eyes celebrate you.


    From
    a girl who dreams of garnishing the
    blue yonder with her words but fails.

    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 2d

    A thought,
    A random,
    quarter past midnight thought.
    What if we met earlier?
    what if we met when we were kids?
    a clean slate and a clear conscience bearers.
    Not burning in Spotify hot-spots
    but saving a seat in a school van.
    Not caught up in turmoils of 9-5
    but weaving fairy tales over sandwich lunches.
    Not a seductive calling of clasping hands in malls
    but a sweaty parade and you fetching water for me.
    Not decorating the space with a prideful succulent
    but planting a plum sapling with demure hands and azure eyes.

    It slits open my heart
    over a shadowed past
    without its existence.
    From teacups
    to popcorn dates,
    From Feburary winters
    to Christmas knocks,
    years got reduced
    to illusionary hours
    and woes to willful laughter.
    My breakfast table,
    those terrace railings,
    that chair by the windowpane,
    even my swaying
    curtains got used to
    to your touch.
    Now they get anxious
    in graveyard silence
    like a pet waiting
    for its Master
    after the day ends,
    only the day here
    has infinite, cruel hours.

    A thought knackers me.
    Would we have been any different
    if we met as children?
    Mettlesome bull-headed(s)
    who didn't learn
    there is a phrase
    called 'let-go'
    May be then we
    would have tried
    one more time
    and could
    catch our hearts
    mid-air before
    falling and getting broken.

    A thought I have
    with a spring heart
    around blue winters.

    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 2d

    Those with wings have a
    pesky habit of flying away.
    My quill has feathers too.
    What if it departs?


    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 3d

    My home misses a fireplace that
    kept everyone together and warm
    and made the dust of tiffs slither
    out from the chimney corner.

    The roof was successful in keeping
    the rains out but failed to stop the
    water coming out from the eyes.
    So, now the roof drips of murkier dampness.

    The walls stood high and tall just
    like everyone else in the house
    who stood so stubborn that they
    forgot bending for each other.
    Walls of our attic are better at consoling now.

    The ground sunk below holding
    the weight of the hearts that just
    kept getting heavier the nights
    they didn't talk.
    Pit tension in the stomach holds more
    importance than the lent shoulders.

    The doors stayed shut for longer
    hours because everyone in the home
    wanted solitude but cursed life for
    their loneliness .
    A swinging, wooden obstruction
    denied even a hundred-knocks bribe.

    My home misses a pantry where we hoarded pounds of shoplifted love we shared the last time we went for grocery shopping together.

    My home misses everything that a normal home has. A family that is supposed to be together happily and not as a burden.

    My home, a synonym of homesickness.

    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 4d

    The good is lot less controversial and scandalised. That's why not many fancy it.


    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 4d

    Sorry. Not a poem ��

    @writersnetwork @miraquill #wod #end

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    Part 1

    One night I was walking down the road after a party I left early. Talking, sharing about my past life. My fears, my inhibitions, insecurities, about the people who left me for heavenly abode. The person walking right beside me was patiently listening to my apprehensions. As I approached my home, I stopped to face him and told him how much I miss my dad, I miss a lot of things and I'm glad he is here with me. He extended his hand to caress my cheeks with tears glistening in his eyes. He wasn't only listening. It was, as if, he was feeling my pain. Moments like these were treasures I didn't have to hunt for.

    Part 2

    The person who once felt my pain doesn't even recognize my agony anymore. I scream, I cry, I recall our past memories that surely has left his heart merrily, without leaving out the remnants of my precocious impressions that once held his heart so tightly.
    Thousand times I had unknowingly begged, hundred times cried myself to sleep. At times even in front of him, but he was unable to feel any pain. He says it was time to move on, he says we knew from the start, he says this was bound to happen; something which, mockingly, was all true. Very true.
    But why his heart doesn't squeeze its all blood out leave him breathless to warn him as it does to me "missing someone to this extent would only kill you."
    Why aren't his rational thoughts do not bark at him and say "That's it? You're done? Will you give up now? Was it that simple to finish it off? Though it was supposed to happen but too soon, my friend. Too soon."

    He, the stronger one whose eyes used to fill with water beads the moment he was about to separate from his lover for a couple of days, he is now indisputably willing to accept his lover won't be in his life anymore and his brain has already given up on the beautiful memories created.
    I used to be so amazing in his eyes. Now I am not, even in my eyes.
    The most ironic and heart-wrenching tragedy is when your lover forgets about your love, about how they felt with you.

    It's similar to picking up few snips from a drama and reciting "yes I remember this scene" something that you have watched from afar and not lived it otherwise no one forgets about it that easily. It remains. The feeling remains. And if you aren't able to encounter those rollercoaster feelings again (which drowns you, fills you with complete happiness/sadness, absorbs you thoroughly, has the power of taking you to the other world) that depicts you've thrown out all of it into an irretrievable oblivion and you remember it like you'd remember a movie you had once watched (& not lived). I thought our love would last for ever: I was wrong.

    ©kanikachugh

  • kanikachugh 5d

    Your smile is a lie
    and my metaphor, a hoax.
    So, when the rain of your feign indignation falls
    my pillared paper towns stay intact to keep us together.


    ©kanikachugh