kindred_words

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  • kindred_words 17w

    On some days I am a canvas of painting delved into colours of love for life and pain of reality.
    I am sad and I am successful. My mysticism is eternal like the sunrays' falling on the window sill.

    The Window sill which has seen barren land turn homes and homes turn mansions.Mansions which plagued the soul and gave rise to human bots luring breathing beings to work for an extra hour, serve the mansion mechanism, so that they can secure their houses with culture, political instability and recession. But that's all a distinct dream, because till 45 you eat the relics of your foul soul and swallow frustration at the speed of 50 litres per hour like a fish that swallows water left to live in fish tank.

    Tank covered with frost as if the voices of hearts inside it have been frozen. Frozen because thats the dogmatic criteria they need encompass in order participate in the "race of lifestyle." Maybe someday you will cross the red ribbon and win the race to good lifestyle. Until then you will serve the masters of your faith. By sitting for eleven hours a day because nothing here is now fate but all is hard earned.

    Earn! You will Earn. While you will lose morality and peace and earn a living where you are oppressed and the oppressor. It's all an infinte even cycle until you cross the race beyond the mark and set the new bars. Until you learn to inferiorise another caste/race/community. Because that's the lesson you must remember you work hard until there is nothing soft in you left.

    Left nothing! In this whisteling, buzzling world, where Nightingale song is stranger dream. Keats ghosts has also left. Well he was not able to deduce any new Odes, because here you have no art left to cherish. No dreams to live. No fat kid drawings to fit in an astronaut suit landing on an undiscovered moon. Because imagination have exhausted and become non renewable resource.


    Resources. Everyone and everything is a resource here. From the butterfly in your stomach to hunger in your heart or anguish when you fail. All can be optimized and institutionalized in ways that no boy is here feels for his Romeo. On some days this all seems like a Van Gou painting gone wrong or Kafkaesque narrative.

    Nevertheless, rationally saying it is not.This is my window sill. This my mansion.This is the life. Life that has valueless value and death that's the honourable sabbatical I wish for. Hobbies which are my escapade but well for today my canvas is full. I am full. So I must go back to my urgent call.

    -kindred__words

    #capitalism #canvas #life #window #happiness #mundaness #writersnetwork #rants #escapades #resources #earn #mansion #tank #left #humans #hope #kindredspirits #kindred_words

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    A Capitalist Canvas

    Nevertheless, rationally saying it is not.This is my window sill. This my mansion.This is the life. Life that has valueless value and death that's the honourable sabbatical I wish for. Hobbies which are my escapade but well for today my canvas is full. I am full. So I must go

  • kindred_words 18w

    My country reaped Independence roughly 75 years ago
    and here I am in 2021
    living in a city of
    233.5 km² area - Jodhpur.
    Scribbling the tumbling,
    vestiges of past and
    the angst of Gen Z.
    Describing you the state
    gifted to us now,
    Wrapped with climate change
    and Pandemic,
    by the forefathers of then
    and the predators of now.
    My city is just like
    a subtle disaster.
    Adorning blue walls
    With public pee and spit.
    Broken hearts and road,
    Where crowd runs
    Without masks,
    Except after 8 PM,
    Because duh, my dear
    Covid walks in.
    My city is not unique,
    It is the same as yours.
    In my city poets scribble,
    And die.
    But their words live.
    My city is just like yours
    is a Subtle disaster,
    Reaching soon to explode
    With deaths of souls
    And the human mind.
    It is a Subtle disaster
    in the funeral pyre
    In heart's raging.
    My city is just like yours
    where the youth pray
    to die young
    and the charlatan old rules.
    Cities like yours and mine
    are the cities where poems scribbled by youth collapse.
    My city is just like yours
    where gallons of oil,
    milk goes to gutter
    and meantime
    eight lakh kids
    in our country die malnourished.
    Cities like yours and mine
    are the cities where poems scribbled by youth collapse.

    Those scribbled poems
    that lie collapse
    are memoirs of prolonged
    sadness and injustice,
    served on platter of
    activists and hunger
    felt for love.
    Distorted visionaries
    sell utopian promises
    like freshly baked
    cookies they smell nice.
    While behind the show
    the art that reflects
    angst of artist
    are suppressed
    and buried under
    the charges of sedition.
    Such are the cities
    and nations
    where poems scribbled
    by you and me
    and youth collapse.
    These are cities
    where the subtle disaster,
    is in creation
    in every street
    in every act
    of rape
    and instigation
    of communal violence.


    #country #city #subtledisaters #crimes #burningcity #burning #art #artist #writer #writing #poetry #poets #poems #kindredspirits #kindred_words #fire #hope #death #nation #collapse

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    Subtle Disaster

    Such are the cities
    and nations
    where poems scribbled
    by you and me
    and youth collapse.
    These are cities
    where the subtle disaster,
    is in creation
    in every street
    in every act of rape
    and of instigation of
    communal violence.
    ©kindred_words

  • kindred_words 18w

    People

    People
    promise
    Forever then
    Leave you
    Alone
    ©kindred_words

  • kindred_words 48w

    Into the light

    Light is often considered to be a symbol of hope, love and purity
    But for me as soon as I arrived into the light,
    Light became a struggle,
    From the brightness that blinded my eyes,
    And made me scream, they laughed and I could only cry louder
    It is 20 years since I came "into the light",
    I am still struggling.
    Struggling to find a little warmth, little darkness, peace and attachment....
    ....which I lost when my placenta and me were ripped apart.
    Do you still really think the "into the light " worlfd is beautiful ?
    Yes maybe, because you don't have memory of the world that you lived in before.
    ©kindred_words

  • kindred_words 52w

    ऐ मेरे शायर,

    ऐ मेरे शायर,
    छिपा लो अपने लफ़्ज़ों को पन्नो में,
    और दफना दो उन्हें
    नानी के पुराने बक्से में,
    क्योंकि अब ये जहां शायर
    को सिर्फ अहमक़ समझता है।
    ©kindred_words

  • kindred_words 58w

    Not love

    I am too scared to take him back and yet I am too meak to live without him
    This is dependency not love !
    ©kindred_words

  • kindred_words 60w

    Promises are meant to be broken!

    They promised me to not hold me back and clutch my wings,
    I trusted them and submitted to them,
    and in no time,
    the clipped my wings
    and traded my the trust to their ambitions.
    Making me promise myself to never make promise to someone nor believe in someone's promises
    Because promises are meant to be broken !
    ©kindred_words

  • kindred_words 61w

    Life

    Life is too short to
    pretend being happy
    just genuinely be!
    ©kindred_words

  • kindred_words 61w

    Alacrity

    In the alacrtiy to raise community awareness she forget to raise self awareness!
    ©kindred_words

  • kindred_words 61w

    //आसमान और ज़मीन का रिश्ता! //
    #आसमान
    #ज़मीन
    #जुदाई #रिश्ते
    #mirakee
    #writerscommunity
    #readwriteunite
    #kindred_words
    #kindredspirits

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    ...

    ऐ मेरे राज़दार ,
    सोचती हूँ, कि क्या ये ज़मीन भी
    कभी आसमान
    की गुज़ारिश करती होगी ?
    या उसने भी ,
    जुदाई की रीत से,
    समझौता कर लिया।
    बोल ना !?
    ©kindred_words