Quotes and poetry by kir_tiiii

तुम सो रहे हो वहाँ, यहाँ मैं तुम्हारे ख़यालों में गुम हूँ।
जैसे सूरज हो तुम, मैं सूरजमुखी बनने को व्याकुल हूँ।

बारिश हो रही है, मद्धम मद्धम, पेड़ नाच उठे है।
लगता है सारी धरती तुम्हारे प्यार की गिरफ़्त में है।

कभी कभी लगता है तुम ख़्वाब हो कोई,
फिर तुम्हें छू लूँ तो यक़ीन आता है।
यूँ तो कहने को कुछ ज़्यादा समय नहीं बीता,
पर मुझे तो कुछ पिछले जन्म सा नज़र आता है।

जब साथ एक बिस्तर पर सोते है,
इक्कठे आँख खुलती है, अधिकतर बार।
भला ऐसे हर बार कैसे मुमकिन है,
तुम ही बताओ क्या ये साधारण है?

किसी से मिलना और उसका घर हो जाना,
किसी को छूना और उसका मंदिर हो जाना,
तुम ही बताओ क्या ये साधारण है?

sereiin 57w

Boys will not be boys

Boys will not be boys for they will not keep the masculinity the society taught them as reminders tattooed on their skin.

Because the boy I know is fragile like a flower and sweet like it's nectar so he came home labelled "Handle with care" written by his father because his son finds no strength keeping his cries inside his throats until it hurts and he never speaks again and because he doesn't break his mirrors and bruises his knuckles when he is angry instead he writes death note like poetries in his diary before sleep. For he knows blood on his hands doesn't make him man and not crying doesn't give him abs so he will not bottle his tears to the grave and so the boy I know has a stomach too small to shove toxic masculinity in it. Instead, he eats his insecurities bit by bit and gulps his ego down, wears a loose pink shirt and confidence in his smile and he doesn't keep his anger on the sleeve of his shirt and his egos clutched between his fingerlings.
The boy I know learnt how to love from his mother and so he'll make you laugh and sing you to sleep but will not hold your hand in his and taste the tip of your lips until it mouths a Yes because his mother taught him to ask for consent before she taught him to sing. So the boy I know is happy in the world he built for himself with no rules to qualify as a man and so he doesn't mind the label his father put over him for he knows fragile is beautiful.
©sereiin

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sereiin 60w

The rose petals in my journals have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now. They keep growing in dust and I in melancholy.

Your photographs are polaroids of memories I am too afraid to open too afraid to name love.
Smiles have been fading and my wounds now ache in love and whisper your name every time they bleed. They have grown sour to all the memories that rot inside,
It stinks like a reminder of not being enough.

The mirror on the wall is old and I sit staring at it in long breaths and cold hands.

Nose too big- Check
Lips too chapped- Check
Eyes not pretty enough- Check
The heart is too broken - Check
No self-love - Check

I keep whispering it like an LKG rhyme again and again for I carry too much hate for me and too much love for him. I remember things I shouldn't and love people I don't want to. Oh, but do they love me back? They don't, they never did.

My mother calls love a sin, maybe I am a sinner but what good am I if I don't even get him to love me back.
©sereiin

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dusky_dawn 60w

Something.

#therainsensation

Rain(Drops)

Dry Skin.Swollen lips.
I Chewed them hard last night
Running low on h2o
I emptied the jug that was high on it.

Swollen lips. Wet skin.
Drops dropped from all angles.
My stomach shouted "Is it summer"?
Scalp blabbered curses every second.
Rain(drop)ped drops of h2o every minute.

Wet skin. Burning back
Calemine calmed the chaos a little
But lips screamed "Is it on fire"?
Rubbed the palms, Breathing drop(ped)
I chewed the lips a little.
Sat still and sick to the stomach
Slept slowly and slowly.

The drops drop(ped) were invisible.
"It's all in your head"I whispered
But the burning back?I questioned
"It's all in your sick head".

©dusky_dawn

sereiin 61w

To,
A man with huge arms and feet, a scratchy beard with black upturned mustache often found with his iron-stiff shirts of the colour of the sky buttoned neatly and tucked under his brown pants and who doesn't smile often.

You are often seated at the corner when poems are scribbled over sacrifice,
With pretty metaphors of love ,sacrifice grins within.

You mother , she calls you a warrior,
As you set off to the world where you smile until your jaws hurt with grief clenched to your teeth.
Because men he says we're never built that way.
On most days he spreads his arms wide apart asking me to bury all my sorrows inside it
For he is a man and it says without going grief sticks on a mans face without a pain unlike women that a shed a tear.

On the days when I see my life mending it's verses among heartbreaks ,
His particularly hoarse voice pulls me under his tender smiles.
Showing rainbows under dark clouds,
Being yellow in my blues.

He says I love yous a little less than Ma,
But his passwords says otherwise.
4 walls and a roof over my head,
And his arms I call home.

From,
The one who feels a little safe with your hand holding her little fingers and who smiles a lot more around you and loves you till eternity.

- Radhika

#gratitude #wod

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thewordplayer 85w

"I have moved on"
I keep repeating this say..
But seems like in dark midnight,
I am consoling myself that it's a day.

It definitely isn't easy,
to accept the fact that those days are gone..
But then to stand up and face the world..
I need to act like I have moved on.

It hurts when I realize,
that you have gone far..
How fast things have changed..
Seems like it isnt even a complete year.

And it's probably cause...

In the ocean of your life
I was just like a drop of dew
but in my life, all the way,,
The "one"was always meant to be you.

You were my pain,
you were my cure..
In my world full of uncertainities,
you were the only "sure"

In a room full of crowd
I might never take your name,
but trust me, deep down within my heart
I have your picture reclaimed in a frame.

But I'll keep hoping that I move on,
nay be on some good day,
probably then life your well,
and things will go right for me all the way.

#shelter #wod

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veloc1ty_ 88w

Life feels like a smooth journey when you're accompanied by the right one who keeps your head distracted from all the bumps on the road. Problems always originate in your mind, fickle or serious, and if it is occupied by someone who loves you a lot, I'm sure they won't allow that mess to exist there as long as they are in charge of it.

In your sweet bubble of love, you are not a bit concerned about any major setbacks coz you have those pair of arms to crash into whenever everything seems like it's collapsing. You are safe in the abode you belong to and always welcomed for as long as you intend to stay there.

You're lucky if you have experienced love. You're even luckier if it managed to stay with you. Coz Love is a delicate piece of ice that both of you shape together into something beautiful. You both take turns looking after it, trying to not let it shatter into painful shards, deform into something ugly or dissolve into nothingness.

But it's never cold like ice, no it's a warm feeling; a comfort unlike winter. And you keep it warm by holding it in your palms and it gives you more warmth in return.
The journey from stumbling onto a block of ice to sculpting into a beautiful monument is never easy. You have days when one of you is heated enough to melt some parts of it. You have days when one of you throws a fit and cares less if it breaks.

I hope you find a love where the other one protects the piece at all costs when one of you is having issues.
I hope you're not the one who always protects it.
I hope you don't ever have to look after that piece alone and I hope it doesn't shatter, deform or dissolve like snow.
©veloc1ty_

A simple one this time (._.)

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inara__ 90w

Inspired by "Dust Of Snow" - Robert Frost
_______________________________________

Tried making a snowflake❄
#concrete for the first time.
#cconcrete

@sangfroid_soul @say_me_krish @felix__anima
Thank you so much guys !
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@writersnetwork Thanks alot for the repost. Never knew you comment too !!
#favwn

Icicle

. I feel
like a
n icic
le han
ging in bru mous
nights when t here's
a scintilla of gray frosts
rushing in my wits.
Malefic air runs
thro ugh my heart and
m y h e a d turns
dolent a n d a sud den in cipient
urge to g e t astray murkl i n s.
I remem ber e ach of my halycon
was evanescent and how my venal acquaintances
absquatulated. But in a flash a
quiddity of amusem ent arises
w h e n a flake of snow
passes
through my hair
and abruptly the wooly
darkness twirls into eternal
euphora and my leaden
musings turn i n t o
sprin
gy rev
eries.

©chaheti_rathore

daphnae 89w

THE DEMONS, CURSED AND LONELY

I am swallowing down tears, one after another in the hope that it will taste sweet after plethora of bitterness they wrapped around my brown, sugary scars. Scars and sins, are all I am left to once you left me bleak over the edge. And they drag me along holding the same braids you once laced with the gypsies in between. They take me to the backyard, along the fence which still holds the fresh rotten scent of the dead pigeon trying to pass through it the other day. Will you forgive me if I say I saw it struggling, stiffed gasping for air? I saw it slowly losing its senses, breathing at a pace likely to break down any moment, striving for rescue with the broken voice gone mute. Will you ask me why I didn't hold the bird in my hands, why I stared it all along its moribund?

The stars of my delusions collided against the door you closed and choked me with the key then. Once again, I am choked of your absence, engulfing me throughout my existence; until I was reminded me the reason I bide amongst the demons of my words. "The pigeon under the fence, kissed death while watching the mid day sky. And I had been embracing the idea of being dead since that day. My skin doesn't need to puke out blood anymore, the ink unbinding the misery is enough. Grasping the knives, carved with ugly souvenirs of my nineteenth grave, I ripped the wings off its body. I kept on sniffing the murky wings exhaling fresh breaths of pain, as the slits of my body dried up long back."

//And every page of my diary gets wrapped up like this with flinching words of agony, answering to your every unvoiced questions palpitating in my fantasies.//
©daphnae

#mirakee #wn #pod #deceptivedecember #darkmaybe

Highly and very highly inspired by @maleficent_ ❤

'Cause you guys are a constant inspiration at this! @asphodel_ @souravmudgal @zilch__ @thewordplayer

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say_me_krish 95w

| Daring deaths |

There are some junctures when you start loving Edgar Allen Poe and his poems; I too am living in this genus of the contemporary. The aureole around the moon seems aphotic and befuddled in the night times; it looks like radiances losing their own charisma in front of despondency. I really felt like an alamort soul who has been transpierced just once and thrown besides the dug up sepulchre to bury myself. It is all understood of late by the fact that all contradictions don't turn out as postulates just like you expect; this word called 'Unexpected' pops out of any nook and corner.

When I 'Fell' in love, I felt butterflies flying in my stomach with the best feelings dancing triumphantly in the air of my heart. But as soon as I realized that I had drowned, I was only left with memories which were mere butterfly times, which flew yonders away from me. Being an lepidopterologist might have helped maybe, but it is all fair to cascade first and rise with a heap of memories in hand then. It wasn't strange for me, some things are meant to bring miseries, and they surely will. Epiphanies have crossed my mind saying: "Not all angels fly, some wings are ripped apart".

I never believed in kismet's play, till listening to Taylor Swift's 'Treacherous', coz the title breathed of my experiences, and shadowed me somewhere. When I first met her, I felt it was all done, and indeed, it ended, but as a dark poem rather than a fairytale. I had seen my cosmos in her almond eyes, a bunch of galaxies and a millions of stars with shimmering sagas of our love. After sayonaras, I unexpectedly found myself in the abyss, the black one. When you leave yourself in someone, finding yourself back can never happen. The ones who hold your journals must return it too. It holds signifance as well.

Death doors had some light for my fáilte with all pride amidst the biggest pandemic, but when I realized I, myself, was the disease(d), I shattered into pieces, literally, smithereens. I'm feeling incomplete of since broken. Crimson- hued glasses are all distorted mercilessly. It takes something to realize the very fact that you are not you anymore. But somehow, I bite the bitter gourds. I desire to wave to death by gathering all my fragments which she broke up, take back all my happy hopes she snatched, get hold on everything of my universe; I want it all back, except Love. Love hurts when it doesn't have two streams uniting together for oceans without horizons, right?

I wouldn't die of sorrow and pain, I would wish to be averted in the confines of a photo frame after bringing a tempest rather. I wish to be a strong persona; penning down dark proses isn't my genre anymore. I will emerge victorious, I will bring back at least a part of myself, safe and sound. By then, be ready to invite me into your abode, the one having rooms of Expiry dates.

/Are you ready for me?/

~S r i K r i s h n a P S | Oct 17, 2020
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Highly inspired by @clockwork_mnemosyne ��

@writersnetwork @writersbay @thewordplayer
#skp_writes #shadowc #lettersc
(Epiphany, happen, happy, pain, any, heap etc)

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kir_tiiii

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