Mirakee
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lady_midnight
1h
Read MoreI've often wished to be a muse, carved into his poetry. A sonnet perhaps, reflected in perfect symmetry of phrases and rhymes.
His muscular hands caressing my cheek softly and the ink falling in cascades on the fair skinned parchment.
His thumbs trace the outline of my lips and the pen etches aching sighs. His name rolls down my tongue, stealthily.
He murmurs kisses along my neck and quickens the pace of his words alike my erratic heartbeats.
Fire breathes beneath my skin, and his hands bend it into passion betwixt his words.
I've ventured beyond a poetry now, he says.
He calls me a masterpiece like none, entrapped forever in his heart.
©lady_midnight
#writersnetwork #mirakee -
Love is an infamous innocence,
scandalously scented.
©lady_midnight -
lady_midnight
2w
Read More
My mother had a vanity case full of popping cherries and firework shades. I was afraid of their roars, yet curious sometimes how they were so bold. Before I learnt to speak, I was taught to put finger on my lips, to keep my tongue locked in like the protests hidden in her vanity case.
I grew up afraid of red the most. But it was everywhere I looked; the blood I spilled from biting too hard, keeping the cage closed to the first horror of my period I trudged from, not knowing that it was something so wrong, something so scandalous.
I was taught how to be a woman, painted in sombre browns to blend well with the background. They told me red was for those with deformed thoughts of love and freedom, that red was a curse raging from ages.
I opened the vanity case again that night, and they breathed a sigh of relief. Surprised yet delighted they told me tale of how patriarchy steals colours like the Grinch stole Christmas, that they couldn't steal the red flowing in me so they took away my screams.
I shed subservience of centuries old that night, and woke up a woman, redefined. I proudly wore red, not an act of defiance but an act of acceptance. I became me the next day, a woman bleeding consciousness and power.
©lady_midnight
#writersnetwork #mirakee
@raika_ @pen_and_paper.
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Heartache knits poetry, watching sand impersonating time.
©lady_midnight -
I thought I was prepared for farewells to come, for I have longed for endings before they had even begun. The fairytales I read, prized happily ever after and I was but a girl who had just started dreaming. I walked down the spiral staircase of memories, taken aback by the tears, flowing shamelessly.
The walls reminded me of cages, and I smiled at the wings I had fought for in those. The silent stares of submission and angry chants of patriarchy lay buried in this house. I stood over the debris, like a phoenix born of its ashes. I was fire personified.
The doors have always been hinged secrets, conspiracies in waiting. Rumors are open relationships no one wants, and my house was a hot-spot. I stayed away from them like I would from communicable diseases, and now I find my secrets decaying with the wood and the once burning pyre of gossips, dead cold.
The empty stares of old picture frames tries to pull me into a moment, when capturing smiles on a sheet led me to believe it can stay forever the same. I trace my finger along the dirt, recalling the innocence bleeding to maturity.
The home I bid adieu is the warmth of my mother's arms, the love in her food and the shine in her eyes which turns her into my goddess. She is the only religion I know, and the only home I've had. Those walls were painted happy with her smiles, and the doors never locked me in with her by my side.
The home I have to build again, will not resemble this one. It will breathe hope through the walls, and its strength would be the love she blossomed in me.
©lady_midnight -
Knock Knock, it's lonely
I like being alone, but "loneliness" suffocates the self imposed kindness sometimes. Someone loves me beyond the definition of love, if there is one. I love him too, just as much probably. Someone makes up stories when I'm feeling blue, just to make me laugh.
I must be lucky to have these someone who take up most of my heart and soul. Nonetheless, my self imposed kindness leaves the door open for loneliness to creep in like a burglar. It steals warmth from the fireplace and the blanket of smiles my someones gifted me.
I wake up, numb to happiness. It's the tundra of feelings, and I might have migrated permanently. I am alone, like I wanted, but with an unwanted black hole of despair. A shadow; accompanying me from life to death.
I see no clouds and my search for silver lining ends where it began. It's a trap, you see. Alone always has an alibi; it often plays the victim and we become the culprit because we sympathise with pain, mistaken for an ally.
I have a trapdoor in these words somewhere, but it's too dark for me to find. So, I'll let loneliness and alone get acquainted like old friends here, while I wait for the night to be over.
Shush, they don't know I know.
Goodbye.
©lady_midnight -
Haphazard phrases with a side of Sunset
I like evening rituals of sitting in silence and mulling over sunsets and ends while a warm cup of tea lies forgotten on the table. You can catch me chasing butterflies in my thoughts like it's the beginning of spring, all the while brown crowns adorn the Earth.
It feels like a good story on my lips, the forgotten tea, lukewarm, waiting for the traffic of thoughts to signal green. I gulp it in parts, in sips, pausing to taste the semicolons and full stops; they keep me on edge, you know.
They see me as a mystery, a shadow sometimes, because I like the company of sunset, skies and stories more than the gossips they partake with their cup of English tea.
I like the satin slip hugging my curves as I let the ending wash over me, while watching the sky turn sangria to sanguine. Wind paces by my window and I watch a few tea leaves floating in the cup.
It tasted like a rough end, with a bittersweet aftertaste, promising an epilogue. A smile hangs low tonight, making up for a rather grim evening. I'd invite you for a tea sometime, if you accept my haphazard phrases instead of headlines on a zebra crossing.
©lady_midnight -
Her imagination stretches far and wide, dwindling in feeble pages without the crutches of a reader's eye.
©lady_midnight -
lady_midnight
6w
Read More
My mind houses no guests,
Who leave trail of regrets,
Like bread crumbs to the past,
When nostalgia crosses path.
#writersnetwork #mirakee #regrets
Skip, please.Goodbye, with a pinch of polite sarcasm
Regrets are assasinators;
They are pinky swears gone bad.
Mistakes and guilts in a soiree,
Mistaken for a crime scene in the morning.
They are casualties from
A phrase of promises meant to be broken,
A carnival of distorted mirrors,
Gone with the wind.
But I've called a truce,
And waved a white flag,
Bidding goodbye,
To smirking regrets,
Saying, nice to meet you
Let's do it again sometime.
©lady_midnight -
lady_midnight
7w
Read More
You can find me in the diary of an unrequited lover,
Rhyming with ghungroos of Rimjhim,
With overflowing verses of serenity and chaos,
He finds when my lips bloom in ecstasy of him.
©lady_midnight
#writersnetwork #mirakee #rains
Lame..
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galvanizedthoughts
2w
Read Moreletters to my lone companion- ode to the summer anthems me and my jhoola sang
Back when i was as old
as the fingers on my tiny palms
as the bells echoed
and the koels chirruped in approval
the smell of the agarbatti
emanating from the puja room
announced the departure of Sun
from the skies now painted in hues
of a renaissance painting
the women in the household now all seated in a circle
discussing about jhoolas they will buy for the homely diety
i stood in awe, gazing at the wooden structure
that enthralled my heart for the very first time
so i run to the oldest patriarch
and tug the hem of his shirt
and gave him the cutest expression i could muster
as his eyes bore into mine
he nodded acknowledging my ernest wish
as i ran away again into some mindless activity
the next year i visit our home
my age couldnt be determined
by the fingers of single palm
and there it stood
in the aangan on the rooftop
painted as red as Ma's sindoor
in full glory
my jhoola my only companion in that big house
2.
I remember being 8 or some
when I was nudged forcefully
to do odissi in front of my relatives
and the time when an aunty pinched my cheeks too hard
that they resembled the hue
of Ma's sindoor and the jhoola
there were time when i was nudged away
by the ladies as they showcased
their jewels, saree gold and what not
as they sat together huddled in a ellipse or a circle
i ran away to the arms of my jhoola
as we would sit together in each others company
the silence of us
approved by the koels
as the winds and we played antakshari together
the sun now a silent spectator
we sang and sang
we sung summer anthems
and the winds chimed with us
a perfect choir
we sang tagore songs in the dialects of the wind
we laughed as the winds pushed us both higher
we waved frantically at the skies
as days went away in a blur
it was time for us to depart
we wept in silence
as the winds too stopped
the sun peeked from behind the snowy curtains
Of the Himalayan ranges
but as long as the Sun rises and sets
you will be
forever as the first tagore song
i memorised by heart
© Ayushi Saha @/ galvanizedthoughts on 15.05 pm 7th April 2021
#ode #pod #wod @writersnetwork @mirakee
Read all the poems under #gtnapowrimo21 #gtwn
#memories as well
Illustrated by @/manal_mirza_.
-
adamantquill
2w
Read MorePOD¿? �� Thank you so much for appreciating this piece ������
#oxymoron #writersnetwork #podOxymoronic world
M.E.L.A.N.C.H.O.L.I.C H.A.P.P.I.N.E.S.S
Forbearance of the cognizant self
beset in melancholy, yet surmounted
with a dash of happiness that dances
on the footsteps of a sad muse.
How strong that soul must be!
M.O.N.O.T.O.N.O.U.S S.U.N.S.H.I.N.E
Each day varies and every sunshine is not
so bright. To some it is the dazzling rays
of light and to some it is just a monotone
shade of nature, burning as they touch,
clouding inside as they pierce.
B.E.A.U.T.I.F.U.L S.C.A.R.S
Who even named them ugly, the scars
that are so similar to the folktale heroes,
the scars that enumerate one's life and
their story and the battles they fought,
the scars that are both visibly and invisibly beautiful.
L.O.A.T.H.F.U.L L.O.V.E
A person that hurts you, one worthy of your hate
yet you are tied and chained by the love
for them, you fail to hate them so you hate
yourself for loving them. Try harder to love
yourself more and you will witness the chains
unchain themselves and freeing you of pain.
H.E.A.V.E.N.L.Y H.E.L.L
This vibrant and heavenly beautiful world
of ours, that is providing the well beings
of life to live and die, yet it is so prisonous
and dark cage where atrocities dwell,
where it is hard to breathe in
and all I can think of it as a representation
of a hell disguised in a heaven.
©adamantquill -
hayat_
2w
Recipe to cook an aphrodisiac
I pluck an onion
out of my breast pocket
and a tomato
off my thigh's
I wash them off their dirty skins
and germs
that plague everyone around them
in hindsight
Peel,
the foreskin
of the former
caressing the sting in my faulty eye,
and chop, the latter
till it's reduced to nothing
seen by the naked eye--
water from the only place is my right.
Put them in a pan
greased and hot,
to burn my tongue enough
to not want to bite.
You'd like it with a pinch of
turmeric,
something to justify my yellow fever
in lieu of sixteen attempts at beauty DIYs
chilli, to flush my cheeks with a youthful colour
some more,
as an excuse for my occasional bursts of seasoned anger
mustard pops as a reminder of my beauty marks,
maybe gather an onlooker's sigh;
cumin for the sizzle behind my limp legs
two pepper balls, for kiester highs
Sauté my pride,
till it's all smoke,
and malted spice, a sprinkle of sugar,
and everything nice.
Boiled potatoes
for the carbs I refuse,
recycle my talent
and repurpose themselves to add onto my
culinary expertise.
Your taste is the talk of half the town
mine, is more than the sum of all my ingredients.
An advert of a human with
skills of the kitchen,
a walking bill-board
y'all could mighty cry.
I wipe down a plate,
with an extra hem
spanning more than the skin I ornate;
serve the dish like
a pro in making, and
feed it to the lady down a few lanes
She takes a bite,
chews it all
and regurgitates
her most overused sentence -- "I'm, ofcourse the favour-ite"
On my way, I leave some
for the street lovers' love-child, who's fed
everything but love;
grief might limit my kindness,
but not as often my empathy.
She likes the affirmation
of her preferred assumption,
and gleefully stammers, the rest on her own.
I overhear my praise to the locals, how
I lay the best platter in town;
and see her tiptoe to the doctor
for indigestion
as soon's the sun down.
"Are you alright?"
I ask her the next, before noon
"Yes, my child."
replies she, munching on minced chicken pie,
looks so much like my hair, except a little less dry.
"You were at the doctor's last night."
'tis no question because if they think my hips can lie,
you know, I can atleast believe my eyes.
"Oh," she smiles. "Ofcourse I was," she further continues,
without an attempt to reconcile.
My trifid forehead, fails to cue her any more--
confusion, fright, fatigue
one as each divison's connoisseur.
Until her own curiosity kindles
to devour her joy, sweaty from the inside
I have to wait a second more to give up,
lo! there goes, I recognize my most scrumptious surprise--
"Oh honey, wouldn't you make for the loveliest wife!"
©hayat -
embracewabisabi
2w
Read MorePS : Tried to write down my insincere and inconsistent thoughts.
@mirakee @writersnetwork
@allbymyselfAn Imprecise Metaphor
My mere words might not do you enough justice,
my words might not, but the rhapsody I stole from
the glances of subtlety might.
Is it a rhapsody if it's not proper?
Is it?! I don't know! I don't know!!!
I don't..I do not seem to know of anything lately,
I do not seem to be aware of anybody around me,
I i ai.ai..I do not seem to be belong to any bevy.
Hush! Hush! Hush!
Someone shouted.
"Who was that?",
I asked but no one answered..
Pulling on my hair; breaking the tip of my pen in process, I asked and was greeted with silence again.
"Look around and see for yourself; listen carefully.
You might feel so insignificant, so small
in this world of sterile thoughts but, look again and this time with your eyes closed.
Look at her, so majestic, so powerful.
Indeed, the grime has made its home there but
you can still feel the comfort and familiarity amidst."
Again, my ears perked up to the voice but it felt soothing then. So, I let it, whoever the voice belonged to, do the magic and calm myself down.
I opened my eyes and looked around the pristine yet ferocious range of mountains brimmed with sweet and forbidden temptation of flight.
I could feel the oxymorons flowing through the valleys and metaphors blooming in vicinity. The irony seems to stand still like the rock on which idioms and phrases reside alike moss.
In the moment of pure consciousness; comfortable numbness, I dared myself to find a desire.
A desire, unbeknownst to everyone, to myself.
The excitement bursting inside my body started diffusing rapidly to align with the beginning of maybe a new era.
There might not be enough reason to desire the desire but enough to settle down meekly in a corner with a shelf full of stories of the valleys.
Is it possible? Is it within the rule book of the ton to let me be, to not bound me with their norms and just letting me be me and desire my own penned desire?
I could hear the laughter of fools, who think serendipity is conquerable and colours are miserable, echoing around on that question.
Counting down the seconds from desperate arrival to patient departure of anxiety, I peeped my eye open to see the beauty around me in smokes of sexism.
My panic might have subsided when I felt the push from behind and when I turned around to hold the one by collar, I met a persistent shadow lingering behind like an obsession and so, I let myself be embraced into the arms of nothingness, for a moment.
Shaking it off, I walked near the edge with twisted feet, an embodied vitality and no reinforcements to question if there is going to be a judgement call made against my nature of rebelliousness.
Screaming silence and bursting temper of smoke announced the impending arrival of the jury, the Universe, who has summoned the presence of the guilty but am I guilty? Yes, I have burnt the roots of the ton, killed the breeders of evil and much more but that was my one desire and I was granted one.
Am I guilty to indulge in my desire or what people think as my weakness, a fight for myself?
Am I?
©embracewabisabi -
Psalms Of Immortality
Premature ejaculation, on infertile sand;
None of your business, wash your hand.
Premature revolution, thing of a prophet;
Spring out your head, it's tail of a comet.
Ours God is a fabian, coarse and ground;
Insolvent mistress, his hobbies profound.
Rock the cradle, high into enormous sky;
Your tasteless laughters, shall wish to fly.
Satan is in bondage, coughs mortal blood;
Spank him harder, harder his eye’s flood.
Storms diffuse, along the Mediterranean;
Our kills are modern, a copied Caucasian.
Storms diffuse, souls bereft of convention;
Ours God smiles, to losts in interpretation.
Divine constitutions, overlooks ours guilt;
Cathedrals of morality, must shine unbuilt.
Wash your hands, of every construction;
Not a rough debacle, a failed integration.
A mind that seeks, a mortal immortality;
Reads these psalms, dreams a centrality.
©ministry_of_insurgency -
The Invisible Doll-Maker
A perpetual maelstrom,
Constantly searching for an anchor,
Clueless about who’s pulling the strings,
Orchestrated by an invisible shape-shifting puppet-master,
The doll was once a man engulfed by his own shadows,
Encapsulating a soul that imprisoned itself,
Waiting for the song that could set it free,
Hoping for the touch that could rekindle its spirit,
Yearning for a life that time could not wear out,
Groping for a way out of the concentric loops,
Wondering what it means to be without objective,
Thirsty for a drop of eternal inspiration,
Its fluid dance never missing a pulse,
Attempting to stir a quiver with its own rhythm,
Awakening a crescendo that stops time in its tracks,
Catching a glimpse of its reflection,
On the edge where life and death are one,
When stillness was indiscernible from motion,
A delicate arc of resignation cuts across my wooden face,
As I pull up the strings and smile at the hapless man in the mirror.
©differentlywired -
allbymyself
3w
Read MoreThe song from your lip
is a memory, a scream
from the forgotten skies
the fire on your breath
is the scar tissue from
a scorned sun; the starlight
from a crashing meteor
that is marked by life yet
carries the scent of death.
The words that fall from
your half opened mouth
are switch blade knives
that cut through the edges
of my skin, a whisper
that slices through my
bone with the force
of a sledgehammer.
The story you narrate
as the starlight slips in
through the blinds is
inchoate, as indecisive
as the thoughts that
run like unchecked
rainwater in your mind
your face an uncut gem
a treasure that I might
forever seek but never find.
- Avitaj
Hi @raika_ @thegreymetaphor @dopamine
Picture credit- Lucas NewtonInchoate
She bent most of the rules. She broke the rest.
- Victoria Schwab -
amitttt
3w
Read MoreSome people talk about letting go
Like its the easiest thing to do..
Which it is not even close to..
Letting go of someone important can break you in ways that it would take.a life time to fix you..
Or not even them..
You cant love someone enough to let go of them
And smile ..
Your world will feel like its falling apart.
And you can do nothing about it..
Because its you who is doing that to your world..
You are lettting go of the permanent home
You had made out of a stupid human.
It crushses your hearts..
Kills you from inside.
But you still do it..
You want it to stop.
You want the falling apart of your world to stop.
But you are not strong enough.
To do that
Especially not alone.
You want them by your side..
You want them to hold your hand..
And heal you..
But thats not gonna happen
So you watch
You watch your world burning to ashes..
As
You let go of the most important part of you..
A part without which
You would mot survive ..
^_^
Tired or romantic stuffs ��
So writing sad for now..��...
-
moitreyee
3w
Read MoreIN(SECURITIES)
I'll rather flow with the bumps on my face,
than force my skin to run in a trendy pace.
I'll rather embrace the wit of the weak,
than praise the smile that stresses a cheek.
For not a wrinkle curves it's way in smiles,
of masks floating, gasping miles.
Let's not sit by the insecure roadside,
craving or carving a trendy body.
Let's not shove our wits aside,
to satiate eyes of a societal melody.
For we aren't meant to fit in garments,
but garments are meant to be won in bargains.
No one's a norm in a world of stereotypes,
or a dictator of how beauty should be.
We are syllables of some mortal rhymes,
that shall perish within some poems in glee.
For we aren't born to escape any truth
but experience life and be in soothe.
- Moitreyee Bhaduri
P.S : You're amazing the way you are. <3
Inspiration :
"If you come in terms with your mortality, insecurities will automatically leave." - Sadhguru
BG : Pinterest. :)
@writersnetwork #spreadlove.
