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  • lady_midnight 73w

    Her imagination stretches far and wide, dwindling in feeble pages without the crutches of a reader's eye.

    ©lady_midnight

  • lady_midnight 75w

    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.

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    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 76w

    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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  • lady_midnight 76w

    Smiles are costly and I'm not much of a bargainer, so I pay with blood for the happiness you see plastered on my face, because pretence is the new reality these days.

    Words come cheap to those who dwell in bars with a broken heart spilled on their clothes, like the permanent ink of sorrows, tattooed on their skin.

    Kindness echoes fiction, many say a fairytale of our time, for children to believe that poverty is a monster which can be defeated.

    Hope is a graveyard kept alive with the flowers, stranded strangers leave behind, perfumed with guilt and amnesia as they forget everything but the scriptures of faith

    Life, a beautiful lie and death, a hurtful truth they say, so when I've lived my lies as truth, bury me with the smiles I held dear, nail them to my coffin, so that whenever they pass me by, they will know pretences are opaque promises not meant to enter afterlife.

    Bury me with words, immortal in an honest love lost, so their story may live in my epitaph, for the stranger kissing goodbye can believe love is the strongest force of all.

    Bury me with kindness in the way you lay down my body, for your faintest touch of warmth may keep me warm, if my soul finds solace in the broken hut you walk by daily, but never stopped to spare a morsel or a penny.

    Bury me with hope to forgive yourself if you forget, the moles on my body or how my lips were bow shaped, for eyes are but illusions and faith is in the love, in your heartbeats that rage.

    For the uncertainty and certainty meet like old friends in the aftelife, bury me with both, a taste for life fulfilled and an adventure yet to take.

    ©lady_midnight

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #afterlife
    @pen_and_paper @raika_
    I'm not sure if it makes sense though.

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    AFTERLIFE

  • lady_midnight 77w

    Don't ask me for words to soothe your heart, nor for words to bind some peace. The lies look beautiful on your skin, complimenting those treacherous orbs. If my lips were to ever touch yours, my verses will wilt those plump roses you adorn. Don't ask me for words.

    Don't ask me for love to drown your sorrows, nor for love to wound the hate. The void vase plummeting nothingness in you, hides black holes. If my heart were to ever sync with yours, you will be nothing but a debris of dead dreams. Don't ask me for love.

    Don't ask me for rain to quench your thirst, nor for rain to replenish parched eyes. The sandcastle memories are stored in a hourglass, far from the waves of time. If my mind were to seek solace in yours, you will find amnesia knocking at your door. Don't ask me for rain.

    Don't ask me for death to bring winters again, nor for death to be your lover. The autumn breeze braided in your hair turns graveyards to shrines. If my life were to ever entangle with yours, her summer warmth would burn you on a pyre. Don't ask me for death.

    Don't ask me about myself.

    ©lady_midnight

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  • lady_midnight 78w

    Act 1: Thunder

    It started with a clap of thunder,
    And anger found a way out,
    I waited for the lightening.
    They say it comes first,
    Like a fair warning,
    Before rage drowns the earth.
    It didn't, and I was in no haste,
    I waited some more,
    Hearing pitter-patter of the rain.
    An old poetry befriended my thoughts,
    Of how raindrops sound like horses,
    Dancing on the rooftop.
    Still, lightening gave no knock;
    By now anger had subsided,
    And melancholy took the stage,
    Leaving me to wonder
    what part it had to play,
    As if on cue, my heart burst open,
    Like a pinata of bad memories,
    Falling ashen on the ground.
    I cried and cried until I could no more,
    And down fell the curtains,
    With act one over, act two to begin.

    ©lady_midnight

  • lady_midnight 78w

    Night sky and daydreams

    My thoughts often wander in general wonderment,
    Gazing at the night sky shrouded in darkness,
    Squinting my eyes at midnight,
    To count the stars invisible to the naked eye.

    My worries take a breather while my soul flies,
    Watching white birds carry peace across the sky.
    The street lights flicker in the narrow roads,
    Alike the minds of my neighbors resting with closed doors.

    With exhausted cars and winter breeze,
    I hear the silence crooning lullabies,
    If poets, musicians and painters have a soiree,
    This night would play a perfect harmony.

    Poets praising the stillness of the banyan tree,
    Delighted with giggles in daylight,
    And ripe with wisdom of moonlight;
    Musicians would hum along the wind
    Composing whispers and wishes of forlorn lovers;
    Painters would dip their brushes a midnight blue,
    Trying to capture fleeing memories before twilight.


    ©lady_midnight

  • lady_midnight 78w

    Accept. Understand. Grow. Forgive?

    It is easy to let you know the ways of forgiveness, when all my heart wants is to taste revenge sometimes. It is easy to tell you there is peace in letting go, when everything I do is driven from the kite string I hold on to. It is easy to know what's right, I merely wish it was easier to do so.

    I have a checkered past with forgiveness, where nightmares come haunting as pleasant dreams leaving me to wonder if this hate crime should stop. They don't usually come to stay, but my polite indifference and a stubborn reluctance offers them a drink.

    I merely play hostess to a long standing tradition of अतिथि देवो भवः and invite the shadows of past they bring along. I wish I had known that not every tradition is meant to be followed, and my mind would not be a clutter of heartbreaks, bullies and revenge.

    From a victim to a survivor:

    1. Acceptance. No matter what has happened, accept the occurrence.

    2. Perspective. Put yourself in the shoe of others, not to justify but merely to understand.

    3. Prioritize. Only you have the power to set course. Set sail, move forward. The ship is meant to leave the harbor.

    4. Grow. Rise like a phoenix.

    5. Forgive? Yes, we must. But we won't always forget.

    My handbook I've carried since 9th grade, looks similar to this. I've been subjected to harassment, except physical. Although I did come quite close to it. I enclosed myself in all this, hoping the world would understand, that time would understand. Nobody waits. So you must move on too.

    I navigated my feelings, and everything led to the points above. The journey is and will be different for everyone. Forgiveness seems as difficult as penance sometimes. But it is important.

    My two cents and a penny for your thoughts.

    ©lady_midnight

  • lady_midnight 79w

    //personification//

    He waltzed in spring and knocked twice,
    Waking up the hibernating hearts,
    Disguised as a cupid's arrow sometimes
    Or a sunset at lover's point.
    His skin, love letters in the sky;
    His hair, strings connecting miles;
    His eyes, a wishing well;
    His heart, the open sky;
    February, they call him,
    My fetish, the verses ink him.

    //Periphrasis//

    He is the second son,
    Ringing bells of spring
    And warming winter's grave.
    Ask a lover what's his name,
    For all I remember are poems
    Carved in his essence.

    ©lady_midnight

    #random #writersnetwork #mirakee

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    February Fetish

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  • lady_midnight 79w

    Midnight, love and a poetry

    The sky runs deep with midnight verses,
    Of promises, scars and longing,
    Etched in stories on my epidermis.

    One year in, you unwrap those bandages,
    And find splashes of black and blue, like,
    The sky runs deep with midnight verses.

    Summer gone by, autumn breeze surfaces,
    We find beginnings and conclusions,
    Etched in stories on my epidermis.

    A sweet frostbite like winter kisses,
    and I'm enveloped in a poet's ink, like,
    The sky runs deep with midnight verses.

    Little things, my face and our love courses,
    Through every artery, and in your heartbeat
    Etched in stories on my epidermis.

    Three years in and fourth circuits,
    I've found a love flowing perpetually, where,
    The sky runs deep with midnight verses,
    Etched in stories on my epidermis.

    ©lady_midnight

    My frail attempt at a villanelle poem.
    #versesforH
    #valentine

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