mismagical

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|| 19 || soul of Himachal ~it's just curves till they are alphabets~

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  • mismagical 11w

    I splash a handful of water on my face
    and look up at the facade staring back at me ,
    though not my own ;

    I move away ,
    back-back-back,
    it's my habit, you see,
    to back away everytime
    and look at the body staring back at me,
    though not my own;

    There's too much skin,
    layers and layers of pathetic misery
    sagging down my sides
    and even the front,
    hatred weighing down my belly ,
    a bundle of skin they despise to hell

    The side of my skin is too heavy for this world to hold up,
    too salty for the society to digest,
    too unique for my kins to accept,
    so they keep damning it,
    pushing it to a corner
    like the nuisance kid made to stand outside the class

    The side of my skin hangs loose,
    like a head bowed in shame,
    as if it's something filthy
    and not a part of who I am

    The side of my skin is how I define me,
    layer upon layer embedded
    like soft cotton in a duvet,
    a duvet that keeps me going
    through cold eves!!

    -mismagical

    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @artsyy @sangfroid_soul @dusky_dawn

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  • mismagical 19w

    (CON)QUERED

    Wars no more happen on battlefields or massacre grounds,
    but await like a predator on narrow creases of country borders.

    When lines blur,
    the lands of 'slumber' turn to 'slaughter',
    temporary homes turn to resting grounds,
    barren lands are fought over like precious cargo;
    a father, a son, a spouse,
    die for nothing
    while toasts are made in the honour of winning

    we don't have 'lines of control'
    but 'lines of latent wars',
    waiting to be blurred
    in the name of another barren land,
    another father lost,
    another wrong done
    being corrected by more valiant wrongs

    Two wrongs can't make a right,
    souls lost won't reincarnate
    on slaying their twice,
    wars wooed can't be shooed
    when demise arrives,
    so think again before coveting hate
    for it brings nothing
    but a mounting debt of lives!!

    -mismagical

  • mismagical 23w

    SEEK-NOT

    Streets, glassy with fresh rain,
    shops, an aisle of busy blur;
    there's a lot of chaos to be hearing my feet fall one after the other,
    forming tiny ripples
    of once crooked reflections,
    yet I hear them ring loud
    down the noisy street

    I stop, choke the poor umbrella to death,
    wanting nothing but to vanish beneath this open roof,
    just like a kitten hiding under a make-believe haven,
    unknown she's open to seeking eyes.

    To my right,
    a bunch of boys howl and whistle
    at ladies sputtering high pitched giggles —
    people; they like to be sought,
    so they croak out noises
    and make them nouns:
    a giggle, a howl, a laugh, a cry—
    all nothing but flails of desperation,
    a faint hope of being sought in turmoil

    Yet I stand here,
    wanting nothing but to disappear,
    be faceless to facades
    and mute to voices asking why?

    I force my feet forward,
    feeling paused in a plodding blur;
    tap-tap-tap, I still hear it,
    but I keep walking by!!

    -mismagical


    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @iamsleepy @artsyy @sangfroid_soul @dusky_dawn

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  • mismagical 28w

    EYE-CONTACT

    Puffed up and red-rimmed
    like little cushions of sorrow,
    I eye those baby blues
    filled with rhetoric questions;

    One could have written chapters in their praise
    and I still would have tumbled
    at the stories they beheld

    They acquiesce of lusty love
    and a deadly despair,
    of trashed trust
    and secrets crushed beneath the soles of cruel tears:
    they can't stop talking,
    yet remain as passive as waters before an outbreak.

    Time stills to a sluggish gait,
    leaves rustle in the distance,
    pebbles crunch under moving feet,
    water ripples some dead melodies,
    trees sway to the chimes of wind
    and almost everything has a tune to play;
    it's as if a song is being sung behind the screen
    and our eyes are tapping
    to the tunes of it.

    Here, in this moment,
    some longest seconds combine to form an eternity,
    where poems are written,
    love letters are exchanged,
    some kisses and hugs are relayed;
    but then you blink
    and it shatters,
    crumbles to a reality
    where we stand estranged!!

    -mismagical

    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @iamsleepy @dusky_dawn @sangfroid_soul @artsyy

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  • mismagical 32w

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  • mismagical 33w

    Just a try....
    Will respond soon ��

    @writersnetwork @artsyy @dusky_dawn @iamsleepy @sereiin

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  • mismagical 40w

    Appearances are deceiving ,
    but so are colours!!��

    #pod #colour #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @sangfroid_soul @iamsleepy @dusky_dawn @sereiin

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    I feel the joy fade
    like when the green on leaves
    turns to a dead yellow .
    Yellow is supposed to be the colour
    of full blown laughs ,
    "the harbinger of happiness", they say ,
    yet somehow it carries a melancholy in autumns
    when the greens turn misty and the trees die

    //Sadness, for me, is tainted in a happy yellow//

    It's dusk and the sky turns tangerine ,
    "It's the colour of love, warmth and forever", they say ,
    Yet I stand here
    holding his hands in a meek grip
    knowing it's time to shed some tears ,
    to share some cold goodbyes
    that were never supposed to happen
    on candlelit eves
    with the horizon blushing pink

    //Goodbyes, for me, are flushed in a warm red//

    The old lady living next door
    has the sweetest smile one could ask for .
    "If peace had a facade, it would be hers", they say,
    but peace was never supposed to be grey like her locks
    that turn silver in sunshine ;
    afterall it's the colour of ageing ,
    Of death and turbulent skies

    //Peace, for me, is hued in stormy greys//

    -mismagical

  • mismagical 42w

    IDENTITY

    You say paintings have souls
    and that's why people spend hours
    gawking at them ,
    trying to make some sense
    out of someone's wreckage

    So I always wondered that
    if I were a painting ,
    would you take your time
    to make some sense out of me?
    Would you try and remember me by heart ,
    every crooked angle ,
    every pale patch
    that shed the paint in flakes

    I wonder if you would
    still try and peek at my soul
    like I'm the missing piece of a puzzle
    you've been solving since forever in your head ,
    if you would study all my flaws
    yet call me beautiful ,
    a piece of art ,
    a pregnant pause
    you always reveled in ,
    something consequential enough
    to have your senses piqued

    But then I remember
    that I'm human and not a painting
    and as luck would have it ,
    we humans are the strangest of all .

    We dawdle away our time
    understanding things ,
    giving them identity
    they never asked for
    but not spend a minute of compassion
    towards the frazzled minds
    that constantly demand
    congruence with humanity ;

    it's pathetic
    how we treat things like people
    and people like things!!

    -mismagical

    PC - Pinterest

    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @poetica_a @dusky_dawn @sangfroid_soul @iamsleepy

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  • mismagical 43w

    Some days life abandons you
    on others ,
    you do the abandoning

    You call it depression
    I call it self molestation ,
    too many voices molesting the brain ,
    too many pills that numb the thoughts
    but don't make them go away ,
    too many senses being harassed
    till you are a talking mute
    and a walking dead

    You say they are weak and selfish .
    Yes they are ,
    weakened by a thousand mental deaths ,
    tired of those selfless smiles
    they put on for an act ,
    an act to please family and friends ,
    to let them know that they are
    (br)OK(en)

    Yes they are weak and selfish
    and tell me if it's wrong
    that they want to rip life off themselves
    like a band-aid being ripped off a wound ,
    feeling the pain one last time ,
    letting it go once and for all ,
    dissolving into nothingness ;
    a peaceful abode they begged for
    but we couldn't provide
    because we were too busy
    letting them know 'they could talk'
    to see if they had any voice left!!

    -mismagical

    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @coldplaydreams @dusky_dawn @sangfroid_soul @iamsleepy

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  • mismagical 45w

    Caging ,
    withholding ,
    corralling
    moments behind four by six frames ,
    feelings in wilting diaries
    and fragile emotions
    behind wayward lines
    of a docile poem

    Locking ,
    trapping ,
    confining
    muses in pages ,
    letting them pale with the paper
    till the muse turns morgue
    and the paper ,
    a dying leaf

    that's not her style

    she lives it ,
    for she's too far gone for words
    while her senses make love
    with the moments ,
    the nature
    and all that's beautiful ,
    all that's muse to a poetry not written!!

    -mismagical

    PC - Pinterest

    #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @coldplaydreams @sangfroid_soul @dusky_dawn @iamsleepy

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