moitreyee

"Lights will guide you home"

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  • moitreyee 2w

    .

    As you walk by the lane,
    people call you a living art
    And then you date an artist
    who makes you feel
    you ain't inspiring enough
    for him to draw.
    ©moitreyee

  • moitreyee 2w

    .

    If you're ever going to write poems on me,
    don't wait for me to die.
    Be it heart warming or wrenching,
    I wanna read it alive.

    ©moitreyee

  • moitreyee 3w

    Not dedicated to anyone. Thought of leaving this piece here for whoever it may concern or help.

    By trauma dumping in public platforms, I don't refer to people pouring their heart out in miraquill. That's different, here you won't expect someone to read it, people can read something by their own choice but I have experienced this in many platforms like youtube, Facebook where people randomly reply to strangers talking about their completely irrelevant trauma to the actual post which mostly seems like people justifying themselves when no one asked for it. Yes people may be insecure but sharing an unasked info can also ruin someone else's day. Thanks.

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    .

    No one can steal your loved ones from you. If you ever felt like it has happened, remember your loved ones had never loved you.
    Is it worth to waste your tears for someone who never thought of you as their beloved but a pillow they had planned to cling onto until it's dawn ? Or a wine they need to swallow their lonesome pain along ? People talk about using someone for physical needs, let's talk more about how people use others for their emotional needs, how people randomly practice toxic trauma dumping in public platforms. Beware of people using you, one who uses can't afford efforts.
    ©moitreyee

  • moitreyee 4w

    A heartbreak in a daydream.

    Hola. @writersnetwork ��

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    Reverie

    Amidst all the storms
    of wholesome lies
    She pets a glitch
    of a smoker's sigh

    Of tainted autumns
    in her withered bone,
    She gathers summer
    in her breath, alone.

    Least she does
    for flooding yards,
    is baking hearts
    in frozen shards.

    Yet she stumbles,
    when the river smirks
    with all the shaft
    it spreads apart.

    Far she flees,
    to fade like a year
    of wrinkled glees
    that
    long
    for
    her.

    Down the lane,
    wrapped in shame,
    away she sways,
    In
    most
    broken
    ways.



    ©moitreyee

  • moitreyee 11w

    Hope you all are at the peak of your health and doing well. Good morning. ��

    @writersnetwork @miraquill #pod

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    s a u d a d e

    Not once did they stop
    Or bid a farewell,
    to the rainbow days
    of a faded role.

    Not once did they hear
    Or paid a heed,
    to the faithful songs
    of a bargained soul.

    Not once did they care
    Or painted an escape,
    to the worried vows
    of a threatened mole.

    Not once did they speak
    Or bled a speech,
    like the worn out winds
    of an absence ashore.

    What shall we praise
    In most broken ways
    To bring a believer,
    a blushing shiver ?

    Or who shall we look up to
    In most wrecked place
    To bring the liver ,
    a sweet love fever ?

    ©moitreyee

  • moitreyee 16w

    All these years, I baked myself an ache
    as an origami drenched in love, deep.
    When nightmares were the ones to wreck
    my pastel hours of dreamy sleep.

    The glass walls of your castle stared
    as parts of me melted in your sight
    And phrases stumbled as vellichor shared
    a policy of the petrichor in fight.

    These glasses were like people, gleam;
    they stared but couldn't hear,
    no matter how much I scream !
    they stood as shades of naivety in glare.

    All these years, I'd found myself awake
    when your voices ran past my veins.
    For oft, when you misspelled a forever, fake
    Straight faces met your twisted lanes.

    ©Moitreyee Bhaduri

    @writersnetwork @miraquill #pod
    Thanks for the Pod mirakee.

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    .

    "Irregularity is a rhythm of emotions
    yet regularity's a lane for the living dead."
    ©moitreyee

  • moitreyee 18w

    Discretion advised.

    Pov
    2021 india : 17 year old girl killed by her grandfather and uncle for wearing jeans in Uttar Pradesh. (True incident)

    The storyline is primarily based on the incident but also involves incidents other than that. Written in haste, you're welcome to point out errors. Thanks.

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    Did my body hurt you ?

    Seemingly the country road patted on my spine when I felt myself less numb near the window seat of a tensed car. The wind slapped my face and plucked hair out of the bun I had made to hide length of my insecurities. My nails were paler than yesterday. I let my vision sit on my mom's sweat, watching her shiver in a climate warmer than fire.

    "Are you certain your skin won't hurt them ?" mom asked in anxiety.
    "They won't rip my skin off if it does, right?" I jested in doubt.
    The driver stuck his eyes at the rear view mirror to stare in ambiguity at our weird faces faking a laugh in anxiety.

    I grabbed my water bottle and ran my sweaty hands on it. My dad spoke, "Here we are, you see that wonderful house there that overshadows the others in the village ? That's ours."
    "Dad, how should I know what's your definition of wonderful ? The most wonderful thing I watch here are the trees I see less in our city." I said.
    "Why would trees seem wonderful to you ?" Dad objected in surprise.
    "Why wouldn't? I ain't a hardcore capitalist after all" I argued.
    "When will you get out of your illusion ? Try to be a bit materialistic, your idealism won't feed practicality " dad roared.

    "Sir, here you are and the amount is as negotiated earlier." the driver said with nervous smile.
    "Ahh, these poor people who eats on the taxes we pay !"
    my dad complained.

    "Aren't you the one getting rich by exploiting the poor ?" I argued.
    "Shut up ! You know nothing, I have merit so I am rich unlike these mediocre people." Dad roared in superiority.
    "But by 80/20 rule, in a population of millions, 80%of the achievements are made by 20% of the people. If 20% is rich, they are exceptions right ? And exceptions won't make the rule, isn't it ?" I queried in ambiguity
    "Be quiet, when will you stop arguing with your dad ?" mom interfered. Dad changed his pace and turned a blind eye to my queries.

    "The driver is from the unpeaceful religion, be cautious." dad warned my mom whispering his holy right rules.
    My mom wasn't convinced. She handed the driver a jar of laddoos saying his daughter would be happy at the sight of sweets if he took that home. The driver thanked her, bid us farewell and departed.

    Meanwhile my grandmother received us. She stared weirdly at every curve of my body and I felt uncomfortable by then. I went to a room assigned to me. Near to my room, was the room of my dad's elder brother, my paternal uncle.
    "Go help your mom bring the luggages." dad said.
    "Okay" I agreed.
    "Hey brother, why are you letting her do that, she is a girl, she is probably weak." my paternal uncle adviced.
    My dad laughed in confusion as my uncle helped my mom to bring all the luggages in.
    "You shouldn't wear these tight pants, your hips provoke me." my uncle whispered in my ears.
    I was stunned. Never had I ever heard this in my city. I ran to my mom and held her hands tight enough to not let any spectrum of dirt hug me.
    My grandmother walked her way to me and asked me to walk to her room along with her. I abided by it.
    "Being a teen, why have you started provoking men at this age ?" my grandmother enquired.
    "What ?" I questioned in perplexity.
    "Yes your sleeveless tops and jeans makes you look slutty." my grandmother manifested.

    "Well then don't sexualise me." I answered.
    "What's that ?" grandmother asked.
    "Don't look at me as a sex object, look at me as a human being" I answered.
    "Oh shut up, women are always looked upon as sex objects. Don't you fear people ?" grandmother claimed and asked in surprise.
    "Why should I fear or be apologetic for having a woman's body ?" I asked.
    My grandmother headed to my dad and told him that I was bickering over futility.
    My dad asked me to not argue with my grandmother and do as she said no matter what it was.

    I changed my clothes but next day during the worship, I wore jeans again.
    My grandfather and uncle let their vision grope my flesh as I was helping my grandmother sew the garlands. I felt like a culprit for dressing as I please, for having a body and for being a woman.

    "We know where you got your hussy attune from, probably a girl is supposed to be like her mom." my grandmother smirked while slut-shaming me and my mom

    "This is enough, I will dress as I wish. Jeans are made to wear !" I roared in disgust.
    The air in the room made my bones shiver in discomfort. I stood up to leave the room. Least did I know they can rip off my skin if it hurts them.
    ©moitreyee

  • moitreyee 20w

    Can we not stop following the footsteps of the crowd ?

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    .

    Somedays I fell for winter
    as somehow coldness
    seemed more peaceful;
    than most days when
    the warmth of summer
    felt like a fire of hatred
    people nurtured in heart,
    to make their flesh
    grin a grudge out
    for staining a myriad art.
    ©moitreyee

  • moitreyee 22w

    " I'll never understand why it is more shameful to be raped than to be a rapist. " - Sara Erdmann

    @writersnetwork #pod #stopvictimshaming

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    So(cięty)

    Do you see
    the fire rolling
    down my sleeves
    gasping to roar
    at vile excuses
    they claim as opinions
    to oppress the wind ?
    Somewhere in me
    I find a place to worry
    yet I stumble for morals
    and suppress a stimuli.
    I smirk at empty actions
    made to snatch
    rights of winds.
    Least do such
    fools know
    that wind isn't mortal;
    it's like the time
    they'll try to end
    by taking batteries
    out of the clock
    yet will fail to stop
    the eternal loop
    of raging time.
    No matter how much
    you hide our skin
    with futile curtains
    beasts will be beasts
    as long as you
    provide an excuse
    to feed them.
    And yet
    at the end of the day,
    we will find you
    at corners
    of cursed streets
    raising points
    to justify a rape

    - Moitreyee Bhaduri

  • moitreyee 22w

    Years back a country was divided when a group of people felt their existence is in danger. It killed millions.


    " In politics, what begins in fear usually ends with failure. "
    - S.T Coleridge

    Caution: Not something impressive, you can skip. I haven't put much thought into it, wrote whatever came into my mind.

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    Blood(shade?)

    Wrap anecdotes within your bones
    and run through the hollowness
    where their soul belongs.
    Will you still caress
    the sage green mistakes
    of your lilac kingdom ?

    Stuff mud in your pockets
    like biased media gulping politics
    where your ribs cry out in misery
    Will you still not burn
    the autumn leaves that fall off
    from intolerant trees of bigotry ?

    Bake habits instead of syndromes
    amidst blind crowds with 'standards'
    where your individuality suffocates.
    Will you still repeat
    self doubting yourself for people
    whose judgement barely matters ?

    Shape life without a wardrobe
    like the embroidered pottery
    where your fingers speak silence.
    Will you still dress
    As the saffron folk deity
    with an immoral fandom ?

    ©moitreyee