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  • periapt 9w

    Object.

    My blue teacup

    Is porcelain
    Transclucent, reflecting
    Sunrays as she sits by the windowsill
    Breathing out vapours.

    Is an active listener
    Patient, silent, supportive
    As I rant and crib about
    Life's cruelty.

    Is a true companion
    Always by my side
    Cheering me on and
    Rejuvenating me.

    Is unbreakable
    Despite being so fragile
    Epitomising the truth of life.
    We are all fragile yet there's strength in us,
    Like my beautiful blue teacup.

  • periapt 10w

    Unloved.

    You stand in front of me, yet you see through me,
    You say my silence kills you, yet you choose to be deaf when I scream,
    You say everything you want to say, yet you feel you haven't said enough,
    You cried when I died, yet you walk past my grave without even a look.
    And me,
    I'm a free soul now, yet I crave for a body so I could be with you.

  • periapt 10w

    Thee and Me.

    One day if everything stops,
    We will still our thoughts
    And gaze across our dreams,
    At the distant horizon
    Of our transient sentiments.

    We will touch our breaths,
    Frozen in mid-air
    With silent fingertips,
    And watch them disintegrate
    Into the pauses of our conversations.

    If there is even a semblance
    Of thee and me,
    I will fold this possibility
    Inside layers of sapphire satin,
    And hide us within the deepest recess of me.

  • periapt 10w

    Saranghae

    We are adrift on the still waters
    Of our dreams.
    Like travellers on an eternal journey.
    Unawakened, undulating
    Unstuck to the myriad afflictions.
    Silently absorbing
    The fragrance of solitude,
    And smiling
    at unopened conversations.

  • periapt 10w

    Saranghae

    As time passes by
    I feel our love softening
    Like the downy feathers of birds
    Like soft petals, as pink as
    The blush on my cheek.
    Like the touch of your fingertips
    On my lips,
    As I dream of lifetimes
    Spent in the glow of your presence.

  • periapt 11w

    #viator #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork #writersbay #end #love #extinction

    @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

    Thank you so much for the ❤️ EC.

    In the end
    There's a semblance of a clutch
    A vise-like grip that squeezes
    The last drop from the chambers of
    Our hearts.

    We stagger on like lifeless years
    In the end.
    And a minute seems like a day
    When our fingers reach out convulsively
    Towards the reeds that want to help us.

    And then we turn our heavy heads
    To look at our endeavours,
    In the end
    What remains is a mockery of our dreams,
    Some endangered, some extinct.

    We persist in a hazy ideology
    Trying to comprehend the nature
    Of our inclinations and orientations, but
    In the end
    We surrender to our fundamental programming.

    If ever we breach the blockade
    Un-entangle ourselves from bonds that inhibit
    We can maybe walk hand in hand
    Towards our own salvation
    In the end.

    Read More

    The End.

    We persist in a hazy ideology
    Trying to comprehend the nature
    Of our inclinations and orientations, but
    In the end
    We surrender to our fundamental programming.

  • periapt 11w

    #clichec #writersbay #writersnetwork #miraquill #us #love
    @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

    A thousand days
    Have filled up the emptiness
    Of beyond the space
    After eternity and beyond
    And we sit smoking cigars
    Drinking scotch
    Ensconced in armchairs
    Of our conversations.

    A thousand days
    Is what it takes
    For us, a couple of fakes
    To delude ourselves
    And deny the existence
    Of the unbearable lightness
    Of our silences.

    A thousand days
    Were more than enough
    For us to tolerate
    The crushing weight
    Of our words.
    And we failed miserably
    Trying to un-say them.
    Till that point where all remained
    Was a cliche
    A glutinous pulp
    Of our voices.

    A thousand days
    Will stare at us
    Through the haze
    Of an unseeable future.
    And we'll blink at the distance
    Through our Aviators
    Trying to make sense of a dream
    Which is nothing but a figment
    Of our imagination.

    Read More

    Oh...well.

    A thousand days
    Will stare at us
    Through the haze
    Of an unseeable future.
    And we'll blink at the distance
    Through our Aviators
    Trying to make sense of a dream
    Which is nothing but a figment
    Of our imagination.

  • periapt 11w

    #patheticfallacy #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork #writersbay #love #pain

    @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

    And when the stars drip from the essence of night, I'll wait under the moon for your imagination to consume me.

    The undulating zephyr will carry my fragrance on her skin and breathe me out into the silences permeating the darkness.

    The cold will creep inside my soul and leave me shivering with the anticipation of a warmth that your touch will induce on my secluded memory.

    In the descending acmes of my reverie the illusion of your being will become an ultimatum of entanglements with a familiar unknown, that resides deep within the core of me.

    Without an existence of you I will become a mere shadow that stains the delusion of a sun, eclipsing it, to disintegrate the blackness in the awning cavity of an unaltered aberration.

    My frenzied thoughts will crash and splinter into shining particles, meteoring inside the blackhole of my spirit and I will wait to be destroyed in the carnage of your kisses.

    Read More

    Cataclysm.

    The undulating zephyr will carry my fragrance on her skin and breathe me out into the silences permeating the darkness.

  • periapt 11w

    Distance.

    Let your essence sail across miles and calm my afflictions.

  • periapt 11w

    Imperfect.

    Someday all that will remain
    In the conception of our grand plans,
    Is an infinitesimal pause
    Birthed by our fractional frailties.
    A laughable conundrum is this situation,
    Where a frail sense of us hangs by a thread.
    And we gaze at the sun sinking on our misconceptions,
    Drowning our ironies in whiskey.

    This is us. Resplendently imperfect.