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poeticgirl
5d
Read MoreDear Radhika,
I honestly don't know how to thank you enough for always being there. You're one of the most beautiful persons I've came across on this platform who has supported me in my thick and thins. I love you and I love your words. You're the second most cutest person on earth xD. You know very well who's first (just kidding). Thank you for everything Radhika �� you>>>
Here's a whatsoever. Ugh.
To the girl with sunflowers in her eyes,
You've crossed 19 sunflower fields
And too many pink skies,
You say you're a sucker?
I draw a rainbow in agreement.
You say you're a framework,
Of brittle bones and scraped up skin,
I erase a skyline in disagreement .
You're a yellow skinned diva,
A metaphor more pretty than dead.
You're hope-notes to wilted sunflowers,
And eulogy to pretty tragedy.
You're not just a pretty sunset
And not happiness labelled as grief.
You're more than my words.
Or failed poets can fathom.
You aren't a broken smile.
You're a autumn draped sunshine.
And a 80's ciphertext,
That takes more love, than courage, to comprehend
You're a handful of happiness
Or what they call as poems.
#weekendc @sereiin
@writersbay �� -
poeticgirl
1w
Read More
I'm a carrier of a gypsy heart. I belong to a land of satin town draped in starry laces far from the garden suburbs. I've seen more than cotton candy clouds and silky skies from love songs. I'm breathing in rose-tinted aesthetics with each passing sunset. My smiles are the happiest shade of pink under the napalm skies . I belong to an era of forgotten folktales and and blue poetries. I've written us promises on seashells for more than a sea breeze's time. As May stops to caress my heart with nostalgia, I run past old autumns to embrace cheap fernwehs. I'm more than artistic bohemian among pandemic-scented lanes, I'm a july jamboree in the run. I was born among the fading constellations and I etch your name on the same. I'm a beatnik lover. I've painted wooden fences in hues of rainbow yet I don't long to live in my old sunburnt cottage . I'm seeking you in strangest of places. I'm falling in love under the blue sky. We're finding home in each others cherry-stained heartbreaks and cliché summer poems. I believe in loving you for another forever, in a different realm.
~M e g h a | To gypsy lovers
#to_lovers #megwn.
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poeticgirl
1w
Read More
@galvanizedthoughts onek purano @onemayhem @sans_bornes @silverglitters
17 boshonto jani,
Piyal boner dhare par hoyeche tobe,
Shishir bheja ghase,
Tomate amate nai ba holo mil
Nai ba sorot akashe kora aaki-buki.
Nai ba elo sajher sonibaar,
Nai ba holo dekha,
Krishnochurar chaowaye.
Tobu jeno,
Nishar sheshe
Aj o piyal boner dhare,
Purnima r chand jedin purno na hoye roye,
Jeno ami Krishnochurar kole,
Holud pataye poddo likhi,
Shajher shonibaare.
Nahoye tumi ami,
Amra holam onno ek aakashe,
Tobu jeno piyal boner dhare,
Shaajher sonibaare ektai gaan baje,
Tumi ashbe bole,
Pataye pataye golpo likhe rakhi,
17 boshonto por aj o,
Tumi robe, nirobeTranslation (not really though)
17 springs near the Almondette forests,
Near the dew-wet grass
You and me couldn't fit in a tale,
Neither could we paint the autumn sky,
Neither did Saturdays arrive,
Wrapped in eves, evenings;
Neither did we meet under the gulmohar shade;
Yet today,
As the night leaves,
Near the Almondette forest,
When the full moon isn't quite full;
Know that I lie in the lap of gulmohars,
Writing poetries on yellow leaves,
On saturday eve's
So what if you and me
Are us, under a different sky,
Yet near the Almondette forest,
There's a song that plays on Saturday eve,
I write poetries on gulmohar leaves,
Hoping you'd come someday,
17 springs have passed,
Yet you stay, tacit, unsaid....
©poeticgirl -
poeticgirl
1w
Read More
I want to runaway with you to a place where pink clouds would take us. I've blown away eyelashed wishes with the humid off-season winds. I'm falling in love with unfiltered smiles and weird candids. I wished for the skies to be mine for more than a Lifetime now. I'm looking for you in dormant love songs and Bukowski's love poems. I'm more than a careless art to you, I'm a masterpiece. I want to give away my weighing heartbreaks to the off-shore clouds. I've been fangirl-ing over ill-framed skylines and pressed flowers between 'Eleanor and Park'. You're everything that matters, there wasn't even a before and I don't even want to imagine an after. I want us to build a home together and paint the walls from the pastels of sunsets. I want you to hold my hand and bring me out of wildfires into a land of wildflowers. I've written your name with mine on hand-made papers, old tree barks and everywhere on my heart. I'm falling in love without drawing conclusions and assumptions. I'm falling in love with coffee stains on my skirt and oily braids and it's more than just a happy day. It's a happy era and we will runaway to a forever, together, forever. This isn't a dream, it's promise I've written on the daisy and sunflower buds that will bloom into a fairytale one day.
~M e g h a | To runaway lovers
#to_lovers #megwn.
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poeticgirl
1w
Read More
I've been to warm countrysides and calm woodlands while August planned a getaway. There's more to the coffee skins and pale moccasins, there's joy there's peace and there's memories. Looking back I realise how stubborn I was to pluck wild fruits from the forbidden farms and feed it to the young sparrows. I've walked a hundred miles from timid grasslands and pastel meadows to a land of lost smiles. I'm falling in love with seasonal love stories. I've seen pink bougainvilleas and yellow apricots scattered on the skylines on easter sunset . They're brighter than the city lights, prettier than skyscrapers and tangled wires. I've filled my bell sleeves with vanilla dates proposals I'll make to the skies one day. I'm trodding on crisp maple leaves and peach ashes of yesterday who died a happy death giving birth to a newer today.
You're a new town lad among shimmering landscapes and I stand on floral pastureland faraway from city dreams. I'm sticking daisies to your love letters and drawing cacographies on my left palm.
But I'm falling in love beyond flowers and souls. I'm running away to a fairytale. I want to lie back on the lush green blankets and paint the sky in your favourite shade of blue. There's more to love than roses and butterflies. I'll count shooting stars and happy rainbows, hoping that our love outlives lovers and everything in this blue universe.
~M e g h a | To countryside lovers
#picturec #to_lovers #megwn.
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poeticgirl
2w
Read More
17 sunflower fields later I believe growing up wouldn't have made sense without my Grandma's old folktales and seasonal goodbyes. It's almost like I've been reading too much of Oscar Wilde stories to fall for kind antagonists. My Childhood has been spent making paper planes out of aged newspaper telltaling Ma's palpable conversation with the local lady who bought all our old pitch boards and rotting papers. She would make her living out of my wasted drawing book and Baba's creased notepads. Occasionally she would tell ma that ma had been nurturing an artist in her womb for 9 months. Ma smiled as I drew another daisy on her pink saree.
If you ask me to choose between the royal blue, aqua blue or navy blue, I'd choose neither because my heart belongs to the sky blue, the muse to my soul and the colour of my pale heart. My Grandma would say that we've bade more goodbyes than we know. And somehow I agree wholeheartedly. I believe I belong to a land to rosewoods and pine cones and another cosmos of creased heartbreaks. As the autumn takes over whispering crisp elegies to the wind chimes, they sing a song in a dialect only the offshore wind would know. The bakula leaves fall on the musty soil in a haphazard rhythm as if it's too stubborn to bid a farewell to the branches.
I believe I've 3 October sunsets crammed inside my palms and 1 love story brewing with the pandemic-stained skies. I'm falling out of sad things to write about. As Grandma's folktales paint a vivid memoir , my canvass feels more than enough. Ma told me about 7 sins the other while she braided my hair and put young jasmines in between. I've walked past everything but anger. But someday this shall go away too. I'm walking into mint skies and periwinkles each day. I'm falling for patched happiness and wrinkled T-shirts.
I will write a new story this time, a folklore about old friends and goodbyes who healed.
~M e g h a | To old folktales and happy goodbyes
#goodbye #wod #megwn
P.S - There's a tremendous rise in cases in my hometown and this despair vibe that has been bothering me lately. But today ma literally dragged me out of the bed because apparently after 2 months of incessant hoping and praying and bribing the deity I'm happy to report that two china rose bloomed in the newest sapling we planted! I believe it's high time we start blooming into a thousand smiles too.I will write a new story this time, a folklore about old friends and goodbyes who healed.
~M e g h a | To old folktales and happy goodbyes
©poeticgirl -
poeticgirl
3w
Read More
There's a market near my hometown that reeks of roses and oranges from lost meadows and forgotten orchards. The sky there always looks kinder than the city's. Wildflowers bloom between cracks of the black soil, a stranger trod in his merry jest while humming cheap songs about love and loss. Vangogh's sky melts into my palm as thousands of poetries resurrecte from their demise. Skies are by far the most beautiful artist I've seen, creating art from mayhem. To hold the cosmos mutiny eternal times into his fond arms, skies are the kindest.
Empty skylines behold the sky's secrets until poets capture them into their fallacious verses serenely. Have you ever witnessed the sunsets after a generous out pour of rains that washes away every perturbation stalling in our enigmatic minds? The sunset looks like a fresco of a myriad of colours on the wet canvas of the vintage blue welkins. A beauty beyond pragmatics and myths.
A 90's style epoch gramophone hums a sad song that sinks into my chest, heavier than the weight hercules carried on his shoulder. My lover would be three heartbreaks late when he knocks at my door, or who knows maybe my gravestone? I want to be buried with smiles and euphoria brushing off agony from my shoulder. My poetries shall leave with me. I do not want to leave my hometown for the sake of blunt necessities of life. But if the skies leave, so shall I, so shall my words, so shall everything
~M e g h a
P.S- I want to fall out of skies and malady to write about. Proses make me aloof,lost.
#fresco #wod #megwn #skym
@turquoise_stars 18 mins since I said soon XD.
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poeticgirl
3w
Read More
Lost abode
Captivity scrapes the wall paint,
As the white plaster steals a glance,
Hands nurture the window pane,
Trapping white clouds
A ten by ten feet galaxy,
Etched in muses
Cognizance, oblivion, Cognizance an endless loop.
A pause in my memory lane,
As my chest sinks into yearnings, longings.
/A board of crows,
Swaying palm trees,
A sky dotted with pink kites,
Wires above my head,
Cutting the welkins
A mundane chaos from the neighbour
A sunset I befriended once
An epiphany crawling up my heart/
What is the good in goodbyes?
What is the fair in farewells?
A kid walks into a concrete structure,
A girl walks out of her house,
She begs the clock to halt,
She begs the locks to defy,
Eternity passes sooner.
She stands unfazed.
The sixteen year old,
Draws a map from her home to her new house,
Nine blocks and twenty one sighs.
Yet leaving takes courage.
How do you get away from home?
How do you embrace a house?
©poeticgirl
#bagpack #wod #megwn
I feel this.
@writersnetwork Thank you ♡.
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poeticgirl
3w
Read More
Crockery chorus
Eulogy to Sunday nights,
Stuffed inside Monday morning pajamas,
When breakfast conversations turn to accusations
If my casserole could speak,
It'd tell you how my stomach protests
After each gulp
Of maple syrup,
For I'm a terrible juggler,
Of food and anxiety together.
And oh poor me,
My casserole would lament
For I intake too much of roughage,
Except not from the green salad
But from my mother's taunt.
Everyday
Every night.
As I lick the last bit of bulletfree coffee,
From the fancy cup,
My mother asks if the caffeine would help,
To fit me into 34-24-34,
Ask my coffee cup,
It'd tell you,
How I've enlisted myself,
Into a strict diet,
Of self-doubt and malice
My coffee cup has a brown stain,
And it tells me, it's okay to be brown,
And stained all over,
And still love yourself.
It's okay
And I nod.
28 years and the same spoon,
If you ask her she would tell you all nice words
She knows
So today she mimicking my sister,
'You're thick and lean at all wrong places'
As I take my spoon between my lips,
She reminds me revolt,
And tell my sibling,
I'm 28 and happy
And paying my own bills,
Size is a number,
Skin tone is a colour,
And not that I care
But on days I'm a coward,
I wish my crockery set could speak
©poeticgirl
#kitchen #wod
@piyuldwivedi wrote *sighs*
I hate my username.
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poeticgirl
6w
Read More
Women are sunflowers from God's garden
And maple twigs who refuse to break when trodden,
But womanhood is poured in glasses of patriarchy,
And drank by them,
The owners of y chromosomes ,
With pride in a merry jest.
Last autumn my mother locked her lips
(That was never really free from prejudice)
With dry oaths of subduction.
Autumn comes in flannel shirts
And kisses her under her aanchal,
Of marks from the stories,
She refused to tell me.
My father asks me to fly high,
Win the skies,
But be home by nine.
Women issues.
I can tell you he isn't a feminist,
He wants me to change for the world,
But does not want the world to change for me.
At breakfast when the news flashes with rape cases,
He asks to wear my skirt beyond my knees,
But he himself refuses to look beyond myths.
I tell him how God is a woman,
And he nods,
And We see Gods wearing wilted flowers
Or machetes.
My father is a religious man,
He wears a thread across his chest
And floats high on masculinity
And discards feminists
But he worships Kali to laksmi,
But God is a woman? I ask
He nods while he chants
And women are sexualised?
He shuts his eyes in a yes.
But then isn't Kali sexualised?
My father chokes.
©poeticgirl
@thousand_splendid_thoughts because you asked.
I don't like this
#free because I managed to incorporate..
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turquoise_stars
2d
Read More#wod #questions #writersnetwork #mirakee
@writersnetwork thank you for the kind read��Some stale inquiries
It starts with a bit of rust in my veins,
I am sleepwalking around my tired ache
And you know that soon I'm going to
Puke out some pretty hard questions;
I start with my presence in this present time.
"What if the technicolored light could pass
Through me? Would I become invisible?"
A crease forms right between your brows
Because physics taught us about
Refractive index but left out the concern
Whether someone like me who wonders
A lot about her insecurities would feel
Ghost light if something weightless
Could find it's way out of the human skin.
You say, ''Humans are made to be seen,
And felt. Nothing can make us invisible.''
I bite my lips in hesitance because
Your answer seems to have a missing
Link for people often miss out on
My emotions and I do feel invisible.
''But what if we were given a choice
To feel some of the past without being
Set from right back to where we started?"
This is something feeling like a
Diagnosis of my heart now but in a way
Where it leads to unstableness;
''I would rather not answer that," you say, "Because it's always going to be the same.''
And I remember a time when I chose
To lose words through my fingers and
Not my mouth because the road that
Way didn't seem to finish at dead ends.
I've often felt the altar inside me shifting;
It's geography really, because something is
Always shaping and shifting itself inside me.
You stare at me as if I'm about to liquify
Into some Arabiac mismatched poems.
''So we never get to have a choice?
To exist when we want or disappear?"
"No,'' you answer but I am not satisfied.
So I proceed to attack you again with
One last question that I can't really gulp
Down this time. "What are humans then?''
I ask. I'm almost reeking as bad as my
Heart now because I think I know your reply.
"Humans are half empty homes," you say,
"Cells trying to grow, bones trying to
Be strong, skin trying to hold on.
They never feel enough. That's what
Humans are. Somewhat like writers
You can say." I keep silent because
That's the truth; a gypsic truth.
©turquoise_stars -
galvanizedthoughts
4d
Read MoreTo the flower that blooms under torrential rains
To the girl who sounds
like a song
the radios in a hillside
station would echo
years later
it would still leave
the same freshness
a newly plucked tea leave
would, familiar
Familiar as the foetal
position you would
sink in
when the winds
tease and rag
you would crave
for the familiar warmth
that wouldn't scorch
your already
calloused tongue
to the girl
filled with compassion
whose keen eyes
never fail
to notice the echoing
battlecries in the chapped lips
Of the old man sitting
On the park bench
Or the fear
Of rejection
of the boy
who stands
7 steps away
From the see-saw
to the girl who blooms
under the rail bridge
thank you for
teaching me
that there is strength
in compassion
It is even bigger
than being just or right
to be a flower blooming
even under torrential rains
© Ayushi Saha 18th April 12.08pm
The flower - @ayanaa
#weekendc @writersbay #gtnapowrimo21
P.S- This poem is inspired by Korean singer HWASA's song Lost My Mind where she says in Korean
"Even a flower blooms during heavy rains"
@_firefly done
Artwork by Manal Mirza.
-
incandescent
5d
Read More//And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.//
-William Wordsworth, Daffodils
Love, hold my hand, and
let us run away,
into the land of valleys and hills,
over the clouds a beldam,
crouching with wrinkles
at the corners and
tears leaking.
Sweetheart,
take me into the
world of Wordsworth's daffodils
and Keats' nightingale,
let your strawberry blonde
hair loose,
let us run wild amongst
the fields and shepherds
tendering the sheep,
scarecrows, and
Holstein Friesian cows;
into the melting skylines
perspiring blues and pinks
that indites a new tomorrow
ceaselessly
since time immemorial.
As the skies yearn for a glimpse of
the blushing sun,
hiding behind the gigantus
mountains,
little boisterous birds
peck their beaks over
the corns, ripened to the
stage of harvesting,
as we lay undetectable
betwixt the sunflowers fields
and you beside me,
a ball of pink, with absence
of alack, soft giggles that
turn into hushed breaths seeing
the skies swoon
and the sun frown
as moon
rises slowly, amidst the dusk
circumjacents the countryside,
our hands clasped
we kiss the sky,
and ourselves
goodnight,
goodbye
in the hope
we'll see another day
we'll see each other
in stealth but open
under the welkin.
©incandescent 17 April '21
#pastoralpoem @writersnetwork
Pic credits to the rightful owner..
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turquoise_stars
5d
Read More
A Charming Wildflower
Beneath the eclipse of the lilac sky
You might sometimes find a boy
Weaving 'grin's into fuscia camellias
Like dandelions spilling out of skin.
He looks like a sublime afternoon breeze
Touching skylines and painting hearts
Into fragile seconds and moments;
His soul is a living art, a poetic misfit.
He skips past villas of dahlias,
And falls in between the lines
Of wildflowers but if you ask him
He will deny his softer soul to be
Prettier than calloused bruises.
His fingertips strum through guitar strings
And he sings with the stars listening:
His heart is like the sweet starlight
And his eyes could tell you a story
As old and beautiful as ancient Greece;
He is a charming blue adjective
A color that loves like the wind
Loves the nameless hills.
©turquoise_stars
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@surefire you are my favourite person from mirakee both as a writer and a good human being. I feel safe and secure here because of you. Thank you for everything ��
Thank you for the prompt writersbay ❤
#weekendc.
-
And twenty years later,
I might not regret the job I had lost
or the fight in my college,
the slow trams that I never boarded,
or a walk down the river bank
that I never took
because I had to catch a train,
and Orpheus regretted
to look at Eurydice
when he was asked not to,
and let her fade away forever.
and i would regret for abandoning the poetry,
that I saw in your eyes,
and losing you forever.
©ronit -
shatteredsoul
151w
Read MoreAnd in the maths class,
our teacher had said,
hexagon is a powerful shape.
But I was never interested in maths,
i never counted how many nights you had cried for me,
and I never looked at the board in the class,
My eyes were captured by bees making hexagons outside, on a tree.
My teacher had said, bee hives are strong for they're made up of hexagons,
and so the next day I had written our names,
At the end of my notebook
and circumscribed it with a hexagon instead of a heart.
But our home fell like house of cards,
And I lost you, like thousands in Troy
lost their homes for a love filled with insanity,
so tell me darling tell me, are you one of the Gods ?
for your face never launched a thousand ships,
but it bathed me with the same feelings
that I taste when I reach home after a long day.
#writersnetwork #mirakee #PODso tell me darling tell me, are you one of the Gods ?
for your face never launched a thousand ships,
but it bathed me with the same feelings
that I taste when I reach home after a long day.
(Caption)
©ronit -
eternal_chaos
5d
Read More
#weekendc @poeticgirl I'm so glad I got you ( and not someone else got you����)
If someone would ask me how does poetry feel, I would ask that person to see you smile :D
(There's an acrostic in the bg ����)
Utterly lame:/
Her raging tides
May erode the shore
But her skin is a waterfall
Of forgiveness flowing through
Distant countrysides where
Stones carved in yellow tulips
Burgeon through her edges
Her lips call her a tragedy
For her nightmares prick
Her unsaid bulging syllables
But she is a subtle dream
Where her oceans
Birth ravines of selflessness
That cut through circles of love
To see her cyclones
Tuck her hushed poetries
Whelving in her sleeves
Into hyperboles of purity
For you will hear
A tranquil hymn of healing
After every devastation
Making you utter
the beauty of cyclones
She is so much art
That Vinci's canvas
Bows before her tender proses
She is a smile stuffed sunflower
Rising above the roses
-eternal_chaos
Aasman aur tera nagma
Ek kaagaz ki kashti h
Likhein h khat jismein
Jo tairte h jab tu hansti h
-eternal_chaosPirouetting around mulberry mayhems
On iridescent verses of honeysuckles
Evening primroses kiss her poetic ends
Taking subtle shards of archaic almosts
In her euphoric edges of pristine proses
Chasing sunflowers disguising a daisy
Gashing maybes into her oxymorons
Ichor slips softly from her selfless skin
Rejuvenating smiles from burgeoning burns
Later carving them into letters to the sky
©eternal_chaos -
surefire
5d
Read More//Art is the only way to run away
without leaving home.// - Twyla Tharp
Her thoughts birthed
three winged words
each with a bow and arrow,
Venus, the evening star is
weaving the feathery clouds
tinged with mauve into
a stately wedding chapel.
She knows about the
arcane desires of youth
and thence her letters
veered onto romance
and rekindled my
frantic obsession with
the 90s love songs.
The sky is filled with the
reek of tuberose and jasmine
and in a paradise hidden
behind the lovestruck clouds,
she writes poems and when
the time comes she frees
them from the labyrinth of
her heart and sends
them swirling down with
clockwork precision
alongside the dandelion seeds
to meet the needs of the
parched earth and to redefine
both love and infinity.
©surefire
@jiniaa Venus
@writersbay #weekendc.
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sereiin
5d
Read More@thousand_splendid_thoughts You are one of the most kindest person I have ever come across. You are beautiful inside and out. And you know your smile is contagious right?
A million hugs and thank yous for always being there. I know the poem sucks but just know I love you and adore you.❤
#weekendc.
-
incandescent
5d
Read More
Dear Devika,
I've known you through words, your words. You remain to be one of the most misunderstood, loved and controversial people.
Your intentions were never wrong, but your word choices are. Healing takes time and I'm proud that you're slowly accepting your insecurities, you even joke about your insecurities rather than others which I appreciate because most funny people tend to make fun of others rather themselves. You're loved, you're beautiful however way you try to deny it.
Stop living for others. I have observed there's some malfunctioning going in your brain, I won't feed you the same things people repeat, that it'll be okay because what's okay and what's not, depends on a lot of factors.
All I can give you right now, is to take a break from everything that makes you sad, and to focus on what cheers you up, and try to increase your concentration level, do anything that makes you happy truly.
Stop running away from your problems and don't try to pounce upon them suddenly too. Analyse your faults, weaknesses; work upon them.
I love you. You're loved, you'll be loved. Let go of things that hurt. You're enigmatic and compassionate and empathetic.
Yours,
Incandescent
P.S. Good things take time. Never stop trying.
#weekendc @sangfroid_soul
17 April '21.
