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  • preaching_poetries 20h

    DEAR I

    Winters knocks
    at my door

    in garth
    of my skin

    Growing wild
    In my eyes.

    am a
    betrayal to god.

    Meaningless metaphors
    and saint's sin.


  • preaching_poetries 1d

    #Temp (I don't feel like a writer anymore)
    Thanks for EC..!!


    "Sorry I'm late, I'm afraid I got lost on the path of life."
    ~ Hatake Kakashi

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    I am bleeding petals of vangogh's irises
    Some deafening caterwauls in chaotic silences
    I am cavernous scratches of plath's Poesies
    Some agonizing fragments of heart, wandering in thoraces

    ~ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ~


  • preaching_poetries 1w

    Feel free to unfollow

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    It's been a great time here...
    This place somehow made me
    a better version of myself.
    Thanks all of you
    for your kind words and support.

    Good Bye...


  • preaching_poetries 2w

    Thanks @writersnetwork for your kind Repost(6)..!!

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    I baked some loafs of grey clouds
    Melted azures in form of villanelles
    and sprinkled sugar balls of fresh wounds

    I paved the breads with blurry creamed past
    Pulverized petrichors, in semblance of an art
    Squashed some sour and sweets from my voided heart.


  • preaching_poetries 2w

    Thanks for EC!!

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    ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ

    She is the catastrophe
    Screech every circadian
    in my poetries

    She is the cimmerian sarang
    Cascading in nerves of
    vermillion rosa sinensis

    She is the wild cicatrixes
    Making tombstone of
    some woebegone memories


  • preaching_poetries 2w

    ∆ HOME ∆

    ~AFIRA~ (ᴩᴇᴀᴄᴇ)

    She is the fragrance of german candles
    That grandma cherish the most from
    80 springs of her life.
    She is the pink embroidery in my yellow frock,
    in which I always find myself beautiful
    when no one does.
    She is the apricity I always embellish
    on my cheeks and the petrichors,
    I always ink in my journal.
    She is the nights when I refused to
    give space to tears and melancholy
    on my pillow and cuddled with dreams.
    She is the clinking of wind chimes
    and seatherny of evenings.
    She is peace.


    She is a belief painted in
    vermillion and golden hues
    that autumn adoring from
    its birth for a poet, that
    atleast they would cherish me.
    She is the words sheathed in a
    soldier's letter as attestation of being alive.
    She is the only beautiful metaphors
    I often write for my relation with afternoons
    She is fragments of "NOT GIVING UP".
    She is Hope.



    She is the sevens suffused
    all over the greys I am wrapped in,
    The feeling of fondness that maa
    Often paste on my forehead.
    She is the thunderstorm
    that sounds like ballads
    She is a revolution, but a soft one.
    She is the meaning of life,
    that makes me to breathe
    one more time.
    She is the greatness of
    aphrodite roses in greek mythology
    She is each verse of sonnet 116
    that knows nothing but love.


    PS: Sorry for the grammar mistakes.



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    ᴍy ᴩᴏᴇᴍꜱ ᴡʜɪꜱᴩᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍy ᴇᴀʀ
    "yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ"


  • preaching_poetries 2w

    Thanks WN for your kind Repost..!!

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    ~ ᴀ ꜰᴀʟʟᴀᴄy ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ~

    I no more weave the stars in threads of my conscience to emblazon you on my collarbones, sometimes as ocean of tears, sometimes as poetries that lack of metaphors.

    I no more share everything to maa and papa because I don't want to grow hyacinths of "I am giving up" in maa's saree and papa's pocket.

    I no more knock on the doors of sorrow to become a poet because now I started writing hope, broken ones.

    I no more breathe days but nights to feel cold where agony melts myriad of memories to make my heart bleed through my quill.

    I no more love you cuz I am falling out of it.


  • preaching_poetries 3w

    Thanks WN for your kind repost...!!

    " ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴜᴇꜱ "

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    Papa gifted me some
    sunflowers to wear
    But I wanted sky as my skin

    I've frosted the moana
    into pearls under my
    glacial apertures
    And hung its chandeliers
    on the waterline of my eyes

    While cuddling under
    the table drawers,
    I kissed pages with
    moist midnights

    I am a monochrome
    Swaddled in some
    dead Polyommatinae


  • preaching_poetries 3w

    @writersnetwork - Thanks for your kind repost(3)

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    PREACHING P̶o̶e̶t̶r̶i̶e̶s̶ PAIN

    Plant some dandelions on the periphery of your heart, where numbness has made its home.

    Pluck the stars from his ether, that you stole from van gogh's painting, just for him.

    Pulverize the dessicated sunsets into gossamers of hope, hope that is broken and still lacerate your spine and bespangle your cheeks from it.

    Paint your epidermis with the poetries, poetries that never belongs to you but grown up in womb of your abdomen where you no longer feel butterflies, but spicule of dysthymia.

    Paste some orchids in cordillera of your collarbones
    Pen down what you often think while sitting cross legged inside your blood, blood which carries love, he never meant.


  • preaching_poetries 4w


    For all of you...sweet pies..❤️

    It's been one month since I am here and These beautiful souls seems like I knew them from the day I got to know about Love, affection and humanity. I owe each of you and I love each of you with all my heart...❤️❤️

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    Khursheed se zyada nooraniyat, Saanjh se zyada surkh
    Apni aabroo mai leke chalti ho

    Tashreeh tumhari karu kaise
    Ibtidaa sukoon ki aur hayat kisi ibaadat ki lagti ho