Ilzaamon ke libaas utaarsach be-zaar hota rhana usne nazrein pherijab khud pe rota rha©proper_noun
kabhi jo khwab tha woh paa liya haimagar jo kho gayi woh cheez kya thi~ Javed Akhtar
A creature of calamitous connotationcarries the cryptic cursesreciting the vilified verses.A wishful reflectionfor a wistful darknesstracing the parted ways.A sempiternal insatiatenessspurred in its elusionbeholding the broken beckonings.A lorn symphony of 52-hertzdouses the seas in bluesearching the sunken that never resurface!©proper_noun
A forgetful afterthoughtlost in remembrance.
We count downfor a startwe ask outfor an abandonmentfriends catalogued in secretsfoes knowing it allrubies on slippersbullets in headkids in brothelsanimals in day-caretruth in cagesa crown of pretenseswe have made our peacewith sympathetic synonyms of disparitiesthis circle never collapsesthe cornered troupes forever await!©proper_noun
ham ko maaloom hai jannat ki haqeeqat lekin dil ke ḳhush rakhne ko 'ġhalib' ye ḳhayaal achchaa hai- Mirza Ghalib
Be-baaki mein sabr hai yahaanKhamoshiyon ki qadr hai yahaanFalsafii ko sukoon hai yahaanSach ke kai saaye hain yahaanRaqeebon mein gumaan hai yahaanKi waahid ek ishq hai yahaanEk sifar ka hisaab hai yahaanHar khuda pe masla hai yahaanHar qatl jaayaz hai yahaanHum waqt ke mureed hain yahaan©proper_noun
Hum ko jo taane dete hain, ham khoye hain in rang-raliyon meinHum ne un ko bhi chhup chhup ke aate dekhaa in galiyon mein...~ Anand Bakshi
He didn't write backshe waited to read otherwise.She kissed one too manyhe hoped his was the last one.On a need-to-know basisalbeit derangedlet's speculate it as love!©proper_noun
Nazron ki berukhi se saaye nahi jalteMaazarat mein koi yaad dafan nahi hotiFurqaton ke faisle labaada nahi oodhteHasraton ki aah mein tehzeeb nahi hotiKarwaton ke silsile khoje nahi milteKhwabeeda rooh ki raat nahi hotiKitaabon ke qaayde rukh nahi badalteGaflaton ki lams mein razaa nahi hotiSharton ki shaakh par sukoon nahi khilteShikayaton ki ranj mein shifa nahi hoti©proper_noun
एक ख़्वाब वो इश्क़ थाकुछ ख्वाहिशें उसकी मुल्तवी हैं
ना दायरों में रंज हैना किसी रब्त की दस्तक है ना तस्वीरों की तोहमत हैना किसी तख़्त की तसल्ली है ना दीवारों में रंग हैना किसी राज़ की ज़हमत है ना इरादों में फ़र्क़ हैना किसी फैसले की ख़िलाफ़त हैना इशारों में हर्फ़ हैना किसी निगाह की रग़बत है©proper_noun
There's no trick or treat!
'Army ants' are infamous for their notoriety and predatory prowess. Under their societal hierarchy, there are three levels or sub groups namely, the queen, the soldiers, and the workers. The queen breeds, the soldiers do the heavy work and the workers are involved in the intricacies of menialness.Physically, the army ants are blind and they have to rely upon a different mechanism for navigation, communication, figuring out a pivot or a peril etc. They release a chemical known as pheromones which they pick up and transmit using their antennae which are one of their main sensory organs.'Ant Mill' is an intriguing spectacle that occurs in their ranks. It has been observed that when some army ants split from their rummager group losing the pheromone path, they tend to follow each other in a perpetual circle that terminates after they have excruciatingly died due to sheer exhaustion. It is also termed as a 'death spiral'.Interestingly, when this event is elementarily extrapolated, it does bear a resemblance to our lives. We believe or boast of a tangential escape yet always follow the encircled eventualities, all leading to a certain end. The clockwork eventually wears out after all the delusions of dictations and the decisions. We are meant to be a terminal travesty and there's nothing much we can do about it. Sure the grandiosity of purpose, pleasures and the philosophies can keep us amused for our own sake. Yet if we observe, the planets, the sun too are following the suit and would eventually be a subset of nothingness.So there is our volition, vehemently mistaken, I guess.©proper_noun
Definitions are prone to debatesand then the doubts for the discretion!
"Would you care for a denuded distraction,Or have you attained the art of a sheathed self-amusement?"'Wouldn't you call any engagement an enigma, a satiety or a satire on self?'"A philosophical curveball, and I wouldn't dare to rationalise any concurrence or a rebuttal,before being a little vulnerable first."'That admits a submission,a subtraction before hand,while inching close to possibilities,of a disaster or the distraction!'"I don't want to subterfuge the symmetries and then bother for the synonyms of regretsit is obvious, possibilities are indulgence with instructions."'You seem so ready yet unprepared for the fussa foot on the floor and other in the dunk of darkness.'"I don't want to seem pryinglike a one legged heronand my intentions pigeonholedas a dance of desperation."'You shouldn't sell coinsto a piggy bank collectorwhere sufficiency isn't the scoreas it never satisfies its trench.'"Well, we needn't be a sinking titanic for the icebreaker,and we don't need coins to be corrupted by leisurejust an intent that incites the inertia."©proper_noun
What precedes the dot, won't outlast.
Modicum of Nirvana
In an oversimplified worldit gets uneventfulyou see the same old sungetting olderwith each passing dayand the nights nudging wordsthat aren't getting any wiserand are aborted as irked inklingsit's either a horizon or an impassethe cause and the effectmothballed in an existencespiralling into a certain endthe capes of continuity feel heaviercursing the beginningscraving for a nakednessthat holds no secreta little indecency, perhapsjust putting up hope for auction!©proper_noun
I dread the day, I'll face the fact !#hindi#hindilekhan
mujhe mere kal par bas etna bharosa hai,ki mere beete kal ka bharam aaj bhi zinda hai !©pa_luck
How do you choose one over the other ?!#writersnetwork#readwriteunite#miraquill#pod
When you have pant pockets to rest your arms inat your hands reachyou often forget the tinylittle mistress sittingover your silent chest.All the rush gushes and pools through the least resistance pathmaking an easy and early escape that electrifies.When you pour the savings for and from the side drawersat the sway of a stretchyou often forget the teenytitchy leman waitingover her stolen chance.All the urbanity falls forwardslipping the slippery sidesbypassing the bygone beforewho got tugged beneaththe belted bikinis on bench.©pa_luck
The recalls never let them fade away.The shades change but not the shadows !#writersnetwork#readwriteunite#miraquill#pod
I wake up from my alert subconsciousat right anglesbent on my wrongs.I rub off the biting beastspinch them back to realitythat keep crawling the infinite milesand intern them into ignominy.The semicircular pits store some salt and more ashesfrom my given up stoical storiesthat gives me a silver maquillage touch.I revisit instances never intentionsthat lived a little longer thanthe length of my legs on bedfolded to push the heavy chest.I haven't slept since my eyes have seenmounting ages, come to covershrewd sins into semblance.My swarthy skin folds stand out in a sable sabbatwhere I'm found half bestrewedand half flagged on a spine.©pa_luck
Laugh, not at the jokerfor he knows what he doesBut at the human,who pretends.Bb
#writersnetwork #readwriteunite #mirakee
Don't you know, little girl? If you ride a feral horse when you've always learnt on a tamed one,your fall is nigh.Bb
Apni ana ki aaj bhi taskin humne kijee bhar ke us ke husn ki tauheen humne ki~Iqbal sajid#hindi#hindilekhan#urdu
dhuli hui dhund ne dhoop se poochatera toh chehra bhi koi dekh na sakaphir yeh tujhe apne noor par gumaan kaisa suno, sawal poochne ka salika bhimeri hi chamak se jhuki teri aankhon ko ayawarna chaadron me dhake chehron ka nishaan kaisa©pa_luck
When life isn't enough you seek love !#writersnetwork#readwriteunite#mirakee#pod
On high-ways of high landsi yawn with arms spreadand land on your lipsbut he grabs my collar and tears it aparti slip my legs for a griplocking it further on his knees.On high-ways of low landsi skip a seat and skid on her waistwhile they hold mineshe turns back to check my beatsbut the beasts bend my wrist tightand stablize my head, clutching hair.On high-ways of paper planesi let them sketch their bordersi lay divided drawn into scrathesshe helps you while he finds his comfortwhen the red light crosses usand we are ought to stop somewhere.©pa_luck
Did we meet for this reasonPlay alone hide-and-seek ?!#writersnetwork#readwriteunite#mirakee#pod
I turn my neck round about a traffic poleand keep eyes on windshield wiperlike the owl bending but blinding.I sometimes hoot when it's helplessly darkshuffle it with the human honks.I keep the stare without a blinkcoil around the core axleand slither each inch bifacelike the snake's spine stooped.I sometimes hisswhen nothing must be mentionedhomogenise it with break squeaks.For I'm the watch guard patrollingferreting for forgones who mentioned their exit theoremswell before their muted escapes.I hope to find their hides somedaybefore i collect another carcasshunted for their honour loving !©pa_luck
kiss my tungsten ore
The friends you made onlinewere thrown into the trash canon account of showing effects of prolonged trauma.One of them had cabinets full of laboratory glasswarewhich were used to store aromatic bitter barks of trees that grow due to thestiffness of air in a room. And all her love for the one that used to get on her nerves was found stored in a wooden caddy;because it was all that there ever was. They plucked her frenulum with a plectrumand enclosed her speech in the third bracket-this is what they do on discoveringyour extensive use of words on forgotten cases of melancholia. But you cannot let the hopelessness get to you.Do you want to be thrown into the trashcan too?Gift a parchment made out of your own skinas a memorabilia;and a bunch of flowersto the nexus of online writersthat build communitiesand then anti-communal armiesin hopes of setting the world in a coursecontrary to it's present one.The insatiable need to classifyand to be classified;to be put into categorical boxesonly to break free out of them;creates a downward spiral of paradoxesthat appear to be marching upwardswhere the rumours to a dead end reside.You can only hope you were the upper shell of a crustacean.You can only hope because you cannot let the hopelessness get to you.You are who you are because you were sickof the communal farceand the guide to getting smacked in the headand being pulled back to your originis written on labels stuck on the bottlesstoring hallucinogenic alkaloids. However, in order to avoid being thrown into the trash can,you need to strike a balance between the destruction of dopamine secreting par compacta partof your basal nucleusand letting people kiss a tungsten orewhile calling it your ass.©illicit_skunk
"Fly or fall .It all starts from an F. And towards the end I wonder,Why it doesn't buy attention If not F-ed up ."Read the poem "Ugh" by our clubmate Krish ( @___7___ ) on our instagram page (link in bio).
" Ugh!! "
(Series: Antipoets' Prologues)