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  • raika_ 5w

    Of the love abandoned//

    Knock knock,
    and out there it was
    unannounced
    and here to stay
    or so it said
    with its deep voice
    and blue eyes
    that saw through me
    and grazed my soul
    while I stood at the door
    staring at it,
    losing track of time
    until it smiled
    and my heart
    tripped over a stone,
    right into a pit

    Love was standing on my door,
    with a suitcase in its hand
    and a bag over his shoulder

    Love had come to my house
    "I will change your life"
    it had whispered
    and it did

    for every next sunrise after that day
    got a little more chaotic with
    every passing sunset.

    The wind began to rise
    and every night it'd thunder
    while the windows rattled

    "I never said it would be easy"
    Love had said one night

    But a heart,
    as frail as mine
    knew how it felt
    to be broken -
    for a heart
    as scared as mine
    wasn't sure if it'll be okay ever
    if broken again

    so (i)t ran away,
    before love could kill it;
    cause if love didn't,
    I would have killed love

    -raika

  • raika_ 8w

    #madnessc #windc #recipe Been months.

    (very sad right now cause my feed is partially grey �� please let the old backgrounds stay ����)

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    Stirring poetry in a pot

    Wash the pot, before you begin;
    wash off all the remnants
    of the dinner from last night
    and of the memories of Eighteen moons

    Add three cups of water,
    and with each, a drop of agony.
    a bunch of dandelion seeds
    you caught in the wind,
    oh! the stories they carry

    Stick with your heart
    and with your madness
    and see where it takes you
    cause questions and
    uncertainties may lead you
    to sunsets and seashores
    where you'll find
    the the special ingredient-
    a spice of your own,
    hidden between
    the infinite hues of the sky
    or in the shells, the wave brings
    from unknown depths
    which will make you hold your breath

    Add a pinch of your home
    and another of all the roads
    that stretch through the globe
    on a journey of the soul

    Stir the pot on light flame,
    and remember!
    Don't listen to the call of the void
    because if you let Mr.void
    walk into your home
    and stir the pot

    all your poems will be incomplete
    and words will never be enough
    to cook poetries anymore

    You'll end up running from store to store
    looking for a way to end it all
    but the missing pieces
    will somehow never be found
    and the hollowness in the verses
    will give it a new taste
    not sweet nor sour
    but something peculiar and strange

    Until you abandon
    the pot
    and the home
    and yourself
    and run away
    into the forests
    where darkness is the only thing
    that prevails

    But hey, poet
    don't lose all hope
    for on a cold night in November
    when you make a campfire
    and shed off some distress
    words will find their way back to you
    and you'll write yourself a poem
    about lost souls and fallen stars
    and you'll learn

    Cooking poetry is a delicate art
    something so precious yet so dangerous
    that it'll leave you
    vulnerable and in harmony
    at the same time

    //of the poems that won't let me sleep
    and of songs that sing me to peace

    - raika // not much of a cook or a poet/ a wanderer


    ©raika

  • raika_ 12w

    //of the people we found, we weren't looking for - but needed

    Happy friendship day everyone. ��

    #hfdcollab 03
    My third collab on this day in three years. ��

    Thankyou so much Miraquill for this amazing platform and for featuring me! I consider you my closest friend. ��

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    Of friendships beyond borders//

    We are sand and shells
    from beaches afar
    yet the waves of time
    brought us all together -

    We are battlegrounds of dreams
    rebelling against the hardships of our lives, together
    carrying pastel hopes in our palms
    we scatter giggles over the dull skylines

    We are the drops of rain,
    scattered among the dust
    while belonging to the same sky
    bearing storms or the scorching sun

    We are the stars on a luminous night
    We sometimes celebrate, we sometimes fight
    A sacred spell that i will always remember
    It's our song of friendship that we sang together

    We're a journey destined to end someday,
    good things doesn't last long anyway
    but out friendship resides in the journey
    where the time stops and we LIVE

    We grow in spaces like subtle dreams
    and gather summer as one screams
    We shed a wound to heal a cry
    unless we drown, until we die.

    We see as though we're as high as below
    of letters painted upside down:
    because we are phrases of the same frame.
    a poem from the clouds to the ground.

    We are the colours of this universe,
    sometimes the silence and
    sometimes the chaos of it;
    composed of all hues that you can see
    and not—
    the sky, sunsets, nature, nights, flowers, rain, seasons, tears: together we become
    a beautiful rainbow
    and much more
    ad infinitum

    -raika, jerry, sadiah, hafeez, shrey, moi, myrrhc, devika

  • raika_ 15w

    A rough thought.

    So, this is from a different pov. usually when people change, and lose a lover- in that time period, it's often labeled as 'I changed and he/she wasn't okay with me changing' which is true most of the times (I've been there) but then sometimes, when you are in this phase of changing - you yourself forget the person who loves you because of all the new flowers around you and it's partially you who lost them, and they tried but couldn't keep up with your pace for they are only humans.

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    Of love and change//

    I agree with the phrase,
    'change is the only constant'

    and your lover
    might be excited too,
    to see you blossom
    and your lover will be there
    when the sunlight ain't enough
    and your lover would love you
    and your soul and your heart
    and your lover won't mind things
    what other's label flaws
    like your freckles or acne
    scars or shade
    your lips and those eyes
    your lover would love you
    as a whole,
    wholly

    but when you're walking on the road
    to a new version of yourself
    look behind,

    your lover will be there
    holding lightly on your sleeve
    walking silently
    with a smile, like the rainbow
    so when the road
    to your change
    takes turns and goes through caves
    hold your lovers hand
    for your lover does not know the way
    and might get lost
    or left behind
    in the crowd
    of faces that you don't recognize
    so hold onto your lover
    when they're holding onto you

    they stayed with you through the winters
    and wrote poems about a forever
    with you

    so
    when the storms approach
    don't run away from your lover
    but hold their hand
    and believe;
    for they need you
    as much as you need them


    //don't forget your lover
    when the seasons change

    -raika

  • raika_ 18w

    Keeping this. Yes.

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    What are some songs that are so deep, beautiful and heart touching ki they make you cry?

  • raika_ 18w

    #rainbow not exactly

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    Of scents in my genes//

    My grandma smells of Mogras
    from our garden,
    sadness, medicines and the itr
    my grandfather used to wear
    Our house still smells of him
    and as she walks through the lobby
    with her heavy heart and tired eyes
    and you know then, this house
    will never feel like home to her.

    My mother smells of war,
    the one in her mind
    the one she loses every single day,
    yet her smile screams hope
    into my barren heart
    and with every rising sun
    she loses pieces of herself
    and sometimes,
    she reeks of emptiness.

    My father often smells of ruins,
    and rotting tears
    that never found a way out
    but on some days,
    he walks around with a straight face
    which smiles slightly
    every now and then
    but there is no scent,
    nor any colours,
    or so I can't decipher;

    on some days
    my father smells of a void

    and on most days,
    I mirror him
    and his scents

    and when I don't -
    on those days
    I smell of many small heartbreaks
    and a small pallette where
    yellow mixes with the greys
    with green and blue on the edges.

    On days, when i don't smell like a void,
    I smell of a messy rainbow
    that has lost it's way
    in a storm


    -raika // someone who reeks of rhyme less poems and words floating in a void

  • raika_ 18w

    Umm, quite senseless but i am trying to get back to writing. XD

    Bear with it, please? I wrote this while traveling through the mountains and self-realizations so it might not make sense? Because it's a cluster of thoughts of sorts.


    Blues and orange

    In my room,
    the blue light flickers
    on the ceiling
    as my head still spins
    into small spirals of chaos
    occasionally,
    the noise in my head
    is interrupted by that of the river
    outside the hotel window
    crashing against rocks
    and taking with it
    bits and pieces of people
    that sit with their feet
    in the cold rushing water
    My stomach churns
    with the thought of
    the river,
    taking me away
    to the other end;
    the end where the sky begins,
    and sun goes to sleep,
    where the sky is not blue,
    neither grey

    Outside my window,
    there is a man standing
    by the angry river
    in the darkness
    with nothing but a far away street light,
    shimmering
    looking at something far away
    in the woods
    and every now and then
    he'd nod to the wild forest
    that spread throughout,
    he'd nod as if
    he's talking to the trees
    and i wondered
    what is the man in orange shirt
    talking to the trees about

    My feeble feet carried me
    with shaken steps
    towards the man
    where I stood beside him
    and followed his eyes
    into the forest
    and breathed into the silence

    Somehow,
    in the silent night,
    and a familiar stranger
    my heart chose to
    find it's lost peace/piece

    A stranger,
    who looked at me once and smiled
    which I didnt reciprocate
    and he didn't mind

    // And we heard the forest sleep //

    Until, the first ray of sunshine
    found it's way to the snowy mountain tops
    and the orange spread
    gloriously through the sky

    and he left

    and I stayed

    until the sky was bright,
    and had forgotten it was ever dark

    The wind was now rising
    so I set off to a new journey
    and I knew it in my heart
    nothing will ever be the same again;
    nothing ever stays the same.

    -raika

    //East, West, South or North makes little difference. No matter what your destination, just be sure to make every journey, a journey within. If you travel within, you’ll travel the whole wide world and beyond.//
    -Elif Shafak

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    ©raika_

  • raika_ 27w

    Before you begin to write,
    understand-
    poetry is not about fancy words
    but rugged souls and raw feelings//


    A poem begins
    with an awkward chuckle
    as restless hands shift the pen
    to and fro in their palms
    while eyes search for a reason
    in the darkness surrounding them;
    but once the ears adjust to the
    roars and throbs
    of the ocean waves and east winds,
    those eyes will rest upon a butterfly
    sitting by the field of peonies
    and the poem will settle on your skin
    naked and vulnerable
    with metaphors engraved within
    and a few veiled meanings
    hidden beneath the blues

    A poem loses itself
    halfway down the page
    into a spiral, just like this one
    and when it'll be hard to spot it's purpose
    it will try to merge with the shades
    of someone else's art
    trying to disappear like a chameleon
    for cowardice lies in all of us
    so hold onto it
    and paint it with something of your own;
    a poem is not always clear skies,
    sometimes it is the myriad of colours
    in a sunset
    or all the greys in a storm
    but most of all,
    the poem is you

    A poem never ends,
    it is simply left unheard
    but it is always there,
    waiting to be written again
    another evening
    when the hearts are in pain
    and art needs a rebirth
    without a death of it's own.

    -raika?

    #arspoetica Art of poetry.
    @allbymyself

    //A poem should not mean
    But be
    -Archibald MacLeish

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  • raika_ 28w

    I am wearing a yellow dress today and he tells me that I look like sunshine and smell of lilacs, with my hair falling on my shoulders he slightly brushes them before tucking them behind my ear and rests his hand on my cheek. I smile, with my pale lips as if I have seen a rainbow but as I try to place my hand on his, I do not find it there. He smiles at me and I stare in his black eyes looking for answers within the stars that live beneath those lashes but slowly it turns into a void and he begins disappearing into thin air until he becomes one with the wind and leaves me there, by the window, alone with an ache in my stomach with the butterflies starting to rot and yet I long for more.

    I am wearing a yellow dress today but all I see is blue and all I feel is grey.

    -raika

    Very temporary

    //Hallucinations//

    #picturec this is how you turn a perfectly soothing picture into something sad.

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  • raika_ 28w

    This letter is not addressed to poets, but to struggling human beings,

    I hope this letter finds you well.

    I know you have been fighting and falling lately, and some of you have lost the courage to stand up again. Would you believe me if i say, you are not alone? We are in this together, each one of us with our own set of pain, is running and falling and crying and quitting in this cycle we are all trapped in.

    Life is not easy on you, for some of us it has never been easy - but what if i tell you, your neighbor is mourning someone's death, your friend is suicidal, your enemy is losing in all aspects of his or her life, will it make you kinder? I hope it does because there is a chance this is true.

    Be kind to people around you, you know why? Because you know the pain, the fear and the numbness. You are going through it and you are familiar with ever nook and corner. Human hearts are made weak and there is always love in them, even when we are too cold to feel it.

    You can not love yourself if you have hatred in your heart, so it is time to let go. Let go. It will be okay.

    It will be okay.

    Don't compromise your mental or physical health, remove yourself from situations that trigger anxiety. It will be hard to do so, but you have to do something in order to bring about change. So do something about it, do something for yourself, do this as a favour to your mind and leave. Leave things/people that are not good for you.

    You can not sit by the side of the road after it rains and complain later if a passing car splashes water on your new dress. The dress is already ruined.

    Let's take care of ourselves, let's make life easier for ourselves and for others. Let's not forget to breath.

    Take a deep breath.

    It will be okay.

    With love,
    A human being


    Credits because i don't want to be accused of stealing.

    According to the testimony of ancient historian Hellanicus, the first recorded handwritten letter was written by Persian Queen Atossa, around 500 BC. (hi ma'am, i wrote a letter i hope you won't mind) i copied the information from Google. (thankyou google)

    All the words i used belong to Oxford Dictionary and i own no copyright.

    Writing something hopeful was inspired from pain. Mr. Pain i give you all credits.

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