Miraquill
I have questions,
A big heavy pile of them.
And a lot of context,
Missing its arms or legs.
I suppose I make no sense,
Well nothing I feel or think does.
After a random enmity with lies,
Truth appears to be unproven deceit.
But do I need the truth to survive?
One can argue to infinity,
With how & what along a sigh of why,
And atlast, a tired - "When will it end?"
Still I will have questions,
A big, heavy & dusty pile of them.
And a lot of random facts,
Missing their entire sense in context.
©redstrings
redstrings
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redstrings
3w
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redstrings
6w
So desperate have I become,
To forget that all I know is to run,
Away from you, Away from us,
Away from the world.
©redstrings
I wonder since when my laughter,
Has started to sound so bitter,
So empty yet taste like too much salt.
Did I really meant to stretch my cheeks?
Or was it mere routine I couldnt let go of.
I think I have loved enough to get used to it,
How to bring stars & flowers in my eyes,
And then look at other person for some time,
While my teeth hang in air & breath climbs up the stairs.
Again & again.
I do wonder if I look alive in your eyes. -
redstrings
6w
From flower to leaf
How much do I envy you,
How much will I ?
So at peace with your mediocrity,
Who will even bother to gaze at you?
Looking so happy with a mere sigh of wind,
I mean who does even laugh so simply so easily,
Aren't you too gullible?
Do you think this crowd of yours will spare you the storm?
Do you?
Well maybe it will.
I mean who will steal someone as common as you.
Who will bother to touch you with love in their eyes?
And then kill you in their grip, as they dance around.
There are not many that are lucky to die of beauty you know.
But who wants to die so quickly.
Who does?
Why are you so stubborn?
Listening to mere corpse used to decorate the words.
And those humans, drowning me in their misery,
Who even cares about their love?
And why do you look same even after all these seasons.
Same old triteness embracing your veins,
Merely changing your colors, doesnt mean you are not you.
I mean look at you, still laughing stupidly with wind.
Well, aren't you lovely?
As if.
I live in a closed drawer you know.
And sometimes those humans behave like bad wind.
I cant laugh like you yet but I get to see you from window.
Weeping so beautifully in drowsiness of early morning.
As if.
Soon you will be brittle just like me. Breaking on mere touch.
Maybe my pieces will rest with you someday.
©redstrings -
redstrings
12w
A gifted life
My heart feels crumbled in my own hands,
I want to reach out so desperately for an eye,
That doesnt envy me, for a decorated empty life.
I never wished for a city life but rather a quiet shore,
To live the life from its roots under a warm sunlight,
Feeling alive from sunrise to sunset bartering smiles.
But I am alone in a street full of people in my own hometown,
No more, I dont want to reach out for stars that feel so cold,
But a voice keeps insisting, I have to run else I will not survive.
Monsters I escaped were always there in corners of my heart,
I wonder, should I just let go of peace that was war in the past,
But what else will I hold onto, life doesnt hide in this maze of glass.
Within those concrete walls, I had sought endlessly an answer,
When I fought for freedom, what was the price it had asked of me,
A mere promise to be alone or to be abandoned on the edge of a cliff.
Was it all a joke played on a life, which I was always taught to dream,
I cant even hate these shadows whispering their false love to my ears,
Please just tell me, how am I so tired of life when I have been blessed.
©redstrings -
redstrings
13w
Mr. Passerby
In chatter of charcoal coconut heads,
And all that cacophony of braided strands,
I had heard maybe an echo of craven word,
Starting to end with that last memory of you.
Miles of wandering gazes forsake my sight,
I sought running after a rumor of your presence,
No one bothers, the left, four hundred steps from that day,
Mere passerby invited to sigh over unrelenting yearning.
My madden heart clings to remnants of flowing shadows,
Playing hide & seek for so long, with lost eye sockets,
A shop in front keeps glaring at sun, with knock here & there,
Nothing bought, but I got sold in your eyes for mere passerby.
A mere passerby.
©redstrings -
redstrings
13w
Witch of Gloaming
In a moment, she had fallen from the world,
and in arms of water, she had tried to catch sun,
to that last breath, she had taken in shallow freedom.
When cold touched, she had suddenly yearned for depths,
to be lost or maybe forgotten, she had asked for embrace,
and how cruel it was, she had purged her mad passion.
Standing amidst the crowd, she had hidden a broken mirror,
and those sharp blades, she had pointed at raging sunset,
to drink his crimson death, she had vacated her gaze.
Many shadows whispered, she had beguiled an angry tempest,
to squander an eventide, she had spent remnants of dawn,
and after being caught by wind, she had flown them to stars.
©redstrings -
redstrings
16w
Sometimes I hate the fact I can write,
It becomes an easier way to distract life,
I dont utter a scream but scratch the ink,
Slowly over torn paper with unsaid cries.
My tears fall sometimes within empty lines,
Fading away with mockery of rhyming lies.
I dont like to remember my days but I write,
To change my past I build dreams with words,
Hiding sadness behind layers of metaphors.
Sometimes I see spilled ink in a corner of world,
Tears well up refusing to fall down until I scream.
Sometimes I hate the fact that I can write. -
redstrings
19w
A mirage in Hills
I am but a plateau of my dreams,
Standing strong amongst the winds.
My heart beats evenly for each color,
My limbs itch equally for each trouble.
I color, sing, dance & work along the skies,
I write & read when I tiptoe across the miles.
Sunlight shines on my wings & gives me a smile,
Moonlight calms my nerves & gives me a rest awhile.
I stand all alone in wilderness trying to keep my head high,
But mountains that do stand by each other seems to be a lie.
©redstrings -
redstrings
21w
Flooded by Love
Today, this rain beats the ground,
Falling down tearing the clouds.
A letter to forlorn lover of ocean,
Waves crying like forsaken pearls.
Ripples on hearth of land are fleeting,
Water's sorrow is silenced in cruel depths.
A river boils in anger over indifferent rocks,
Carrying the memories each season alone.
A harsh sun keeps tormenting her favour,
Snatching lakes to weep again on waves.
But water can no longer swallow her tears,
Flooding land in a gulp of cold embrace.
©redstrings -
redstrings
30w
I pick up words one by one,
So tired to fill up the spaces,
Always tasting like bitter grief.
It sounds like a complain to life,
Cowardice inked beneath rhymes,
Looking for some courage to accept it.
My sentences look broken & weirdly empty,
Making meanings fall out of spaces I left open,
Maybe something will make sense & I will hope again.
©redstrings
-
xyl_ayvlis
6w
Read MoreJust wondering we lives in a surreal world!!! How could we even surviving this ideal, while we are rational?
~
Closing an eyes
Living in blues
Sleep walking while
Butterfly wings causing a hurricane;
Catching a breathe
Slowing a pace
Stepping into reality while
Cat inside a box both alive and death at same time;
Chasing a clock
Occupying a space
Lying in roof while
Star dying light time away;
ⒸXyl_ayvlis.
-
Count on
Wind blows away
some saffron kites
With blue stripes
While you knot straight threads
Of eclipsing shadows
Into asymmetrical ends
Nothing remains in your hands
But in cosmos
Beneath bizzare skylights
Behind closed doors
You run into nothingness
And chase no kite
For it discovers the surface to fall
And you will refuse to fly
But never to fall
Perhaps something else will hold on
Maybe you unlearn to chase
But what if you run
"A string will never depart
Within two ends of height and depth"
The sky and your hands are blue
Alike vagabond and aimless walk
You heard of picasso and cubes
Perhaps art will never hold grudge
Maybe your sink in bottomless abyss
But what if you fly
"Origami flights aren't fearless,
They leave behind every thing
That rides it but never flew
It won't carry the flaws nested in you
For all wings don't stand blue
But they shall not crash
the skylight & the closed door
Paper planes must fly
Near to sanity
With no parameters of altitudes,
Nothing weighs down the air
Nothing weighs down the flight
Count on your fall
and then count on the kites and planes
Count on the blues for
"Every fear leapt away to settle down
Somewhere else"
~Nida -
wisteria_
51w
Read MoreMaybe I'll write like I don't want anyone to read or understand. Because maybe...
Intricacies, details, dreams, illusions, reflections, and some things that stay connected, yet lead nowhere. A thread or two bound together, barely with loose ends. You pull it, thinking it's the one, a relief to the lump you carry, called conscience, you pull it, like a sickle you'd thrust on the scruff of your hazy words, you pull it, turns out it wasn't the thread you eyed at. That's life. Or a dream. Or maybe an illusion. Am I for real?
There's a definition floating in air, and it enters the nostrils of yearnings to reach the codependent lungs, and punctures reality, and senses. There are holes in my lungs. The air gasps out to the suffocated murmur of a pining heart. What do my ears hear? A sound of fallacy, a sound of realest fallacy.
What good is a word that travelled down my tongue, to fall on your fingers dipped in a paint of hurt and memoirs, in perceptions and blindness. Those subtle lines on your hands, that brush away the white off those sheets on a canvas, they aren't as guilty as my eyes, they don't bite themselves like my tongue does. A word falls on the floor, with rotten droplets of pitiful paint.
There's a hair tie, to stuff ideas, dreams, and the strands that flow with the wind, there's a hair tie holding back a head, from the night of parmesan stars. The hair tie is cruel, and was shamed by its parents for not being tight enough. It doesn't listen to my ill-defined love, or my ill-defined desperation. Maybe the hair tie is rightfully taut, and numb, and maybe lifeless too.
A bird chirps in my backyard, two mornings straight to blush on my cheeks, but doesn't come to greet my third dawn. I broke my wall to make a window, to let the bird in. I have no wall now, just broken bricks, that sing me to sleep, in their soothing yet churning Llorando, I'm sleeping in a pool of tears, I'm sleeping with my eyes open, I'm sleeping with my ears alert. I'm sleeping. There's a ceiling doomed to fall.
Insanity is a thump of a peculiar smile to the sky, often unseen, unrecorded, unheard. You can't tell, how many smiles closer a person is, to that one smile. There's a world for the mad, a pair of eyes for the crazy, and a shade of an unprovided love, that would have gone un-understood anyways. The sanity sits in the corner, singing smoothly the song of slow death, when my smile roars to an abyss like sky.
Comprehension of thoughts is a mere trick of mind. I stopped calling myself a mystery long ago.
There's a line of hands to pluck a rose. There's a line of hands to caress the rose. There's a line of hands to crush the rose. What can the rose do, all the hands look same, without the sermon of time! What can the rose do, tell me mate? Will you pick a pair of hands? I think you already have. We all have.
I'm a mile away from sleep and an inch closer to spilling myself sheer naked, in front of my mind's silhouettes. You know the other name of comfort in someone's arms? It's thrashing out the voice of a cynic in you. But seldom can you silence it, right? The arms are lovely. The arms are lovely. I hope they remain so.
Have you too, in your own way, written a song of love and sung it in your head, to never look alike what's found? And look a lot like what's lost? There's white in his body, but somehow he colours me grey. The hues are vivid, yet just falter before my songs. I'm coloured grey. I fear I'll always be.
Can you love someone, without loving their mind, without your idle heart attempting to brighten the moon in their eyes, without taking them as a lucky find of your life? Can you love someone, for the extra second they wait, for you to travel back to reality, for the extra minute they give you, to crack the shell of your sham, and hug them back? Can you love them for the days they don't hear or understand a word you say, and for the days they call you beautiful even when you're wrapped in a bubble of anxiety?
Can you love someone who loves your body, without knowing your mind? Can you love someone who hugs you without knowing who you are? Or would you wait for a bird? Or let the ceiling fall? Would you risk another pair of hands in your garden of thorns?
Tie your hair back, with three threads bound in ignorance. Tie your hair back with pride. You'll be alive and dead.
Do you know the difference between reality and illusion?
Tie your hair back. Breathe slowly. You don't need to know. -
If you've been in a room that is trapped shut,
but it sordidly fails
to prevent the one on deathbed
from making an offhand escape
through the bolted doors and windows.
While you're left alone
to fend the cold that follows ,
that renders you hollow on the inside.
And attacks your soul like termite
No matter how hard you hold on, you've lost the fight.
Your eyes convincing the monitor to show a spike,
but there's nothing on there
except for a tragic flat line
You've to address the family
Have done it before, but it never gets easy.
They are still holding on to the hope of lucidity.
The spark those old eyes showed on evening.
Slipping in and out of consciousness, every time
murmuring.
But it was false hope, it rarely isn't.
You sit down next to the gentleman and give him a reason.
Why his wife of a 40 years relationship
had to get up and leave in between,
leaving him to fend for himself.
You did your best, but you couldn't help.
And in his glistening eyes, you see a reflection,
of the perfection, that he thought their marriage was
the memory of his lover, the promise of forever,
and the hurt that her passage has caused.
Soon you've to show yourself out of the sad room.
As the family trickles in to go about the bad fortune.
Rooms too crowded for an outsider to enter.
Too full of colliding memories, unbalanced, no centre.
And if you weren't paying attention
right next to the now-empty bed,lies one more.
Another life falling apart in a doggone contraption.
A metallic,violent cough rips apart familial bonds out of action.
©tardigrade -
wallfl0wer
53w
Read More"if beauty comes through pain,how much pain one should go through to be labelled as 'beautiful'?
title is taken from song by Bon Iver.
________________________________________________
@mirakee THANK YOU SO MUCH.❤��
this my first pod,and i still can't get over this. thank you. this made me happy :))
@writersnetwork thank you ❤��
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@felix__anima @asphodel_ @inara__ @vivenne you people are the reason i still haven't left this place.
@raika_ @thousand_splendid_thoughts aap logo ne dhamki di thi isliye likha tha (._.)skinny love
apart from switching off alarm,
each morning my skeleton arm,
reaches to weighing scale and inchtape,
to measure my tonnage,limbs and belly to specify my shape,
and it's exciting stimulus,
even if i shed my size by centimeters,
each morning i gather my bones,
fats 'under' and taunts 'on' my skin,
for it's uneven tones,
to keep staring myself in mirror,
until i feel disgusted and wish for bigger
thigh gaps,and thighs more skinnier,
flat belly isn't convincing to me,
it's concave one i wish it to be.
i keep inhaling,
until i am assured i feel my ribs,
against my skin,
i keep exhaling,
until i am convinced my waist size,
is smaller and thin,
i keep grumbling about,
the extra layers i possess,
until my palm is impressed,
and can feel the bones beneath.
apart from wearing body warmers,
in months of may and june,
even in hot summer noon
and not feeling the warmth,
of blood circulating in my own veins,
it takes winning over 20 battles and pains,
to feel my 4 extremities,
cold feet and other numb entities.
i keep skipping,
meals till I'm feared,
the acid in stomach may digest the gut,
i keep convincing,
mumma by phrases, ' i am full'
and 'i don't like cookies and doughnut'
i keep flushing,
calories by throwing away the food,
and hiding quickly before mumma starts questioning 'what-'
apart from wearing the clothes
sized too big to conceal my 95 lbs fat body,
and trying hard not to faint,
by gulping the water down to my empty stomach,
it takes fighting my social anxiety,
constantly running hyper aware
already exhausted brain,
and bypassing through at least 73 pair of eyes,
to reach my seat in a classroom.
apart from learning history and science
it takes calculating the calories inside,
my lunchbox to decide my eligibility,
to devour,chew and swallow my next meal.
apart from attending classes,
maintaining notes and gratitude journals
it take writing about 'skinny-is-beautiful' assertions and repeating them,
when hunger hits,when i feel "i am not full".
i like how my friends compliment,
my 24 inch waist as accomplishment,
the dresses that flaunt my collarbone,
and cosmetics that enhance my cheekbone,
more the praises that say 'beautiful'
more i hate being full,
more i am convinced about my lifestyle,
and lot more it pushes me to suppress my appetite for a while.
but i hate how my brain keeps running,
around numbers and counting,
grams and pound,
inches and meters,
joules and calories.
i hate how my head always feels light,
even after carrying tonnes of toxicity,
and how my body feels so heavy,
despite its fragility,
and i hate every time i have to repeat, same boring assertion to suppress my hunger heat,
when my nose senses the aroma of something sweet.
i hate the amount of time i spend,
thinking about excuses to skip dinner,
and lunch over weekend.
every night my skeleton hands,
write how much i want to change myself,
and every morning the same hands,
reach out to weighing scales and inchtape,
just to make sure, nothing is going in vain,
afterall,beauty comes through pain.
right?
©wallfl0wer -
ayushsangwan 59w
the moon looks like a folded chapati tonight
lying pale on a black pan. and the mango tree in the dark looks like the shadow of a person spying on me.
the wind passes by
caressing my skin with its cold fingers
i wrap my hands around me and sigh
on nights like this when i am alone with myself and there's silence, i sigh
because when my lips are immobile
i am always roaming around you like that chapati
which shimmers in sky,
you are the earth, and since you are
that, you revolve around someone else
as -
love_whispererr
62w
Read MoreWell...miracles happen here everytime...
Thank you so much @writersnetwork ❤️
Thank you so much @mirakee ❤️
#poem #love_whispers @writersnetworkSOME SHADES OF POETRIES
~
The silken sunshine of July morn, the raindrops of seraphic August, the darkness of September, the summer rain of sanguine March and the snowflakes of December ; don't allure you to scribble 'bout 'em ?
This nature is a supermarket. Just stand here and wait to perceive those overwhelming shades. Miracles happen here everytime. The darkness seems as the part of you but the moonlight lightens the scars of a poet while stars twinkle and clouds dawdle. Everytime the universe begins to romanticize. Those verses hide inside your woebegone days and the emollient smile of your beloved.
Fugacious childhood rhymes in front of those soaring kites and birthday cakes. The chocolate wrapper(which you shared with your first love on your first date) tries to wink at you from your favourite diary yet you scribble there about ethereal life till the nefarious death.
Isn't this romantic ?
I think 'bout this and the poetry whispers in my left ear
"I'm the poetry, can't count my age but can count your erstwhile melancholies and fetching happiness. I've scars yet I smile while looking at those dazzling stars. I cherish every moment with the voices of mothers as lullabies and also I twirl with the tunes of chatoyant katydids.
This is me, the poetry ;
And this is my paradisiacal story."
I pause.
I sigh.
And I smile.
~bidya -
.
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Doubt
Doubt, a red persimmon of transformation-
Eternity into self made nihility.
Waggoner, passengers on illusion's back
Skids on crabways of biased mountain
In sceptic's hydrocephalus skull
For, it's big yet empty
Steadfast to apocalypse
For own peace, for others' too.
It plays the convenient golf
In St. Andrews of own judgements
Knocking homes of people down
Siphon felicity in tight bottle
And throw gasoline in fire of gardens
For, seed of doubt, hardened, deepened
Too late to pull it out
For, it gives birth to plights, gripes mere
High alert, to sceptic, to victim, to doubt
As your world is beautiful in reality,
But your mind will wash it away
In charred giant rivers of ruins
For, unseen disease kills,
More wisely, with more passion,
With more seconds of sabotage.
You'd just observe, intensity of doubt
©jeelpatel -
tamanna3
71w
Read MoreLaying on the blanched coverings
Of a mattress supported faltingly
On a wrecked bedstead of existence,
I stare in vain at the once virescent
Floral patterns imprinted on the fabric,
Now all faded, resembling well-nigh
The old letters stored in the cabinet.
Blue ink smudged on the white,
Creating a paradigm of turquoise rillets
Cascading through the paper.
I turn to the old photograph,
A souvenir caged within
A wooden frame sculpted by
The hands of some unnamed carver.
Portraying the volatility
Of all mortal entities at large.
// My mind leafs through the pages
Of my unscripted memoir,
Each chapter smells of burnt roses,
Ignited as a ritual on my demise.
I dust off the ashes
And watch them flutter away,
In the puffs of my moribund breath. //
I wish the world to remember me even then,
Not as the last word of their favourite tales,
But as the library that preserves all the volumes
They couldn't keep for themselves.
I wish to be the melody still chiming at your ears
After you disengage a phone call with your lover,
For your mind may someday abandon
The lyrics of your favourite song
But never the melody that made your heart flutter
The very first time you ever fell in love.
I wish the world to remember me still,
As a sapphire ring they come across at some store,
That reminds them of the azure sky
That adorned the happiest day of their life.
If not any one thing,
I'd still wish to be an artefact you safeguard
Within the delicate glass cabinet in your room,
That you procured on the pilgrimage you made,
With the purpose to mirror the sanctity
You would rever for all eternity.
© tamanna3
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#cees_memo_chall @mirakee @carolyns_challenges @writersbay #wordc
Thanks a lot ^_^ @writersnetwork.
