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  • reticentsdiary 114w

    Again those shouts are ravaging my ears,
    Sucking the peace out of my sleep;
    Numbing my body, wetting my pillow;
    Days pass in the dread of the night,
    And the nights pull the curtain to cover it's darkness even more;
    How can I turn my deaf ears to the thunders, those shadows and those whimpers?
    That gave me sleepless nights when all I knew was-
    "Everything will be fine in the morning";
    When innocence was in ignoring what happened last night.
    Many mornings have passed since then,
    And few nights too, when it was not all gloomy.
    Thinking, that was the end to it,
    I quietly turned my back and took the step forward.
    But again, it knocked at my door!
    Like a black soul hidden till now in a white wrap!
    They say, time heals everything
    But, my time, it seems, has lost its track
    Or has never moved at all...
    Like a still tree at the riverbank,
    I stand, again, helpless
    Watching the time pass by
    Without bringing that dawn on me
    When everything was supposed to be alright.
    Now, I know, dreams really do come true.

    @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakee @mirakeeworld #horror #night #time #chnage #fear #dream #fights #childhood #poetry

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    Thinking, that was the end to it,
    I quietly turned my back and took the step forward.
    But again, it knocked at my door!
    Like a black soul hidden till now in a white wrap!
    They say, time heals everything
    But, my time, it seems, has lost its track
    Or has never moved at all...
    (Read the whole poem in the caption.)

  • reticentsdiary 144w

    Accept the changes if you want a better tomorrow. #change #life #me #you @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakee @mirakeeworld

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    Change is not chosen

    Never did I like that change in you:
    The wrinkles of the face,
    The cracks of the street;

    The crooked clouds of the torn sky,
    The dried leaves;

    The shortened smile of your face,
    The longer hours of your days;

    The bitter coffee,
    The cold and tasteless food
    Until I realised- that

    Change is not chosen,
    But you are besmeared with it,
    On your way to a better tomorrow.

    You are one of the clouds,
    Changing with the fall of the dawn,
    And I, am one of you.

  • reticentsdiary 144w

    The Retreat

    Too far you have gone into the meadows
    Where only lights speak and darkness feast
    But, your essence is still stuck in the midway
    Where you alighted for an embalming retreat

    The smell of your breath still infuses the air
    Where millions have exhaled their cry of life
    The tenderness of your fingers left their mark
    On the walls where only violent "thuds" were heard
    The silky black hair that you wear
    Still deafens the ruffling of the spring leaves

    Far you have gone, no where to be seen
    But your footsteps still knock at my door
    In the nights when life is still but the heart repines
    For that one last retreat!

  • reticentsdiary 150w

    @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @writers_paradise @writsparrowsevenfour
    Life is a continuous exertion in the heat of the sun..that never drowns.

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    The Sun never sets

    She pulled her veil a little more
    To walk on the path of honour
    He wiped the sweat again, dripping
    From the forehead of fortune
    Kids hid behind the curtains
    The holes of which were the new game
    Of hide and seek..
    Awaited was the setting of the sun
    After which, the veil can be removed.

    But, I wish I could say,
    the sun sets.
    Drowned and enfeebled
    in the calm horizon...
    But the truth is the contrary.

    The sun never drowns
    Which is why, it comes back
    Everyday, not even breathless
    But with the same flare and whip
    To pull down the veil,
    Drape the house with suffocating curtains
    And exhaust the day, still less
    To stitch the holes of the curtains
    Burnt into them by poverty and perils

    I wish I could say,
    The tiring day would pass,
    And night will be peaceful..
    But, the truth is
    The sky is always dark.

    The day is only the excessive heat of sun
    Which never leaves,
    reflecting even at night
    In the face of beautiful moon,
    A temporal peace:
    With closed eyes,
    but exerted mind
    The day is not over yet!

  • reticentsdiary 158w

    The Broken Earthen and the Tinker

    Like the crumbled pieces of an earthen
    I squalled in my Cradle:
    Woven under the moon,
    Perched at the window.
    Perhaps prodding to bring back the lost,
    Even though it was irretrievable.
    But, those hands stroked my forehead gently,
    Though it seemed shivering and rough,
    Perhaps, after barricading the storm crashing against the window.
    In the lullaby of that caress,
    I found the lost piece of the pot,
    And quickly resorted back to my serenity,
    Hardly caring whether the hand was gone?
    Or still there, waiting for my whole to arrive?

    Even today, when prodding is only a childhood game,
    I can feel that selfless gesture;
    Stroking my wrinkled forehead,
    Soothing my scald eyes,
    Answering to my whimpers,
    As if singing:
    "The day has passed,
    The storm will soon be asleep,
    Loosen yourself too, in the Cradle,
    Tomorrow is another day".
    Only, now those hands are familiar,
    Close enough to call them Parents
    The eternal tinkers of my broken earthen.

  • reticentsdiary 159w

    House of mirrors

    In a house full of mirrors,
    I want to reside;
    Where what you see,
    Is not what it is.

    A reflection of the face,
    With its freckles and pimples;
    But perhaps the opposite is,
    The history of fight, resilience and success.

    There, the reflection of the warrior!
    Standing erect, feet and fists tightened;
    But perhaps the opposite is,
    The weeping heart,
    doomed to the definite choice
    Between the child in the cradle and the nation in the hassle.
    One is a warmth of possession, the other the wrench of dispossession.

    Here is the reflection of the housewife,
    Dressed...pretty fine;
    With remains of flour and spices,
    Smeared on face and clothes;
    But perhaps the opposite is,
    The urge to tap her feet,
    Swirl her body,
    On the beats of her own music,
    Or the bliss in the smears itself!

    In the house of mirrors,
    I want to reside;
    Where it is known:
    The unknown is the truth,
    That the first dawn is not the one,
    But only the opposite of the dusk,
    What is seen is an image,
    What it means is a mystery.

  • reticentsdiary 160w

    Happy Summers?

    Like the sun of the summers:
    A fierce ball of fire,
    Burning every will to tread,
    Rendering streets eerie,
    The abode of revolting silence
    Is the self:
    With its essential flaws and flaunts
    Lack of love and solitude
    Abundance of silence and clamour
    Annoying the other and the world
    The sun brandishes its 'flaws'
    Unabashed confident and defensive
    But the self?
    Drowns in the walk of shame?
    Or, smirks in summers,
    For a hearty grin in the winters!

  • reticentsdiary 161w

    Love, passion or faith, follow anything that takes you forward! Even if it's invisible..
    #journey #passion #love #faith
    @writersnetwork @mirakee @readwriteunite

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    Bon voyage!

    I haven't seen the sun!
    It's been years, since I first looked at you,
    With eyes scintillating under your glow,
    And blurted out, "Ah, there you are!"

    They say, the sun is no more seen around.
    But, we never exchanged a goodbye,
    When last we ventured into the wild in our innocent playfulness!

    Was that the last I saw the sun?
    Because, we promised to meet again,
    In the same moor, with the same innocence.

    The next day, I buckled up
    Bag laden with laughs and love,
    Feet infused with swiftness,
    To overtake the sun in the race of the promise!

    After a distance, the sun vanished.
    Perhaps plot of a play, I thought;
    And continued to race,
    And to run out the time.

    I have reached so far.
    My bag lethargic and worn out;
    And feet, no more swift, but tardy;
    I realised, the sun never followed me
    I followed the sun.

    No longer can I see the sun.
    But, the sojourn has begun.
    Should I turn back, I thought;
    But then, the sun is never behind me.

  • reticentsdiary 162w

    The leaf

    Distracted from the thick volumes of anthologies
    Filtered from some great minds,
    I ventured out to see the sunrise
    And en route stepped on a fresh green leaf
    The leaf that rolled under my feet
    Or defeated in the war of the wind?

    The leaf fallen from a height,
    The height of heaven:
    as religion would have it;
    Is the disillusioned human,
    Fresh but fallen,
    In the pitfall of lifeless suffering
    Of lust, love and hatred,
    Of lost battles and the destined death.
    The leaf could either roll away,
    Each time at the risk of death;
    Or give up at the inexorable wind,
    In conspiracy with the fortune wheel.

    What is inevitable is the yellowing of the leaf
    The shrinking of its shape,
    The prominent wrinkles
    And crushed!
    Followed by a sharp crackle
    Under my feet, the accidental pawn of destiny

    But, are we the fallen leaf,
    Encumbered by the dread of destruction?
    Or, are we the tree,
    living till the fall of its leaves?
    One by one,
    like the flipping pages of an anthology
    Yet, gazing at the flap of the dawn crow
    The fall of an old leaf
    The warmth of the new day,
    Calming the numbness of yesterday's death.

    The answer is difficult..
    But the candle is flickering
    Wax wasting away
    Decide before the flames smoulder...
    Everything lost in smoke!

  • reticentsdiary 166w

    Anchorage is your space, where others can visit; not the other's space where you are 'welcome'. @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writers_paradise

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    You always wander around,
    In search of an anchorage,
    In that corner, on that pillow
    In those arms, on that smile
    Because anchors stabilise
    Your conflicting and decentered life
    But, in your wanderlust,
    You forget to anchor yourself
    By that stake of self-love
    That is narcissistic yet not obsessive
    Which harbours you against the danger
    Of becoming that soluble grain
    Which tastes only when mixed with the other.