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  • samswan 1w


    Unveiling from the carpet of leaves, pure as divinity monochromatic JANUARY'S JASMINE a gift of serenity.

    Drenched in little drizzle of unpredictable month
    the hues of FEBRUARY'S FREESIA smile for once.

    Spring has come to our threshold
    Sweet zephyr rushes as MARCH holds MARIGOLD.

    Dancing with the music of sun light
    Fairy lavender APRIL'S ASTER shines so bright.

    Whispering birds in the shade of numb trees
    play with MAY'S MIMOSA sailing with the breeze.

    The dripping sweat, quench for calm water
    JUNE JONQUIL upright as plinth, summer's daughter.

    Hefty cries of storms and somnolent flood, when night
    comes through JULY'S JABOROSA stretches its might.

    Obliterating stained face from past's, from valley
    of weeds to garden comes AUGUST ALYSSUM'S gallery.

    Yellow is the colour of happiness for all poor and rich
    Gazing right into sun, SEPTEMBER'S SUNFLOWER pitch.

    Shedding their skin, worn out weather and leaves
    all skeletal, OCTOBER'S ORCHIDS form jars of fragrances.

    Love in a mist, bees flattering the petals
    Novels of NOVEMBER bookmarks NIGELLA settles.

    Not the end, but the beginning of new
    Butterflies scout on DECEMBER'S DAHLIA, flew.

    #flowers @mirakee #wod #pod #alliteration #ceesreposts
    PC: to the rightful owner
    The show must go on....
    Flower show on the face of the Earth!

    @writersnetwork THANKYOU soooo much for showering your love, for the consecutive reposts��❤

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  • samswan 1w


    Who am I?
    In this Bright Darkness
    amidst Still Winds
    under the Heavy Lightness of clouds
    listening to Myth Realities
    veiling my skin in shrouds of Sugar Sorrows
    Filled with emptiness is the heart
    the unanswered questions Opaquly Transparent,
    Difficulty Simple
    standing like a Giant Insect
    WHO AM I?
    am I a Wealthy Beggar
    hunting for answers in modern world
    of Uneducated Literature?

    Who was I?
    that drowned in burning flames
    and flew in Stationary Waves
    on the soil of Rained Droughts
    and days of Laughed Cries,
    trials of Innocent Crimes
    and rivers of Unholy Shrines
    WHO WAS I?
    was I an Adult Child
    solving problems
    longer than my height?

    Who I used to be?
    I used to stroll on the walls of the past
    sticking pictures on Stainy Clean albums
    wearing a naked skin of Demonic Human
    during sunset in Pristine Drain
    I used to mirror myself
    Purely Contaminated in Silenced Anger,
    Colourfully White I used to be.
    do you know?
    would you care to unearth
    the Irrational Reasons behind my lively death,
    find me behind the scenes
    behind the curtains
    with no stage to perform an act of life
    would you reopen the locked album
    where I am Smiling In Grief,
    Long lasting story so Brief
    woukd you weep your Happy tears
    that you didn't in so many years
    once I am gone..
    would you Forgetfully Remember me
    For who I used to be
    For who I was
    For who am I
    half baked and Deadly alive
    because this is
    Not the last goodbye....

    #oxymoron #pod #wod #ceesreposts #goodbye
    When I am half baked and deadly alive!
    PC : to the rightful owner @mirakee

    THANKYOU SO MUCH @writersnetwork for the repost❤��

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    Would you reopen the locked album
    Where I am smiling in grief
    Long lasting story so brief
    Would you weep your happy tears
    that you didn't in so many years
    Once I am gone..
    Would you forgetfully remember me
    For who I used to be
    For who I was
    For who I am
    Half baked and deadly alive
    because this is
    Not the last goodbye....


  • samswan 2w


    I was floating
    as light as feathers
    Roaming in solitude splits
    collecting shells
    from the ignorant shores of Mumbai
    Nobody was sleeping
    and so was I
    Up! Like an owl of midnight,
    Wolf of an opera house in forest.
    Was trying to fill my lungs
    with the lights
    of the city of light,
    the smell of its spicy street foods
    bloating my belly,
    the Indo- Saracenic beauty
    calling to write a farewell note on the walls.
    But I had to leave soon,
    my baggage
    stuffed with CHILDHOOD.
    With the dools and rags I collected.

    I am broken
    looking at the golden sky
    of the city of joy
    The taste of its festivals
    and the thriving theatre art
    caged me like a lone spectator
    The careless whispers of folks
    reached my ears
    and my lips hummed their language
    Unknown to the indeciphered meanings
    Time flew by like fireflies of the marshland
    The previous baggage that I unpacked
    Was to be done again
    This time
    My baggage had the scent of
    dahlias and cosmos I grew in spring
    From seed to blooms
    Like I metamorphosed here
    I was carrying a piece of Kolkata
    In me
    And so was the city breathing an ounce of me
    My echoing voice of arguments
    and cheers for my friends.

    I will be in another uninvited city
    Remembering my journey
    I will be scribbling some journals
    About the worn out walls
    On which I became the painter I am
    Writing on the walls
    And a family picture
    Broken from the corner
    Like each of us, tired with the baggages
    Yet I would carry my bagpack and pipes
    Tuning the music of my past life
    Of highs and lows
    Of gains and pains
    That each broken window pane gave
    The vibrating stories of my grandparents in air
    Will always be in my baggage
    The scent of the cities I travelled
    Will be smelled from the artefact memories
    I carry from their abode.
    I will carry the baggage from earth to heaven.

    My father has a transferable job and it is always a story of packing and unpacking.. from Mumbai to Kolkata to Delhi to Neverland...
    #bagpack #wod #pod @mirakee @virtually_real
    PC : Pinterest

    A BIG THANK YOU TO @writersnetwork for the repost��❤

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    I will carry each part of every home
    an inch of every city
    from the languages to the songs
    from dresses to food
    I will live each one of you
    like you smoked me...
    A baggage of sorrow
    A baggage of happiness
    A baggage of laughter
    A baggage of tears
    A baggage of fears
    A baggage of success
    A baggage of growth.


  • samswan 2w

    Few words against Domestic Violence.
    Say NO to violence.
    When kitchenware speak against domestic violence of a women who cooks in them. #kitchen #wod @writersnetwork @mirakee @virtually_real

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    Down to the never ending trails
    drain of invisible bruises on her face
    drenching kitchen and broken ceiling maze
    distrustful life no less than a jail.

    Adding the spice odyssey
    acromatic fragrance of pepper and salt,
    Agony and tears all mixed in meal molt
    Ashen skin of her is all we utensils see.

    One step of his inside
    Obedient she runs to hide.
    Over the running pages of history,
    Of he is the assassin of her happiness mystery.

    Is she of stainless steel?
    Why is it one of us kitchen cutlery thrown
    like a baseball to her?
    Are we to applaud his bravery masculinity?
    Or shall we mourn the humanity with nihilism?

    We are mere objects to our creators
    A throwing piece at weaker
    A bowl to spit in abuses
    And break our limbs when run weary.

    But now we break the silence of the breaking dawn
    For violence is not what we were sculpted off.
    Melange your emotions and grind creativity
    with the essential ingredients
    as we serve a happy meal
    and not scars on a beautiful face.

  • samswan 3w

    With the voice of 13. #superstition #wod #pod @mirakee
    13 Reasons Why - title inspired from the novel of the same name by Jay Asher. @virtually_real @loverenay #ceesreposts

    @writersnetwork thank you so much for the repost! Much love to you����

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    1. You thought not global warming,
    not evil spirits of corruption sharpening
    but me a two digit number thirteen (13)
    would be the harbinger of extreme
    apocalypse of 2012.

    2. You skip me
    from the tally of your building floor
    so that you don't fall
    and shut the door
    to thwart your sinful (mis)happenings.

    3. You're haunted from holding my position
    when you dine in with faceless being
    fearing you'd be in vision,
    in disguise of Judas betraying
    the lord Jesus's decision.

    4. A flip of tarot card XIII
    brings a shiver to your spine
    that you'd be biting the dust beyond grave
    blemished power, no longer are you brave
    face all tarnished from shine.

    5. The night's skyline
    embraces the grace of twelve full moon
    but so soon
    why is it the thirteenth me seen
    as an ominous digit on the calendar's screen.

    6. You can't bear me
    when my shades coincides with Friday
    from dawn till dusk
    bannered under the flag of 'unlucky day'
    contained in the vessel of doom and gloom.

    7. In your 'unconscious' mind
    with the vision so blind
    you muse not your greed
    but my thirteen breed
    fosters economic misfortunes.

    8. Remember you folks
    not always am I unlucky
    for Jews I am the seed of maturity
    in lads, having young hot blood
    running in their veins.

    9. I am the forgotten constellation
    of zodiac, christened as Ophiuchus
    Crossing the sky westward
    as the Earth spins in the universe
    and yet I am no child's sign.

    10. From the map of roads
    I am the number not taken
    for you believe
    I am the recipe of disaster,
    an author of your tragedy.

    11. The righteous Knights Templar
    of the holy land, gave me a scar
    which people all condemn
    for I was the year of their fatal death
    But it was not in my hands.

    12. The pages of the past
    paint me as a pitcher plant
    engulfing lives yet I chant
    what matters is livelihood
    and not those woods burning superstition.

    13. You won't ever end
    the saga of my evils
    but I would pause my poesy
    "I am no fickle finger of fate
    but unsettled mind state."

  • samswan 4w

    // Only if you knew I was a silhouette of you//

    A gift of scarf am I
    from the shops of Prophet.
    Embracing your curious head
    like sky over earth,
    stitched to you inseparably.
    Never rusted or dusted
    in the racks of almirah
    but shining in glitters of silk,
    for you keep me treasured
    as your mother's last memory.

    The songs of innocence
    and your radiant smile
    keep the quest of love unempty.
    You were a five year old seed
    of your mother, when inquisitively
    you asked " what is a hijab Umi?"
    Her trembling fingers touched your head softly
    as if searching for the answer on my fabric.
    I whispered softly with the tunes of wind
    and she replied "a hat of your faith".

    Oh women of all age
    don't condemn me
    and the embroidery of gulmohars
    in red weaved,
    as a hindrance to womanhood
    or your marches of liberty and freedom.
    I will be a companion from
    cradle to grave,
    a protective halo
    and a crown of ethereal ethics.
    When you will be a 'wandering lonely cloud'
    I will be your 'golden daffodil'
    'fluttering and dancing in the breeze'
    Not a chain of patriarchy
    but a bliss of feminism am I.

    No offence to any body ��
    Have I had more time may be I could have portrayed better. Will read to my mirakee friends amazing composition soon. See you all soon today! #concrete my first attempt of concrete, if not clear it's a hijab ( a covering scarf for head)
    #clothing #wod #pod @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    A halo above you!
    From the heat of
    summer to the fr
    -eezi I will
    -ng be a
    win scarf
    -ters. of
    your faith,
    ~ laughing along you
    ~ in sweet winds
    ~ wiping your tears
    ~ in despair

  • samswan 4w

    Haphephobia: The fear of touching or being touched.


    What I fear
    is the touch of others' skin
    on my brown cloak.
    I avoid my tears
    and find solace in my shell,
    close my wings
    so no light could enter.
    I wish to inject anesthesia.

    My spirit burns
    under the sky of fingers searching me,
    producing currents
    further dismantling me
    into unrecognizable pieces.
    I search for fresh air
    to stretch my arms
    without touching yours.

    So Touch me NOT
    or else I get coiled in knots
    around my neck.
    Bereft of words and expressions
    my face gets all pale.
    Don't leave your prints on my land,
    talk from a distance
    I will greet you with a solitary smile.

    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #wod #fear #phobia @virtually_real @barefoot #ceesreposts
    P.C. : to the rightful owner

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    Haphephobia - A phobia that involves the fear of touching or being touched.

    So touch me not
    or else I get coiled in knots
    around my neck.


  • samswan 4w

    I am painting stars
    With the brush of hope,
    Writing answers for you
    On the wall,
    So that you don't get lost.

  • samswan 5w

    Of Unsold Pens

    Dried ink, will divulge from plastic skins
    Awaiting, dusk till dawn to remorse sins
    In the poet's naked pages
    Weaving never ending phrases
    Liberating the petrichor scent
    Like drizzle and terra ferma ment.

  • samswan 5w

    //Let Us Tint And Tone The Dark Shades Of Past For A Bright Future And Healthy Heart.// #colours #past #future #shade #tint #pod #wod @mirakee @writersnetwork #ceesreposts

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    'Tis tombless truth
    condensed from variegated
    pages of past's ruth.
    Where else had it gained
    so worth
    Only in this hollow age
    Of inglorious cage.

    Of inglorious cage
    Where shades of past
    are gloomed to darkness
    and obscurity
    and uncivilized ancients.

    Uncivilized ancients
    because future bards
    are enriched with beasts of wealth
    and deep blue oceans of mindfulness.

    Oceans of mindfulness
    They call
    'Tis wantonness of shadeful
    Greed and indigo poison crawl.

    Burn the midnight oil
    to pixelate the evil and lies
    to tint and tone
    the stones of inhumanity.