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  • snigdhac92 15w

    It is 3 A.M. Your headphones blare a similar tune into your ears. Your eyes involuntarily swells up as your mind travels down the lanes of memories you have tried so hard to get over from. And in midst of all the agony, you are clutching your chest, as if physically sheilding your heart from the pain it still recalls and feels with just the sane intensity. You close your eyes and sink in and tonight you don't stop yourself. You let everything in and feel it all.
    "There, there, you will end up okay",you whisper to yourself and then close your eyes again to believe it.




    The wind wafting towards me;
    Carrying your scent:
    The cologne of your laughter,
    The notes of your memories
    My eyes close.
    The notes and chords and the music
    Align themselves in a symphony:
    Which grows louder;
    And louder,
    Till they echo in the empty lanes
    Of my being;
    Expanding, filling up the corners,
    Till all I am is you;
    Till all you are is me.

    A translucent barrier opens up,
    Between us, it looms
    In agony it blooms;
    I move forward to traverse it
    Yet I am kicked back,
    I fall and look up at you.
    Buckshot of pain later;
    “Help me” I whisper
    Your silence crushes me,
    Your eyes are flat silver;
    Shimmery unflinching moons.
    You start to move back,
    Your limbs are atrophied bones;
    And they become smaller,
    Till you disappear into the
    Same emptiness you had risen from.

    I stare into the nothingness,
    The barrier has melted.
    You are gone with it;
    Like you never existed.
    I clamber up:
    The asymmetrical walls,
    The rugged carpet,
    The imperfect yet powerful current
    Of thoughts and feelings,
    Have taken their leave.
    Day 295 without you,
    Your voice still loud and clear:
    “I cannot, I am sorry”;
    Another day of deciphering,
    How can all that a person can feel;
    Is ‘sorry’.

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    Day 295

    The wind wafting towards me;
    Carrying your scent:
    The cologne of your laughter,
    The notes of your memories
    My eyes close.
    The notes and chords and the music
    Align themselves in a symphony:
    Which grows louder;
    And louder,
    Till they echo in the empty lanes
    Of my being;
    Expanding, filling up the corners,
    Till all I am is you;

  • snigdhac92 25w

    To anyone who needs a reminder

    I am so proud of you.
    You have come a long way
    You are bettering yourself each day
    And on the days when you feel you aren't,
    Specially on those days.

    ©snigdhac92

  • snigdhac92 26w

    Who?

    Another day, Another Battle.
    The field is is dusted with fables of freedom and glory over the hearth of misery and despair.
    The field is in me. The battle is against me
    The emptiness in me is now a person
    A discrete entity with whims and it is hard to say if it is me or yet another figment of fascination.
    ©snigdhac92

  • snigdhac92 26w

    Thoughts #6

    There is a firefly's nest glimmering with words in my heart. Each word carry a light and I place it hopefully on dark parchment at midnight. There they become stars which radiate the hope I filled in them.
    Somewhere a whisper of hope falls from a pair of lips while they look at a twinkling star.

    ©snigdhac92

  • snigdhac92 26w

    We question what needs
    To be celebrated.
    We abhore what needs
    To be loved.

    We reject what needs
    To be accepted.
    We mock what needs
    To be celebrated.

    We view people as blocs
    As categories of our own will
    As segments of our wants
    But people are people.




    #pride #identity #choice #moon #notaphase
    #love #poem #poetry #musings #will
    @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    TRANS-form

    He pens his sonnets;
    Of hope and chaos,
    Conflict and peace.
    Of what it means
    to be who he is.

    A quill of melancholy 
    for the world,
    Which lets him do everything,
    Except,
    Be himself.


    A piece of metaphor,
    Carrying the melody
    Of his dilemma;
    Of not who he is,
    Or what he wants,
    But of how will he
    Shut off his brain.


    How are we supposed
    To forgive ourselves 
    For who we are,
    For the color of blood and sinew.
    His eyes holds different drops of 
    Pain and betrayal,
    "Transform", they say,
    "Into a version we like".


    Change is the only constant,
    "So is the alchemy 
    of his identity" , he says.
    Wax into what we want,
    Wane out of who you are.
    "Transform", they say, 
    "Into a version we want".


    But he isn't the moon.
    He is a star,
    A fallen one framing his
    Own constellations;
    Illuminating his sky,
    Placing his feelings
    One at a time 
    On a parchment of darkness.
    Letting them glow
    And shine
    And shed light.


    "Transform I will",  he says
    "Into a version I love."
    ©snigdhac92

  • snigdhac92 27w

    Inked in surrealism,
    with a quill that engraved them;
    Etching my words on paper.

    Now they breathe,
    They have a life of their own.
    Spitting flaming truth with tinge of remorse.

    And each passing second,
    The spectre of dead memories
    Haunts and chases.

    The quill that engraved them lie,
    hidden in a corner
    "What did I create?"
    Is the only thing it wonders.


    @writersnetwork @mirakeeworld @mirakee

    #writers #poetry #poems #shorts #musings #trap #void #sink #anxiety #society #writings

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    TRAP

    A sharp inhale, and plunge
    into the dark recess of
    the mind and the memory it holds;
    Where reasons sigh,
    And inhibitions are shut out.

    The door closes;
    You are trapped within yourself.
    "Breathe", you say to self,
    and hold it in
    for as long as you can.

    A flame flickers,
    burning bright in the middle
    of your ribcage.
    Ghost of pulses and beats .
    You run, hurl and hustle

    "Stop", you tell;
    Yet, the spiral had already begun,
    And falling into it you hear
    Phantom rustles brush your ears.

    Memory is a ghost,
    with the wrong whispers.
    It encloses you,
    One centimeter at a time.
    It moves into light;
    Revealing images and sounds
    That you had shut,
    With hammers and jars of screws.
    Now they lay in open;

    The stoppered void is spilled,
    In front of you.

    And you can't help,
    But sink in.
    ©snigdhac92

  • snigdhac92 27w

    We hide
    From ourselves
    From the truth around
    Into a falsified cocoon
    Thay doesn't exist.

    #writings #quotes #shorts #musings #hide #reality #society

    @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    Hide

    We hide our demons
    within layers of crafted origami
    of laughter and delight.
    But at night,
    we stare into the space
    the darkness melts away,
    the buried raises its head
    A wintry finger peirces
    With an air of chill
    And fake subtlety
    And it pokes and pokes
    Into the flesh of autumn
    Into fog of blurred conscience
    And we see
    The wailing wife on the pavement
    The diseased man fighting a breath
    The orphan begging
    The little girl violated
    And in our conscience
    We hide, we bury , we color
    We see nothing
    We wait for the
    demon to sleep.

    Only this time,
    The demon was the truth.


    ©snigdhac92

  • snigdhac92 27w

    Thoughts #5

    Remember on gloomy days
    that the Light of your soul
    can never be dimmed.
    You shine an eternal glow.
    ©snigdhac92

  • snigdhac92 27w

    Thoughts #4

    I still have the rose you gave me.
    It is crinkled and buried amongst pages on which I wrote about us.
    It carries the fragrance of laughter, dreams and unfulfilled promises.
    ©snigdhac92

  • snigdhac92 28w

    How much do we give up for the people we love?
    Sometimes, we give up on ourselves.

    I am , but a barren land
    Of deserted longings,
    And forbidden hopes.
    Whisper you not;
    Because here we say,
    "What falls out lips
    Falls into the holy ears",
    So , we keep our whispers in check;
    Till they echo like a trumpet ;
    Thumping Sound waves,
    reflecting around the edges
    Of the blurred existence.
    So , in midnight I collect stars
    And with dust from celestial realm,
    On the parchment of ink blue sky
    I arrange my words.
    In a bleak wintry heart,
    snow flakes each unique
    Forms a blanket.
    And a warmth arises
    reaching the edges
    of my staggered silhouette,
    Mending them.
    And they reveal the truth
    That to keep you warm
    I had to freeze my soul.

    #barren #giveup #lost #love #failed

    @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    Barren

    So , we keep our whispers in check;
    Till they echo like a trumpet ;
    Thumping Sound waves,
    reflecting around the edges
    Of the blurred existence.
    So , in midnight I collect stars
    And with dust from celestial realm,
    On the parchment of ink blue sky
    I arrange my words.
    ©snigdhac92