solivagant_soul

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  • solivagant_soul 18h

    I am back!��

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    .

    You planted these roses,
    Now I have to deal with the thorns.
    Butterflies became moths and
    My mother forgot to teach me
    How to endure the aftermath
    of thunder storms.

    ©solivagant_soul

  • solivagant_soul 1w

    With time and memories, love and attachment grows. That's the reason why few old things
    in our homes are so hard to discard.

    Para 1: Decrepit radio
    Para 2: Shabby vespa
    Para 3: Old Chifforobe


    Prompts used:

    • The noise is music to his ears
    • Love is a growing garland
    • Life is a barren field frozen with snow
    • A light in the sea of darkness


    #metaphor #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork
    @miraquill @writersnetwork


    Thank you @miraquill and @writersnetwork for EC.��

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    .

    With the dawn permeating on the limpid
    azure and our salutations returned with
    few more beams of sunlight
    The perpetual fulcrum of morning's delight,
    the archaic decrepit Radio parked on the
    topmost shelf of the wardrobe.
    Persistently in his austere demeanour my
    father with his oblong eyewear reposed
    on the lower part of his nose bridge swirls
    the convex switch to and fro.
    An immutable clamorous hullabaloo to others
    But, the noise is music to his ears, he repostes
    its vigour that radiates even after decades.


    When summers aren't amber with sunshines
    And the ether in winters is crystal clear
    like flutes of Champagne,
    With the contemporary scooter placed
    in the side of the backyard.
    He kickstarts the passé , shabby vespa
    to a point of ad nauseam ,
    The mere purpose to keep it alive.
    Since, thousand memories were binded
    in its wheels, the first salary of an
    aspired job, birthing it.


    On some tranquil, sombre evenings,
    when even the streets doesn't diffuse a
    concoction of laughters and murmurs,
    The black holes of my father's heart that
    spawn thousand perils like half eaten
    crayons of a child, then replenish
    itself with his hands slowly opening the Old,
    rickety chifforobe, that mom and dad
    purchased shortly after their marriage
    Exquisite souvenirs of my mother,
    few mekhela chadars and dainty
    ornaments treasured carefully in a shelf,
    unfurling a smile across his face.

    Life is a barren field frozen with snow
    where Love and Attachment is a
    growing garland that permeates light
    in the sea of its darkness.

    ©solivagant_soul

  • solivagant_soul 2w

    ~ Trusted people who exhibited sympathy when I was at my most vulnerable phase.

    ~ Sticking to the norms and trying to meet the expectations of people, being the "good girl".
    I failed to live my life to the fullest. Being the good girl i failed to remember that this soul needs some fun and relaxation too, in order to have companions and well wishers with whom we can goof around and also share our deepest secrets and tears with

    ~ Always believing that family and blood relation was everything and that they would always stand by me no matter what. But, i was wrong.




    My
    m̶i̶ (stakes)

    • "We are in the ocean of love, with each one of
    us being mere anchovies envisaging prodigious cachet of a foreign fisherman's reward woefully ending up at the dinner table"
    When a blanket of winter's fog suffocated my illuminating sky deluging my empyrean
    viridescent meadows with maroon gore.
    I lurked alongside my shadow enumerating
    blobs of unswerving tears.
    And when the sky rained stars ensuing after
    a thousand epoch, rousing me from a perdurable slumber, like a child among the fallen leaves
    my hands knitted utopic dreams.
    Little did i knew, the sonnets i weave from
    silence were a pitch of fantasy in a glass full
    of reality. Everything comes with a price.
    My feet unaquainted with the waves of the sea, espoused the terra firma as an epitome of Nirvana.
    His love was the bud, I bloomed pain and bliss together


    • "Depths of an ocean, a skeleton sunken city,
    a sulfer bottom whale perched on a throne.
    Life- eternal and endless, superiority embellished
    on its flippers, a heart weighing 400 pounds
    derelict, devoid of any companion."
    Head full of fire flies, tender fingers adhered
    to praxis of mensuration nodus, swallowing catamenial pangs. My little frame burgeoned stacking regimen laid out by stern pedagogues, praised for my well bred demeanor by elders. However, when the solemn skies depeleted of azure, I found myself surrounded by desolation.
    Was I enough alone?


    • "An ataraxic moana, appeasing countless fishes, under the sole shelter, birthing in
    cognated animalia but is kinship just about blood?"
    The scars and burnt marks on the fingers of
    my mother's brittle hands, narrated to me with
    tacit silence, the mephitic paramountcy of men
    in a family pursuing patriarchy.
    When each time,a gallant lassie was labelled
    "Vile" and her coexisting brother termed "Manly".
    The moment childhood ended, I cognized multitudinous wolves in sheepskin through
    the mist, under the shelter of the same ancestry, veins carrying homogeneous blood.

    ©Solivagant Soul


    Thanks for EC! ✨
    @miraquill and @writersnetwork

    #journal #start #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    My
    m̶i̶ (stakes)


    "We are in the ocean of love,
    with each one of us being mere
    anchovies envisaging prodigious
    cachet of a foreign fisherman's reward
    woefully ending up at the dinner table"

    "Depths of an ocean, a skeleton
    sunken city, a sulfer bottom whale
    perched on a throne.
    Life- eternal and endless, superiority
    embellished on its flippers,
    a heart weighing 400 pounds
    derelict, devoid of any companion."

    "An ataraxic moana, appeasing countless fishes,
    under the sole shelter, birthing in cognated
    animalia but is kinship just about blood?"

    ©solivagant_soul

  • solivagant_soul 2w

    " Murderers are not monsters, they're men.
    And that's the most frightening thing about them."
    ~ Alice Sebold


    #like #wod #writersnetwork #miraquill
    @writersnetwork @miraquill

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    .

    There's mercury in the moonlight tonight instead of
    silver and edges of knives are crayoned with gazillion crimes where asphyxiated songs of the dead are buried in
    Blankets

    I watch the decaying salutations of sacred
    grounds like falling leaves on a windy day.
    I could write endless threnodies on wilted
    daffodils sinking under the crevasse.
    Whispering wind chimes espouses
    M U T I S M

    And when the moonlight hide behind the winter's
    fog and silver clouds pour rivulets of its brimming
    agony, myriads of aching souls stroll by the river and invokes to all the moribund mothers of the world

    ~ways to bring love back from the graveyard~

    ©solivagant_soul

  • solivagant_soul 2w

    .

    Like dewdrops, I lingered accentuating
    your viridescent beauty
    Yet, you empowered the zephyr to
    tyrannize until I no longer existed.

    ©solivagant_soul

  • solivagant_soul 3w

    • | Silence | •


    The shabby toys and plushies in my
    cupboard reposes stashing a handful of
    anamnesis in derisory spaces of the shelf.
    Where credulous silence often plays
    hide and seek with transient kalopsia
    The sofa sets in the living room are adorned
    with carmine Threadbare covers tacked
    meticulously by mother's delicate hands
    I often asked her about the innumerable
    scars on her palms and the ones that
    purloined the pink tint in her fingers.
    And secured with a bright smile, she'd decode
    it as years of her alliance with the kitchen
    knives and Ladles since juvenescent days.

    The sewing machine, roughly three
    decades old, but closer than an inch
    to her heart, embraces the rust on its
    tear stained cheeks .
    Lingering on the same corner of the
    spare room fixing a mirthful grin across
    its face during the day
    And grieving one thousand pieces
    of elegies when the sun departs
    for a ~ s i e s t a ~

    The vacant side of my father's queen sized
    bed permeates a concoction of odour
    reverberating her untimely demise and a
    fragrance spritzing her fabricated existence
    And few romantic novels stacked on a tiny
    shelf of my drawer, half read, inflict frowns
    each time I open it by mistake
    For love had retired bit by bit like changing
    hues of the leaves, since the moment my
    fingers placed white flowers on her grave
    and my weak moth-screams bid a
    farewell to August

    ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀꜰʟʏ, ɪ ʙᴜʀɢᴇᴏɴᴇᴅ
    ᴀᴅᴀᴍᴀɴᴛʟʏ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴄᴏᴏɴ ᴏꜰ
    ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴛᴀᴘʜᴏʀꜱ,
    ꜱᴇʀᴠɪɴɢ ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀɪᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴜʟᴘɪɴɢ ᴘɪʟʟꜱ ᴏꜰ ʟɪᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ.

    ©Solivagant Soul

    #silence #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork #ceesreposts
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    And like a butterfly, I burgeoned
    adamantly leaving the cocoon of
    childhood in silence, cooking metaphors,
    serving poetries and gulping pills of liabilities.

    ©solivagant_soul

  • solivagant_soul 3w

    #wod #unnoticed #shorelinec #writersnetwork #miraquill
    @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

    Thank you for the repost @writersnetwork. Love you more��❣️. You have been my daily dose of happiness.

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    .

    When timorous katydids pontificate
    with the moon after a tedious day
    I spiral into my inner calamities, scratching
    the wounds that I preserved secretly.
    Your solemn vows that corroded within
    your citrine skin, now lingers on my
    wrist as cicatrices.
    And in the shoreline of my cerebellum,
    I have long ago forged a museum to
    treasure the "Prashasti(s)" that i composed
    each time you smiled at me
    Yet, the wounds that went unnoticed
    now rest on the cockled pages as poesies.

    ©solivagant_soul

  • solivagant_soul 3w

    I am watching the painted sky
    when the trees shed lies.
    In juxtaposition of the sombre streets,
    a Labryinth that grants the vagabonds
    some borrowed days.
    I stand against the wind ,my heart bound
    in blazing chains and trauma on my ribcage
    grips like lifeless roots looming a mage.
    I wandered lonely as a child, my body a
    warehouse of tattooed scars like the
    night's sky adorned with stars.
    I am the midnight of forgotten memories,
    but when the sky wears a may dress and the
    clouds accoutre itself in a cerulean suit
    The rejuvenated tint of my dead lips
    diffuse coffee dates and cocoa charms
    Climb into my skin and I would escort you
    via the melody of dust on my dermis and
    through the peripherals of my eyes,
    You could see the crimson crimes and
    violet deaths etched on the canyon of
    my mind like unsaid goodbyes.
    I am not just my pain, I'm also my poetry

    And if you insist, I shall carry you to my poesies
    in a luxurious voyage through my veins
    where lies a cemetery
    That chants infinite syllables besceehing
    "Teach me how to love again".
    If you' d look closely, I would hide my tear stained cheeks under fabricated laughters and if you rummage through all the crumpled papers,
    you might perceive the twisted promises
    stacked neatly in the drawers of my brain
    The ink of my quill gathers the fragrance of my bruised hands, his love is the mystery i can't crack.
    And when papercut pierced deeper than knives,
    I attained solace in solitude and fortitude in pain.
    Between faded and forgotten I chose to abandon
    my past in a treasured stack

    ©Solivagant Soul


    #start #wod #bodyc #writersnetwork #miraquill
    @writersnetwork @miraquill @writersbay


    Prompts used:

    • I am watching the painted sky
    • I stand against the wind
    • I am the midnight of forgotten memories

    * I am using Petrarchan sonnet

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    Body

    I am watching the painted sky
    when the trees shed lies.
    In juxtaposition of the sombre streets,
    a Labryinth that grants the vagabonds
    some borrowed days.
    I stand against the wind ,my heart bound
    in blazing chains and trauma on my ribcage
    grips like lifeless roots looming a mage.
    I wandered lonely as a child, my body a
    warehouse of tattooed scars like the
    night's sky adorned with stars.

    ©solivagant_soul

  • solivagant_soul 3w

    •Parallel Macrocosm•


    ~������ (̶C̶h̶i̶c̶k̶e̶n̶)̶ ���������� ���������� ������������ ������ ������������~


    A halt before the nefarious shop and a gruntled
    gaze of the butcher amidst silent chaos.
    In the cramped cage where we count
    our breaths and wait for death
    where time is a living paradox and
    sequent goodbyes plummet incessant
    tepid rivulets gloomier than a serpent's alley
    My eyes loiter at the horrendous sight
    One after another, the hair on her
    skin twitched out callously.
    I glance away as the cleaver touch her
    naked skin, and as her overpowering
    screams take over the streets,
    my heart palpitate thousand protests
    like everytime one of us is dragged and
    chopped for the sake of the gluttony of
    these pitiless chickens.
    The screams of my sister cease to a resting
    point and I look over to check the butcher's
    hands soused in red and million sins.
    Exchanging few merciless smiles,
    and notes of five hundreds,
    I watch over big lump of tears,
    impotent to her rescue.
    a sin handed over to the gratified chicken
    in a black polythene


    ~���������������� ������������ & ���������� �������������� ���� ������������������~

    A figment of my imagination are the branches
    of the same tree of verisimilitude.
    Drop by drop i fill my belly with tears
    when boulevards of the town are congested
    with desolation.
    In the night's ocean, kissed by ice, through
    the moss covered pathways I loiter.
    When hunger balances on a cliff,
    eventually falling towards the end,
    You will see me sleep curled up in a
    sphere in one of the secluded footpaths
    Away from the cosmos where opulent
    dogs accoutred in black suits drive past
    the streets of the town in lavish Lamborghini.
    Sometimes the sky appears crystal clear
    like flutes of champagne
    And few hands stroke our grungy heads
    and drop chunks of breads on our paws.
    In a city where "humans" are slaughtered
    for meat and abandoned in the streets,
    are we anything more than transient
    bag of bones and a heart counting its
    steps towards death ?

    ©solivagant_soul


    Please skip.��

    Disclaimer: Might be disturbing to some

    • 1st part - Humans( Chicken)
    Chickens (Humans)

    • 2nd Part - Humans ( Dogs)
    Dogs( Humans)

    How would life be if instead of chicken, humans were slaughtered for meat.
    How would life be if humans were abandoned in the streets instead of stray dogs?



    Thank you so much for the repost again @writersnetwork. Love ya♥️

    #free #wod #writersnetwork #miraquill
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    Parallel Macrocosm

    A halt before the nefarious shop
    and a gruntled gaze of the butcher
    amidst silent chaos.
    In the cramped cage where we count
    our breaths and wait for death
    where time is a living paradox and
    sequent goodbyes plummet incessant
    tepid rivulets gloomier than a serpent's alley.
    My eyes loiter at the horrendous sight
    One after another, the hair on her
    skin twitched out callously.

  • solivagant_soul 4w

    Symbols used:
    • Red Rose
    • Balloons

    #symbol #wod #start
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    V O I D

    When time loses its momentum
    on one of these thousand
    never-ending tenebrous nights,
    And when summers aren't yellow
    with sunshine anymore,
    Sunflowers fall off my eyes
    And a gentle stroke of my fingers
    over the balloons fulminate the
    vibrant spheres repleted with
    sepia nostalgia.

    Somedays my head hurts like hell
    And I chug down an aspirin.
    On other days, glancing through
    the window, some random guy
    dressed in a purple formal shirt
    reminds me of you and all i can
    do is stare at the ceiling,
    reminiscing the paper mache past
    And a field of broken splinters of
    my heart, where I could see your
    sorrow draped in ebony

    I cross out dates in the calendar
    hoping they disappear,
    And on few salubrious mornings,
    I slip into your cozy pink sweater
    that I purloined from your closed long ago,
    and with each step your fragrance
    flourishes permeating Apricity in the paralyzed air
    but I don't feel pretty, rather my bones
    crack under hoarfrost leaves.
    Some viridian monsoons dressed
    in gusty winds stir up the past
    blowing over the dried petals of
    red roses pressed betwixt an
    abandoned page of my diary

    But, I still hear your voice in the traffic,
    we are laughing over all the noise
    And i hate my stagnant phone
    cause it reminds me that I am alone
    You made the colours come alive
    when my rainbows were painted
    in monochrome for ages.
    And when I visited your gravestone
    one last time, I pondered
    If my bones are still the same shade
    of white.

    ©solivagant_soul