Miraquill
Winter rose wistfully wraps
Her crimson woes into
The velvet throws of time
Petals of worries
Scatter like flurries
Leaving their leaden weight behind
Seductively
The solstice chimes
Blurring
The obscurities that bind
She sighs into the zephyr
Kissing the silky seconds of sublime
©sumeet19
sumeet19
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My mother❤️
There are parts of us
And there are parts of you
Parts of us that shine
From parts of you
That emanate a halo over us
Parts of us that sings
With parts of you that harmonise
Parts of us that live
For parts of you that beautifully survive
Parts of you that fit in all of us
That are amiss
Parts of you that cut through
Parts of us which are hardened
And make us whole again
Parts of you that whispers
To parts of us
That are astray in the abyss
These are the parts of souls
Of yours and ours
Of mine and yours
©sumeet19 -
Women are charmed
I do not mean the beauty with the make up on
But the charm which makes them reach for the sky
The charm which is interwoven in the very fabric of life
Women are magic,enchanting and beguiling
But they aren’t considered that,are they?
Women are thought to be tiny cottages while they are tall skyscrapers
Standing tall and proud
Women are believed to be old rickety bicycles when they are actually elegant majestic triumph tiger rally pros
Blazing down highways till the horizon
Women are painted as weak and voiceless
When they are actually the rationale behind poetry slam on strength
Women are considered to be a pretty ornament to be worn occasionally and put away in the safe for safety
While in reality they are the nurtures
Women are not just walls and doors of a house but the vast empty sky
Women are charmed
And charmed are not ordinary but extraordinary
©sumeet19 -
Quiet is such a beautiful place to be
No need to talk or to be heard is exhilarating you will see
No expectations, no justifications
No outings, no hankering for things
But being accountable to self
Quiet is comforting, it stays by your side
It encourages you to observe events, taking it in your stride
It lets you know where you went wrong
Make amends, though it may take a bit long
Quiet is the only place where you can be you
Not bound by the limitations of the conventional world
A place to strive and thrive
Not just live but have the sentiment to give
©sumeet19 -
Before poetry
No floor on which to dance
No frilly metaphors to romance
No rhyme or reason to this life
Everything was square
Every heartbeat a metronome
Every day, a shade of gray
No couplets, tercets or quatrains
The rain was just the rain
And love’s language arcane
©sumeet19 -
Viki Bains
With his each sigh
I love him a little more
With his each poem
I know myself a little more
With his each song
I set my spirits free
With his each word
I find music in my ears
With his each glance
I drown deeper in the depth of his eyes
With his each breath
I find waves rising in sea
And with his presence
I find world at my feet -
sumeet19
72w
Read More#writersnetwork #mirakee #writerstolli
#fragments
Pic credit: sudeshwar SharmaSome forests become books
Other forests decide to reside inside people
Becoming fragments of life
©sumeet19 -
sumeet19
81w
Read More
#mirakee #writersnetwork #writersbay #writerstolli @mirakee @writersnetwork
Pic credit: sudeshwar SharmaWhen everyday becomes a blur
You have forgotten the stories told
And the sounds of the melodies heard
A maze of metaphors stare back
At the face you behold
It’s time you redefine yourself
To not to be a series of broken easels
Or a collection of empty pages in a diary
So you doff a phrase
Muster the words to a perfect
Arrangement of sentences
Letting euphemism guide your emotions
As flawless as the coquelicot
Becoming not just a assortment of words
But a treasure trove of hope
Redefine yourself to shine bright
A blazing path of positivity
With all that life has in stock
©sumeet19 -
In this bitter sip I can taste
Page after page of
Memory and moments
In the memoirs of a coffee mug
I taste the golden sunset
Which sets far from where I sit
Forever beckoning me
With the caress of its remembrance
©sumeet19 -
I toss autumn in a chair
Sit and coffee the morning
The day dawns as gold flakes flutter
And pirouette to the ground
It’s September now
Balanced at very edge of its own fragility
Vulnerable to the flux of winter clouds
Seasons come and go
But something in their silence of going
Hangs about the house
Now the leaves stand still as if mesmerised
Then bursting into life and furious movement
Doors swing open as the season fades
I taste the sweet melancholy on my tongue
©sumeet19
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i_faha
37w
Read MoreHave you ever seen an artist at work?
in the throes of passion,
in the state of flow;
have you watched him twiddle a pencil
between his lip and his nose?
Have you never tried
to count the number of lines
that imprison a growing
ball of sun, which radiates
and shines
almost like a third eye,
between the peaks of his brows
clenched high
— a cloudless sunrise
Witnessing an artist at play
is like espying the twilight sky,
running amok in its grandmother's
backyard, plucking overripe bulbs
of juicy plums and plump peaches
and throwing them on a dark canvas,
which then splashes open
with a thick, squishy squelch
of french lavenders and burnt oranges.
— a messy beauty
Observing him at work
is as if discovering a bud of lotus,
wholly present,
drowning in the moment,
detached, yet afloat,
with all its focus concentrated
in unfolding itself, layer after layer;
emerging in time,
inspite and because of all the muck
it rises between.
— a silent hustler
And then at times, an artist is a
dark, impenetrable forest
in a threatening rainstorm;
temporarily inaccessible to
all the distractions lurking by his fringes;
with a wild tiger in his heart, captive
and dangerously quiet,
he is patiently waiting
for the art to come alive;
so the animal within
can pounce, and sink
its teeth; deep;
claiming his prey
with a signature peck of his name.
— a violent craft.
-faha
#writersnetwork #miraquill #mirakee #paradox
Thank you @miraquill @writersnetwork for the ever encouraging love and unconditional support. ❤️
A very Happy Teachers Day to you.Dilletante
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fromwitchpen
41w
Read MoreSome corroded-clocks , a time machine and paper planes.
The gelid breeze of winter when felt on the blazing arms of Summer a pile of leaves faded from my footsteps bidding an adieu to autumn and hung around that floral hoop swing my grandfather made for me in the cradle of spring.
"And I wondered how fast the seasons change"
The small loft where I used to hide things which I break. Some clocks still were ticking there but now are moving to anticlockwise direction. And that time machine I made by using the clutter and electronic gubbins. Today when I looked at that again. A query arose in my mind .
"How fast the present morph into memories?"
I remember writing down my heart till my quill's soul start to sob with me. And then turning those diary pages into paper planes putting those on the rooftop and waiting for that second when gust of wind will flurry them away towards the graveyard of literature where my past will be buried guardedly. And that day I was stuck in the dilemma that
"If seasons and present changes with a tick of clock then why the burial of emotions takes time?"
I summoned time
in the night of full Moon
walked in the beseeching
silence wearing a turban
with whomever its breaths
collided that person turned
into dust, discerning this
thing I got bewildered and,
I summoned time
while writing about the
collapses and destruction
walked in a beautiful lady
wearing frozen smile and
flowery frock, time changed
and she turned into an old
woman with flared memories,
I was summoned by time
walking through the mazes
and conquering conundrums
I came face to face with
my old-self playing hide and
seek around the meadows
and the other second my future
in a dark grave blaming time
/That day I understood time and emotions are my soul, both are eternal/
#time
Turban~a man's head covering consisting of a long length of material wound around a cap or the head.The beauty of time
can be known by
the first petrichor
after a devastating
period of war .
©fromwitchpen -
sahnah
74w
Read MoreGive me a reason to smile
Give me a season to fly
I lie near the river Nile
To observe the yellow butterfly
Give me a hug to remember
Give me a slug to gulp
I'm not a sober
But my emotions make me sculpt
Give me a dream to see
Give me a beam of light
I keep myself in the evening free
To admire the sunset and horizon's sight
Give me a rainbow to colour
Give me a hope to whisper
I prefer the lavender flavour
To make love more prosper
Give me the warmth of December
Give me the coldness of snow
I live through the whole winter
To die each day in summer
@writersnetwork @mirakeeAll I need is everything...
©sahnah -
Every night , my eyes dread to be closed,
The broken dreams own them instantly,
Fragments of dreams pricking the irises,
The tears trying to remove them constantly.
The heart’s beating languidly,
Wishing the pain to end,
The pillow gathering the tears,
The lips becoming a curve, knowing how to pretend.
Every night I pick up the broken splinters of my dream,
Every night my heart is torn.
Every night I let the pain flow into my pen,
Every night a new poem is born.
©monikakapur -
miraquill
76w
Read MoreHi guys! To download the magazine, update your app and find the download option on the feed. Or, you can also download via the link in the bio.
Congratulations to all the featured writers.
Please leave a ❤️ if you liked the magazine and 👎 if you don't
We love to hear from you.
We are going to be coming with more updates, solving some of the problems you all have been facing. Thank you for your lovely patience.
Lots of love!First issue of our Digital Magazine!
We have compiled the best posts written by the amazing featured writers in a beautiful magazine. These posts were featured as 'Post Of The Day' on Mirakee. Each page is dedicated for every featured writer.
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December
Is a blanket
Of glistening hope.
A crystal beacon
Along the rocky road.
A cosy crackle
Of sparkling joy.
A moment of comfort
All doubts set to destroy.
A silver angel
Embracing the town
A guardian seraph
With a fairy-light crown.
A herald of cheer
And peace of hearts
An end of a year
Yet the time when happiness starts.
©the_rainbow_chronicles -
My worth is a house I built,
Painstakingly,
Brick by brick with my bare hands,
Buried pain in the foundations,
Forgave myself over and over again,
My nightmares are locked in a room I avoid,
Along with all the doubts and negativity,
It's my haven, my safe place,
So don't come to me with the hammer of your words,
You don't deserve to stand on the threshold,
And question all the things I did,
To heal.
-Kkomal Siingh
©lost_in_translation -
pooja_valmik_ 81w
Read Morethe women
we're surrounded by,
all with a different hairstyles,
sing a tale of their lives.
some,
with their hair tied
up in a messy bun,
are laden with a mountain
of responsibilities;
which they keep
hidden and tangled up
inside of it.
their world seems to
revolve around it.
the ones,
who let their hair loose,
they float
in the air of liberty—
untethered to the
web of worries;
each strand emits
the odour of love
and tenacity.
women
with long braids
descending
down their bosom—
stiff as their backbone,
they stand rooted and strong;
and are no less than any men
at claiming their rights
and ruling this world on throne.
Some
reach heights
as high as their ponytails
while others thrive
despite the constant
fall in the hair.
isn't it incredible
that what makes one thing
common between them,
with subtle changes
in the choices of each
and the way they carry themselves
makes them unique
in every possible way?
—Pooja Valmik
.
.
#women #poetry #writerstolli #writersofmirakee #mirakee #writersnetwork #writerstolli #tod_wt #writersbay @writerstolli @writersnetwork @mirakee @mirakeeworld @mirakee_reposterHAIRSTYLES
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wilmaneels
81w
I would not be here
If it was not for you
Because of us
Ubuntu exist
Don't ever think for a second
You can do this alone
We are not meant to be an island
Dont kid yourself
I am, because you are
©wilmaneels
©26102020
*ubuntu is actually a Zulu word;
Zulu is one of the 11 official languages of my country, South Africa* -
zohiii
85w
It comes with a toll to be a writer;
Swallowing defeats, births a fighter,
Burns the pages, with a crimson lighter,
Charring the paper of sins whiter,
With the gall to call out truths bitter,
Be the king you're, but he's the pied-piper.
©zohiii
