Miraquill
~ homosexuality, a curse or a gift?
we played not strings of guitar
but a flawless love everyone yawns for
we immersed our limbs not in a marine water source
but in a microscopic waterhole
of anonymous tenderness
we ate not pieces of biscuits dipped in nutella
but thoughts that concealed
beneath unsaid words
we bathe not in a tub of clean water
but in the spa of freedom
that was meant for love.
but did we really enjoy years before we knew
that all we were just homosexuals
nothing strange that conveyed,
tendering and warming peps
with same old love
and all we pleased was
for a mate we are sheltered by
one who can look for and stare our optics
with that ethical and strong adoration.
if you can ,
so can we descend our souls
in care and affection.
if you adore a boy being a girl
then why not we adore a boy being a boy
if you take your hands through her ears
with utmost fondness being a boy
then why can't i do it being a girl
all that we changed
were our perspective through mates
we elected ones we loved
that holded no longer
the gender rules
but we still clutch same bygone love
that almighty sent for each sapien in this orb.
love tastes not the flavour of gender or
feels the fragrance
of masculinity or femininity
but it swallows affection, trust and freedom
which we stored in hands of grips so tight.
©suranjana__
suranjana__
Sudarshana Sarma -the endings won't end you.
-
-
suranjana__
57w
Read More#poverty#woundsc#wod#pod#wn#writersbay
thank you for the editor's choice@miraquill♥️
@writersnetworkANONYMOUS POVERTY
scars were told not to sleep
wounds yawned to nourish them more
scratches whispered i shall keep pouring by
bleeding howled let me live
and the black circles laid there
beneath eyes in a perpetual way.
|| the skin felt poverty ||
vibrations of dark clanged again
tales of melancholy flied in waves that encircled
flute sang songs of death
the big piano spoke my segments of vein
and the eardrums shivered in a aching way.
|| the ear felt poverty ||
thorns embedded the pupil
fountain arouse with bleeding so red
eyelashes conveyed bygone spoilers
shades of light vailed
all that arouse was curtains all torn
and a shadowy vault of blackish threads.
|| the eye felt poverty ||
odour that left was of dried up cicatrix
nostrils were surrounded by smoke and dust,
embraced verses all broken up,
inhaling cyclones of terrific tales
and exhaling tornadoes of pure memories.
|| the nose felt poverty ||
gulped venom of half-done poems
tasted bitterness of torn hearts
swallowed blended blood
of knives and forks
of miseries and panicking alphabets
and chewed hard biscuits of death.
|| the tongue felt poverty ||
©suranjana__ -
suranjana__
57w
Read More
i shall dream of stars
stars that never were mine
mine until i could assemble them again
again for a constellation to devise.
i shall shade with perpetual hues
hues on the seven blank bars
bars hanging in my sky of cerulean beauty
beauty with a purpose to shine
to shine my pleasant existence.
i shall stretch my heights to that
of eucalyptus
of eucalyptus, to fondle my arms
arms that don't want to attire like grass.
i shall build castles in the air
in the air of the heaven that was mine
mine all the time.
i shall desire to brush my fingers with the sky
the sky of great heights
heights that are meant to be climbed up
climbed up by my flawless anatomy
anatomy that was continuously loved
loved by the hopes of mine.
|| ©suranjana__
@miraquill @writersnetwork #pod #wn.
-
suranjana__
57w
Read More
and i am a descendant of s o l i s and l u n a
manifesting a bond of two varied zeal
and i am a tarzan of dense canopies and woodland
shielding my abode with ethical warmth
and i am a victor of my ocean so dense
locking horns with sharks that were left
and i am a queen of the island
knitting hope to scars and wounds sapien have
and i shall be a coffin in the shadowy graveyard
to typify my old self holding bunch of sunflowers.
©suranjana__.
-
suranjana__
57w
Read More
~ to the sky by your bushes
i yawn to taste your cotton candies
that give hues so pure
i want to hang on bars of sun spiky and hot
while touching those creamy curtains
of thy v i b g y o r
i yawn to paint your physique with shades i like
holding a brush of my body part
i want to meet high mountains that
present me lash downs of water
or mizzle so light or snow that are soft
and thunders blast
i yawn to whirl through anatomies
of hurricane and tornadoes
of cyclones and gale
i want to gown myself
with crystals of star
and make a visit
into the moony floor
of thy l u n a
//but i cry while lying on ground
so rough and feel blood-curdling howl
of the w o l v e s
p h y s i q u e is cramped with wounds
e a r s are defaced by vibrations of tractor
h a n d s are eaten up by snails so giant
l e g s are dried up due to water so less
h a i r s are bading me goodbye
s c a r s are growing fast
all i am left is with hope;
to fondle my dreams
in your lake of e n t i t y. //
|| ©suranjana__
luna: latin word for moon
@miraquill @writersnetwork
@redolent_smile do read my poems whenever you can i shall wait for you to read��♥️~ to the sky by your bushes
-
suranjana__
57w
Read More
ain't the voyage of five sense organs through nature better?
the odour of the petrichor made you bliss over the fragrance that came from the attire last night you sprayed on.
the flavour of berries hanging in thy garden was more than those cookies lying in your giant glass jar.
the touch of petals and dead leaves when they fall on thy body made your lips widen more than the fondling of moisturizer that goes on through legs and arms.
the buzz of bumblebees and chirping of songbirds sometimes make the frontal lobe of thy brain and earhole serene or calm than sound played by strings of ukulele, guitar and violin.
the snap collected by your eyes of the mountains so high, rivers so quick, trees all green, creatures beautiful may have kept better space being a memory in the corners of your heart and memoir than movies high rated, restaurants and buildings that are wealthy.
©suranjana__
@miraquill @writersnetwork #wnain't the voyage of five sense organs through nature better?
-
suranjana__
58w
Read More
@writersnetwork @miraquill did you forget your friend?��
#wn (bhul hii gaya yaar mujhe) #pod
my perception about revenge and everyone does have a different viewpoint♥️
i really don't know why i am failing to write day by dayRevenge, a word that deals with one's mind being crowded with emotions that are sore and indelible.
how about if i ask have you ever felt as if your state of mind is being caged behind walls of concrete cells or your heart is psychically being murdered in a pool of lost hopes? your answer might be a yes. and the yes still is aching you deep inside if you never thought of healing it.
you might have thought of taking a revenge, being similar to the other homo being that caused the agony and again that person might have planned something scary for you. and this chain of illogical revenge would go on until and unless you have self realisation that all you have been doing is wasting your o'clocks. we are of the same specie but with different perspectives and i have something really distinct vision towards revenges. now we might not have similar point of views for that don't curse me out.
revenge for me is a speedbreaker to the quote "karma hits back". if you are so confident in saying so about this quote then let karma decide , let almighty decide what might be the hit the other sapien would receive for the evil deeds of their soul. if revenges are going to be taken then the voyage of yours might no longer be peaceful. but...in this existence of yours if you are somehow planning to take revenges do make sure that it doesn't cost anyone else's feeling and only of that specific person. might be in the hurry of hammering them you are likely to loose connections with others.
what i am trying to put forward is you can either believe in karma hitting back or taking a revenge to heal your heart. choice is all yours me is not pulling your leg. it differs from person to person but what is important is that whether that hurt or hatred is lost or not. 'cause i personally think that most of the times even taking revenge doesn't bring peace.
©suranjana__ -
the perfect body with imperfect mind
• struggling a lot through years of practices not of scaling down the length of narrowness crowding in the mind but the lengths of calories that lies down the tum.
• jumping hours to let your feet grow further to touch heights and let the perfect tallness title be earned and not letting the arms of yours to grow further for helping the aged ones yawning with rolling tears at streets.
• fabricating six packs to be the idol infront of everyone's eyes and not erecting the six core values of social work to replace the pessimism flagging up in your mind.
• sapiens out there i hope one fine day arrives when you would look how perfectly,
*your ear acts as a device of listening to other's sorrowful fragments of life and not pulling a heavy earing part,
*your nose smells the natural fragrances and not drugs that makes you half alive,
*your skin feels the scars of others to heal up
and not is cramped with cosmetics and watches of high price,
*your eyes keeps looking at books of beautiful advice and not at bodies that lies imperfect in most of your eyes
*your tongue tastes the cotton candies offered by the man who is old and not the costliest drinks that let you lost in an artificial existing world.
|| ©suranjana__ -
suranjana__
58w
Read More
haven't you ever been asked
how love starts
i never met someone who
asked me so but
in this long journey i might meet
a confused sapien who don't know
how love really starts
and thereby tagging myself to be
an astrologer i already devised
the answer to this very beautiful
though idiotic question
and you have seen a mother
at streets offering the piece
of loaf to the unknown child
crying out there
and you have seen a dog
somehow helping the kitten
to reach its mother's arms
and the soldier irrespective of
his body fighting in the battleground
players frolicking with that
broken leg
and doctors sacrificing their lives
in the service of one's nation
and teachers with a cracked voice
declaring the main points
in the classroom
sorry but not being able to see
this love
i think you have much severe problems
than that of myopia, hypermetropia
and presbyopia.
©suranjana__
i love you all so much!! it feels like a kid has finally got his/her candies after jumping heights to grab the candy jar. i missed you everyone, your beautiful write-ups, those pleasant comments. i won't be active like the way i used to be but i shall try my best to hold the pen to write again^_________^♥️
@writersnetwork @miraquill ♥️haven't you ever been asked
how love starts? -
suranjana__
64w
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i am here i know i got lost without informing you all my beautiful readers, my dear lovely souls. i am here just to post this poem on this lovely menstruation day. i would be gone again please don't curse me for that.trust me this has been my home and i love my family. just a trial to make you happy i wrote this and thereby i am posting this. feel proud to be a girl, a women. we all love you. sorry for not replying to your comments and not thanking you or reading your beautiful write-ups. i sure would soon arrive and interact with you all. wait for me. i miss you all trust i miss you all. bye!!(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)♥️
HAPPY MENSTRUATION DAY
#pod#mirakee#wn#menstruation#suwn
You made me smile after months @writersnetwork(6) me loves you♥️( ◜‿◝ )♡the red watercourse that cascades with beauty though moulded with aches and agony
under the strength of her vivid speeches
under the love of her nurturing tales
under the amusement of her throwball matches
under the pride of her professional attire
there lies her red menstrual fluid
that smiles with beauty and pain
after every epoch of 30 days.
this river ain't giving her bliss
but that abdominal cramps
letting her learn to go through every ache
she receives in her voyage through life.
this river ain't allowing her physique
to swim while touching it's waves with delight
but is making her stronger
while she screams with
every independent flow of the river
in o'clocks she wished never would have turned
towards her.
this river ain't showing its cerulean anatomy
but it's scarlet hues immersed in the vaginal soul.
this river ain't hiding aquatic creatures under its
transparent blue cloth
but is making her realise the fact that
she is a women who is alluring, brave and bold.
this river ain't making her pride to rise
for she is taking a route through natural artefact
that is pleasant and winsome
but is making her pride to rise
to pronounce her epitome as a "WOMEN" awesome.
with every flow of tints of vermilion she receives
a day so painful, a night so dreadful
but a facade smile that hides under a face beautiful.
this river might get upset a few times in the 7 days
of yours
but it promises to let you enjoy the course of time
when you won't have it's arms to touch the body
of yours.
the river arising from the uterus
might be named a curse by many
but remember no one gets to live it's existence
until sacrifices knocks you at the door
the river that is red when emerges
at the perfect time
makes you stronger, devoted and pure.
and this river is the menstruation,
the term in book of "a real women" you look for.
-sudarshana sarma
©suranjana__
-
writersbay
53w
"The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep." ~ Rumi
-
mishti__
54w
Read MoreI stayed up all night;
Gazing at the ceiling.
Overthinking and bewaling;
With my body shivering in,
Cold hell of fading fumes.
My soul burning.
Living a sad poetry of my anxious self,
I stayed up all night.
Holding my pillow a little too tight,
Saying myself I'm alright,
With my chest heavy and;
Eyes bleeding.
As I inhaled and exhaled,
My Insecurities wrapped my mind.
I stayed up all night,
in the green dim light;
Feeling not good enough,
For the universe.
Beneath my huge blanket,
I absconded.
Warmed myself facing my deepest darkest secrets,
I stayed up all night.
Trying hard to see;
The world more lucid.
One day I glow up a big smile,
The other I'm on the edge,
Feeling worse.
Insecurities being my thick prison,
I stayed up all night.
Solivagant and timid.
I was still fighting myself.
Then, I turned myself to the other side,
Feeling a bit revealed.
I hugged my flaws and acknowledged my self worth,
I dried my eyes, everyone was now awake, but;
I stayed up all night.
--mishti♡
________________________________________
I tried.
I really tried to make it worth for the challenge.!
Hope you all like it!!
#viator #wod #pod #ceesreposts #soulraabta #writersnetwork #miraquill
Thank you for the ❤ @writersnetwork
Can you please repost this so that everyone could read this? I'd be very thankful ����
@writersnetwork @miraquillI stayed up all night!
(Today, I'm hugging my flaws and encouraging them because I know my self worth today!) -
siddharthajana
54w
Read More@writersnetwork thank you for the repost ❤
@miraquill thank you for ec ��
#sail #wod
#miraquill #writersnetwork @soulfulstirrings @mismagical
@my_tiny_chapter @alisdaire_ocaoimph #writersbay
#sail #wod #pod #miraquillworld #writerstolli
@fromwitchpen @sajank @twinkling_girl
@writersnetworkShe sailed through the shades
of her monotonous soul
draped in the curtains of serenity
and in her tired hands
she held rainbows of poetry
and from every metaphor
her scars healed becoming beautiful
and serene,
as the dazzling light of the vibrant world
colored her eyes,
she grew to be a masseur of love riding the storms with ease,
free from.the dark cages of hell,
finding peace in hamlets of heaven
-siddharthajana -
Somedays I'm a miserable wrecked person,
And on the other even the dark spots below my moist eyes can't overpower the wide smile I fake.
©anush18 -
redolent_smile
74w
Read MoreAt nights when the
December's gust blew
my lacerations hiding
beneath my shrug, my
dermis could feel the
scorching impetuosity
of the irked scoffs &
taunts that the world
spewed on me .
My legs used to shiver
and stumble every
Morning while going
to school because
I was recognized
as a �������������� ,
who wrote Love letters
to a girl and kept them
in her bag which
eventually settled down
in the dustbin everyday.
People always told me
that loving is easy but
staying intact on it is itself
A very difficult process ,
but for lovers like us,
the idea of falling in love itself
Gives goosebumps and
makes contumelious pictures .
Days when I try to feel a little
Proud of myself by putting that
rainbow emoji on my bio ,
vanishes as soon as ears
Get to hear those domineer
comments of the society.
December gale covers
my wrist from where
blood oozes out in pain
every night when
I missed my own self
And cursed my existence.
There wasn't a single day
when I didn't think about
Slitting my wrist and ending
my existence on earth.
My identity was daubed
On benches as "soft butch"
"Gold star"and I drank
such humilations in silence.
I chew all those calumnies
and broke down on my bed
to kill the love that's alive
Inside me. But
can you run from yourself?
Can you run away from
the truth you veiled
behind those curtains
of imaginary views of this world?
I still wish her
throat warbles my name,
I still wish my lips
plant a seed of
realisation of how
vulnerable and
helpless I'm on her red lips.
I still wish she reads
the last letter that
I gave her before the
farewell and comes
rushing to me and hugs
me tightly and say
"I'm with you. I understand you."
Because I'm jaded gulping
all those melancholy alone.
I want to kiss a girl in a throng of people,
I want to dance my heart out
with a girl on Valentine's day.
I want to sleep with a girl who can dress
My mental health with her
nudge and love poems.
�� �������� ���� �������� ���� �������� �������� �� ��������.
�� �������� ���� �������� ���� �������� �������� �� ��������.
�� �������� ���� �������� �� ��������!
नाजाने ये ज़माना क्यु चाहे रे मिटाना
कलंक नहीं इश्क़ हैं काजल पिया ।
sadrita.
____________________________________
@mirakee @writersnetwork hey!
@heartease
@paneer @mellifluous_soul @_nida_ @the_poetic_soul you guys are love ❤
@someone_alive my honeybun ��❤ tumko kese tag nhi kru ❤
P.S: i was trying to write something on this since a long time and few days back I read someone whose post inspired me to write this. This poem is inspired by him��.
-
love_whispererr
54w
An old city rose above the skyline,
sailing through metaphorsI walked towards the crowd
peeped through my monosyllabic eyes
where the monsoon was meditating
while sitting on a pewter of dimmed sunbeams
and the raindrops were gluing on my cheeks
to disinfect the colors of midnight agonies
and disposing the misgivings of frown-faced summer
I was rising inside the cloisters of downpour
which were written on the purple plums
and pale fleshes of a neglected peach.
/RHAPSODY SEWS PARADOX/
I walked towards a train station
looked here and there with my intractable eyes
some girls, might be there were all friends
a pregnant woman, holding the hand of her husband
two old man, sitting on the bench and laughing
Some were going, some were coming; all busy
storekeepers, girls, women, men, old people
benches, shops, children and the lady behind the mic
the walking toes were never scribbling about griefs
still I , weened to fill my stomach with clacks & blows.
/THEIR LABYRINTH NEVER KNOWS ABOUT ME/
I walked towards a church to pray for someone
sat on the pew and looked here and there
felt silence of cloudburst, forgot the melody of zephyr
felt mourns of dear ones and again forgot to pray
felt happiness who was getting married, forgot death
looked at the altar and looked at the twirling marigolds
everyone was scribbling about their own recital
and I, was a temporary extant on the earth
weening to decoy stillness to cover me again
inside a hushed barnyard of pithy tranquility.
/SILENCE HUMS AND COMFORTS/
I walked towards a shop to buy some candies
and there was a fishmonger nearby
some fishes were alive and going to die shortly
and some were already dead, their fleshes
and their nostrils were full of dust and water;
but the monger was neither gasping nor exhaling
he was calling patrons loudly to sale the fleshes
(before they would rot away gradually)
slapping the torments of dead fishes
I chewed a gum not to relapse before I broke off.
/DEATH NEVER BREAKS HEARTS THERE/
I walked towards a graveyard
I emptied a vase and filled my anxieties up within that
dig the soil and put that vase inside the grave
to dance on the meadows of inexplicable sonnets
to scribble my rants on the woodchips of yesteryears.
/I, AGAIN WEEN TO DIE AS A POET/
ẞ I D Y A -
Let the scream of my poems sail in deep silence.
©fairytales_ -
love_whispererr
55w
Read More
By its very nature, history is always a one-sided account.
-Dan Brown
#onomatopoeia #wodOnomatopoeia : somedays clacks and somedays moans
The silhouettes of history
drown inside me
they stand up with the
nocks of some broken arrows
of some forgotten warriors
but not-so-forgettable stains
I'm the yesteryear of wars
without hums of white doves.
And the art of history you're,
who puffs trepidations
you hold water while crackling
euphoria on the smile of
"The Mona Lisa"
when a poet scribbles sonnets
and the Louvre permits ;
silent similes twangle
melodious metaphors jingle
and sumptuous syllables throb.
We, two unlettered paths,
dark about each other's extant
converge inside Rome's atrium
while peeping in still sunsets.
~a torpedo ray I'm
and an adorned floret of citadel you're
who can't intersect again || Bᵢdyₐ -
laus_deo
57w
Read MoreHalf ignited flames drape the curtains feasting on sinister shadows. The ivory tower furnished with white marbles is casting aspersions on the molten bricks doused in blood and deceit of innocent victims who gave a warcry. Their artful maneuver of slashing threatening voices into helpless cries leaves a crimson trail of whitewashed sins which further assassinates a thousand unborn descenting glints flickering in the eyes of those they consider unworthy of attention. Perhaps the primary element of unity might crack their voice but alas it's occurence is as rare as the halloween display.
©laus_deo.
-
blooming_fossil
55w
Read MoreWith a touch of your smile, my poetry will bloom.
#twinkle #specksc @writersnetwork thank you for the repost ❤�� @writersbay
@miraquill I love you!!!! Thank you!!!! So much!!!SPECKS OF SUNLIGHT AND POETRY
M E M O R I E S
Nibbling at mouthfuls of mournful memories, poetry concocts sumptuous metaphors inside her skeleton. Lithesome lexicons envelop the poetry in a cocoon of verses and bake it with the warmth of the poet's blood.
S C A R S
Poetry's emollient epiphanies fall on the wounds of the poet's face. Seizing few scars from his vulnerable visage, poetry brews similies. Waning moon steals away the remaining scars and molds brightest constellations. Poet sheds tears which abut the cherubic grass blades like mellow mist.
S U N L I G H T
Radiant rays escape the intricate maze of the mango tree and relax on the poet's supple skin. When the first lissom streak touches his pale skin, the poet is surprised by its tenderness. The next ray caresses his mussed curls and they shine. And the best one penetrates his eyes with a twinkle and tugs at his lips.
The poet smiles and the Sun beams.
©blooming_fossil
