theultimateinsane

Lara don't curse me now ;) Meg loves @myrrhc ♡ O_mega

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  • theultimateinsane 5w

    Those pink barbies still crave for blues( Society mocked
    at those boys who loved pink)

    (In this piece, Blue is referred to as a boy , and the
    poems in between the para are written by me)


    ���������� �������������� ���������� �������� ���������� ���� ���������� ��������������������
    �������������� ���� �������������� ���������� �������� ������?
    ���� ���������������� ������ ������������ ���������������� ������������
    ���� ������ ������������ ���������������� ������ ������������������ ������������������,
    �������� ������ ������������������
    ������ �������� ������ �������������� �������������� �������������� ��������

    My every date went awesome without that colour.I
    believed that the sky has been cursed bereft of any pink
    shades,crying over her own fate, what would you think is
    just a flood.
    I've been nurtured saying: "�������� ���� ������ ���������� ������ ������ ������������ ������ ������ ��������"
    But both pink and hot wheels are just two nouns right?
    despite of any caste, creed and Sexual discrimination!

    Blue loved wearing pink hair pins and the polaroid on the walls of his room reflected perfect oxymorons. The
    neighbouring barbie dolls peeped through the glass
    windows into his room got jealous seeing Blue playing
    with those pink dolls ,they also wanted Blue to play with
    them .
    Those wild spider mums wait eagerly to get
    circumscribed round his head but the roses wilt seeing Blue in fear of mocking society .Even the scattered petals of asters in the Graffiti pots once promised Blue to answer to his every questions now if Blue asks them "why others laugh at me when I put lipstick ?" They soon turne into a post-apocalyptic dystopia .
    In the day break elysian consciences kiss him leaving
    back a puddle of ataraxia on his cheeks.
    And the flag of our socially Darwinistic world soares high in his midnight querencia when he secretly paints his lips in Fuschia.
    Society mocked at Blue,when he bravely said ,he is in
    love with another Blue.
    Society made him weaker than ever, and now when his
    heart asks him about his feelings Blue says ~

    ���� ������ ���������������� �� �������������� - //������ �������� ���� ���������������� �������� �������� �������� ������ ������
    ���������� �������� �������� ������ �� ���������������� ������������ ���� ������ �������� ��������������
    ���������������� ������ ������ ������ �������� ������ ������ ������.. //"(~theultimateinsane)
    ©theultimateinsane
    #mirakee #women'sday #writersnetwork #pod @myrrhc( your prayers worked)@_still_in_mess special tag , @galvanizedthoughts @love_whispererr(you two made my comeback special)

    #mirakee #facebook #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram

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  • theultimateinsane 16w

    I miss you too @my_cup_of_poetry @myrrhc(♡♡♡ Meg loves Mir) @_creatingworldsthatdonotexist @thousand_splendid_thoughts @chai_biskut ( thanks for remembering me ;)

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    To them who were concerned
    I'm fine sweet souls :) . Trying to be here soon
    ©theultimateinsane

  • theultimateinsane 19w

    Here, the former Cookie, is a girl ( servant) and the later one is a food.



    P. S : Who loves Red velvet Ice-cream like me? Eat this up ;)



    #writersnetwork #pod #mirakee

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    Cookie could cook cookie

    The blue bottles, and pomegranate fills,
    Ah! What a divine match of Summer.
    The oysters besides the beaches, well roasted
    and mother brushed their coats neat,
    A lick on and within, their coat,
    Wow, a flesh piece slipped within!



    Winter has fallen,
    her rich toffee cheeks brewed with some furrows,
    Jars filled with nutmegs only,
    Not a single praline cheese cakes in this winter
    Oh mum, at least pack me a jar full of Gingerbread men

    You, threw her out in one wintry night,
    just for stealing my new toy?
    Thousand a pennies, jingled in Dad's wallet
    And did you steal them,
    to show how decreasing order plays in practical ?

    Servant she wasn't, servant she wasn't,
    perhaps my favourite cook
    Ohhh! I miss her and her cookies these days
    I remember ,
    Cookie could cook cookie!


    ©theultimateinsane

  • theultimateinsane 20w

    This is for you Mir (@myrrhc) . I know I can't comprehend what you are going through, but it's bothering me too somehow........ Get back soon.... I'll be waiting to have cupcakes and cookies with you.
    Meg loves you ♡


    #care #love #whatsbotheringyou #mirakee #mondaymantras #pod

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    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    Oh those green petals thee gifted
    Those gents wisely crumpled?
    Or hasn't thee hath lost those seashells,
    Paragon in Unicorn heads
    I gifted?


    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    Those army ants did hunt o'er
    thy minion sugar marchpane
    Or does yond shopeth in the corner
    refuseth giving thee cards,
    on which thee wished to painteth .


    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    Seeth the bench in the garden doth
    feels so exsufflicate without thee
    The wild flowers art missing thy poems
    Crying " Mistress, Mistress maketh us thy words
    before we leaveth"


    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    Tomorrow is a sleeping beauty,
    riseth up and liveth the present day
    What if't be true the candles stand ho
    burning from tomorrow?
    Alloweth's has't a candle light meal the present day .



    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    What's bothering thee mistress ?
    Hasn't thee forgotten counting those insects
    Did stick into spider's web?
    Before our cupcakes becometh a valorous meal
    for the houseflies
    kicketh the world, nay less than
    a cutteth throat curr
    And loveth stand ho bothering on mine own sake!
    ©theultimateinsane

  • theultimateinsane 20w

    Her rusted hair pins like a cappella of baritone hues in the wooden hollow along with other small fallen buttons, a piece of thread, still shines the best out of all .

    Those woollen crocheted sweaters won't fit in anymore, still she prefers narrating me a fable under the blanket in winter nights. I have never asked her anyday why she passionately paints her nails in ebony and secretly tries my Fuschia shade on her lips.

    She smiles over her folds and caresses them , for she is happy to make separate colonies on her wrinkled skin for "him" may be as grandpa conquered the whole territory of her heart. I don't laugh at her strange malapropism or else I would miss the chance then to draw points how to be better than perfect and in hiding her bruises probably "him" she was a complete Paragon .

    She sits with paper balls to save the moths from the lizards on the wall and if it happens to be her favourite pin instead by a mere fault her gaze sets into a long term oblivion . Every time I sleep beside her she never forgets to leave a puddle of saliva on my dimpled cheeks, and then I wonder whom she loves the most.

    On every weekend until the ice cream melts in porcelain bowls and until the choco chips get lolled on the brim of hot tea cups she will try different hairstyles out of her grey strands. Her teeth aren't red in tobacco although I find her nurturing poppies than those roses in the pots, she is well choreographed in wrapping betel nuts in two- three leaves and even if her pains slips off her mouth , it will never be "his" name that may create a dull thud.


    And unconsciously, she runs, in between the knitted fabrics those pointed needles, to the roads where she refrained a sunflower from blooming at the cynosure, where her lost dalliance may keeps on patting her soft toes.
    Drops then get closely arranged in her folds, I dare not wipe those out as she might be enjoying her fika in an abditory.

    Old memories creep through the walls and all over my legs back then she used to make me forget the red marks of those ants and and wiped my tears over broken dolls . I also get started like her, not to wipe but
    //���� �������� ���� �������� ������������:
    ���� ���������� — ������ ���������� — ������ ��������������-������ —
    ���� ���������������� — ������ ���������� —
    ������ ������ ������ ������ ���� �������������� ������ —
    ������ �������������� �������� �������� ����������.//(~��������������)

    Some colourful rubber bands and a ring she tries on fitting those round her pinky finger one after another and if I ever throw a "WH" shuttlecock she will pass it into a tacenda as if she tries to rate her as a biggest flâneur .

    I often notice upon the wall clock in her room, it shows a perfect timing only two times a day and the rest of the day the hands rest over the same place.Wonder how? The clock hands has been stuck at 7:30 , only at 7:30 in the morn and at 7:30 in the eve an office going chap will not be misguided anyhow.

    I won't compel her to say who was "he" but the dandelions and the poppies would blame me someday when only the flowers will smell like her on this earth.

    ©theultimateinsane


    Special tag @_still_in_mess ( jaani ��) & @my_cup_of_poetry ( I want you to read this)


    @abhishekkamble (encouraging me always ^_^ )

    #mirakee #pod #gramdmawearepoets




    @writersnetwork thanks for the like ��
    @mirakee

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  • theultimateinsane 22w

    Thanks for the like again and not for the repost @writersnetwork

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod #creativearena #writingcontest
    This is inspired by @my_cup_of_poetry one poem ( Thanks for inspiring)

    @_still_in_mess Jaani �� @abhishekkamble @dusky_dawn

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    is a 40 years old grimmest - jawed umbrella
    carrier who has forgotten more than a dozen of umbrellas in the local train or in the 90's filter it was his father who had forgotten him along the roadside in a perambulator to enjoy vodka shots.
    ( ~ in reference to FORGETTING by Lynd )



    is a 21 years old insane frowning in jealousy, absolutely born out of rage and heartbreaks. Always waiting with whetted sword at 2 a.m. for taking revenge at abandoned streets.



    is a 9 months old womb of a mother who is actually waiting to enjoy the first kick or the merry-go-round who has been cursed by a mother for years for her lost child.



    is that i̶n̶t̶r̶o̶v̶e̶r̶t̶ 4 years old girl who hides under the dupatta of her mother to escape her relatives and beyond the horizon she is the latent sun immersing slowly leaving the evening serenity behind.



    is a mom's handmade broccoli dish which was supposed to be a chicken frankie according to her only son at the table and it always wishes for better luck next time



    is a livid and splenetic teeth gritted in a fiesty snare, where even a metallic spoon finds it's way too hard to pass through. Patience does injustice then by hissing out rough words making it an unholy place to take God's name.



    is an airtight balloon willing to burst . But every time it takes an attempt, it fails thinking the elasticity may mock at.



    is a 55 years old single father who wants his son to give him another chance and still struggling to be a better father from tomorrow.

    ©theultimateinsane

  • theultimateinsane 22w

    Thanks @the_poetic_soul for helping me to write this ��

    @writersnetwork Read this :) once ( You can read hindi Ik)

    @dusky_dawn & @_still_in_mess �� hindi try kiya ( although bakwas likh di :) )

    Just wrote it for fame �� ( no feelings involved)
    Now haters gonna hate and Idc

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    Tumhari humari nahin bhi hui mulakaat to kya Man ke lifafein mein kuch na boli hui baaton ko reh jane do na
    Nahin bhi aayi aankhon mein neend toh kya
    aaj humare meethi yaadon se aankhon ko
    bhar jane do na

    Tumhara humara ek sath chalna nahin hua to kya Usi raste mein humare chhupe hue
    khwahishon ko ane jaane do na
    Nahin bhi mila mere komal hathon ki sparsh
    to kya
    Mere sare sapne tumhare charon aur
    tumko lekar hai bane

    Tumhara humara ek sath baarish mein bheegna nahin hua to kya
    usi baarish ke paani mein
    Humare dil ki naao ko beh jane do na
    Baarish ke rim-jhim shabd
    aaj nahin bhi dete sukoon to kya
    Mere Meethi awaaz se aaj
    Tumhare rooh ko bhar jaane do na


    Tumhara humara milan nahin hua to kya
    Humare beech ye dosti ke bandhan ko
    reh jaane do na
    Jamte rha ye abhiman k wadiyaan
    badh rha hai toh badh jane do
    aise hi humare beech ye duriyan banaye rakho

    ©theultimateinsane

  • theultimateinsane 22w

    To my x^2+ (y-3√x^2) ^2=1,

    Behind the hills somewhere in between where the sun comes out with octagon eyes everyday and the pine trees like a tarmac ribbon try hiding it's beauty beyond,this love bloomed like a wild rose there breaking the already potholed concrete all the more. The notions of romance pierce through the beautiful aura of the nature gushed in euphoria ; albeit it could never surpass.

    Like the burning Orange ,Blues and Red of abandoned buildings sometimes comes up from under the Graffiti under heavy downpours the zigzag squirrel track on the mountains covered with boulders & stones cleared up and welcomed us to their paradise and we had a long night date there I hope you remember.

    Can you see the Orion outlined by four bright stars at the corners of an imaginary trapezoid? And if our love is not meant forever then that trapezoid will take no time to become a Pentagon soon.
    Marks of my ebony petals circumscribing your circumference keep reminiscing me of the sharp clavicles. The whole of this parabolic dimension would be adorned with white garlands someday and the graveyard won't feel so cold , trust me cause I will come there to stay with you.

    When the Northeast monsoon wind will deny moisture my wet bathrobe will promise you with that. And every numbed moles which play hide and seek all over my body I'll make you count them one by one , distracting you from counting the stars in the night sky passionately.

    We really hold a low negativity threshold where we don't bottle up our feelings and the even little arguments have the least chance to run out of proportion.
    And I know our " Happily Ever After " won't be the conclusion, but the introduction to our journey of losing virginity itself. Until the iota runs out of negativity I promise to hold these hands of yours.

    From yours never ending
    Tangent
    © theultimateinsane

    @writersnetwork thanks for the like.... And it wasn't worthy of a repost right? :)




    @sereiin @dusky_dawn @diyabedi



    @writersnetwork @mirakee @abhishekkamble @lovenotes_from_carolyn

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  • theultimateinsane 23w

    Puberty had cursed me years back and that's mistakenly what I called love then. Blondes of pink and Crimson aura of the sky didn't amaze me at that time.Then what did? Darling I was in love with the vintage filter you used and now I feel it was just a trap I stepped within.

    A plethora of velvety valentine buds has bloomed in my balcony pots. With my every single salt dripping down they are assuring a guaranteed tomorrow. Sparrows are resting in the corner of a barn. They keep their promises and come back to their nest . How much shitty there nest maybe after all it's their own "HOME".
    My thoughts are all wonky now . A watercolour painting of a rainbow and a butterfly , old ladies laughing on the bench made out of bright pastels are much easier for me to think of. My gray matter is not getting sense out of those cubic figures on the wall anymore .

    Memories of "PAPER PLANES" and " PAPER BOATS " didn't rust over my digital drawing world. Neither did it sink in mire of my scheduled life. I still remember folding papers.
    Rusting of our memories gained momentum , trust me I didn't notice when and now my soul has forgotten how to love you again. The zipper is already in transition and what's the use of the sweatshirt now? I was unaware of the woodworms larking hungrily over your gifted guitar and the rusted strings barely now makes any sound. Another conjunctiva has turned crimson today . Now I wish to be the ORION in the night sky (your favourite one)

    I have worn on noose out of your memories and I'll happily do a rivalry with the gravity to dissolve with the November's transpiration tonight. This ebony lips never lied until a sudden rancour chased my love for you through my veins . I know this night sobbing of my restless mind will surpass the rattling of dishes . And those promises hanging out there were dropped into oblivion then, I can realize (I was smaller then)

    Synovial fluid has dried out , the only tangent ball-and-socket ( you and me ) joint shared is running out . What about the void then? Let it be filled with your untold hatred now, I implore. If it's meant to be loyal for the last time , I'll confess with whom I moved on , won't you say he sings :

    "We sit in bars and raise our drinks to growing old
    Oh, I'm in love with you and you will never know
    But if I can't have you I'll walk this life alone
    Spare you the rising storms and let the rivers flow
    ****
    Pack up and leave everything
    Don't you see what I can bring
    Can't keep this beating heart at bay
    Set my midnight sorrow free
    I will give you all of me
    Just leave your lover, leave him for me
    Leave your lover, leave him for me
    Leave your lover, leave him for me" ~ Sam Smith

    I can't write anymore my vision is getting fuzzy,I have given up all cause you know a crumpled rose can give nothing but a foul smell to the room occupying the space of the vase.

    Maybe this is my last night. Throughout the day the city folk danced on the streets and if if you search for my footprints tomorrow , I suggest you not to for thousands have same choice and size.
    ©theultimateinsane

    @dusky_dawn mai bhi likhi tere sath ^_^
    @writersnetwork
    The quote in the bg is by @theultimateinsane
    @abhishekkambke @mauve_ @_still_in_mess @sereiin tagged :)

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  • theultimateinsane 23w

    Our metanoia
    ( /ˌmɛtəˈnɔɪə/)


    When did our love bloom? Was it last night in between the two hands of a clock . I feel it like a torrential rainfall in an isolated desert that was so unexpected . But all I want our love is to be perennial.

    //I used to play with colour dough and
    Barbie dolls
    Now I love playing with your hairs,
    still having love for the poems Peter and Paul//
    (@theultumateinsane)


    Waking up in the dawn and finding you making anklet out of flowers and clearing up the weeds that got stuck there is not my dream all about. I need no space but just that Vanilla cream in between the Oreo ,day and night you lick.

    That two sip of vodka shots on which we used to dance was nothing but an excuse to come more closer. That night my lips were dry and your chest was already red when you hugged my pain.

    What made other guys so pale to me in front of you? You are that ice cube in between the tongs which melted slowly in a goblet of wine but I never chose to mix water instead .

    //They say the older the violin, the sweeter it sounds //~anonymous
    Haven't we done injustice to their statement? So we won ha? We didn't give a damn to their statement, we didn't give a damn to what others said!

    I've found perfect manliness at the staring of your eyes and you are that perfect gentleman who knows how to hold his lady tight. I just love you with all my aura and will keep loving till our hairs turn grey.
    ©theultimateinsane