Mirakee
A burgeoning dysfunctional family
©thunderbird__
thunderbird__
DIYA I love poems more than humans.
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thunderbird__
27w
Read Morefrom a hidden alleyway,
agony peers at a man
like his divorced wife
accusing him of adultery,
which she forgot to define
before she left their
together constructed street
spilling 'cheater' on every
wall as if wanting the neighbours
to encage their proprietorial wives
before the flawless families
reek of white lilies, not the
one born out of wedlock but
ones who sounds like the inadvertent
dirge in ears of helpless
children who lock themselves
every night when they see patriarchy
coming home as the tipsy sorceress
and lying befuddled in arms of anarchy
on the sidewalk,sits an aged lady
holding arms of her wheelchair
tight, chanting the name of god
disguised as her once seen innocent child
who she bought from the grave of
her husband who left her silently
after writing hundreds of poems on
how love is all about second chances
but god of death rejected his plea
saying that the pitcher of his uncommitted
sins has filled upto the brim and if he
lets him breathe for another second than
the earth will topple because of snowballing lechery
years later, a girl blooms womanhood
wanting to get her newly born forelsket published after which her
father thrusts her into orphanage
where she carries her poems as only
pennies left to buy subsistence,
there she meets a boy in her dream
murmuring like Hitler
guilty of letting rage of his father beating
him turning into a brother bullying her sister unknowingly
one disastrous night,
girl walks back
to the streets where once she called
four walls a home, suddenly a star in the sky
enters her ears as distressed voice of his grandfather-
"I'm the root of your burgenoning dysfunctional family"
_______________________________
@mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork -
thunderbird__
27w
Read More
Like the leaves of forest
where summer is frozen,
there lay the sinner seeking
remission of his sins
plummeting from the black
tongue that outstretched
when for the first time he
placed his heart in the boiling water.
The idols in the temple
develop cracks every moment
he chops off a heart ruthlessly
and inscribes 'I'll become sinless'
on the winds headed towards
the wavering sky of forever,
travelling on a flying carpet
weaved with fragile threads of nows.
Tomorrow is a tired sunset, rises
from the withered and strewn soil
as the Europe written by Lord Byron
fleshed with opaque love affairs
in hope to see lazaurus syndrome
bring colourful Europe back
from the grave which breathed
its last the moment it wore the
blind spectacles of upcoming future.
Gamblers find their way through
the throng of yet to appear profits
and losses, sit together
placing their gluttonous fingers
on every passing minute on the clock
before its onomatopoeia rattles
like the faded history of regrets.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
The clock rings a bell, and a man
abandons his plans of uitwaaein,
picks up a banner in his hands
with a sentence written on it
'Forever is culmination of nows'
and strolls streets screaming-
"Wake up before it's too late."
_____________________________
Uitwaaein - To take a break to clear one's head
@mirakee @writersnetwork #writersnetwork #podBefore it's too late
©thunderbird__ -
Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.
-Winston Churchill
They teach you about the zenith of sky and make you gaze at the wings of birds. But they forget to teach you how to walk when the velocity of winds chops off your wings.
We all have gone through failures and yet have made till this day. It is easy to shrink into desolation and shut doors but it takes immense valour to again jump into the war which once made you bleed.
Write about the most devastating failure of your life and how did you sail through it. You can write a poem, a story, a conversation, anything. Also you can write about people from history and their success story.
Use hashtag #icanandiwill
The deadline is 15 October 10 PM
But you can always write using this hashtag using the same premise.
So pick up your pen and set yourself free from your grief. Life isn't a sprint but a marathon. We have to keep moving.
Much love!
©thunderbird__ -
thunderbird__
27w
Read More
When hailstones fall
on your head, do you
even know how it feels?
When the sky above
showers endless winter
on you like psychological
thunderstorms where you
keep rotating until your
mind forgets to connect
its wires to present and
you feel like a flaneur
inside your own body,
Have you ever felt
something similar?
I was a girl with
tender dreams in my palms
and deluge of love inside
my naive heart.
You're too good to be real,
were the words of a man
who made my sculpture
and washed it with blood
everyday. With every passing
year, he climbed up the ladder
and pushed me deeper into
the pithole where I found
self love torn and withered.
Depression found my home,
and I backpacked around
a circle. Everyone who
visited me named it as
the wheel of failure and
placed sympathy on my
shoulder like a boulder
dismantling my valour
and I chundered words
under a note 'Dear Diary'
filling empty drawers
in corner of a room.
Now my mirror calls me
a woman, and every city
I left calls me a stranger.
Quietly, I gulp down my truth
as a mystery laden with
empathy protecting herself.
How can you be so cold?
A question hangs from
every silent goodbye I
leave behind. And I vanish
into thin air with my aching heart
which refuses to let the world
know how every faded footprint
still inhales colours inside it.
_______________________________
@mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #writersnetworkEvery city I left
calls me a stranger
©thunderbird__ -
thunderbird__
27w
Read More
Through the streets of life
I pedal, slowly,
solicitous, seizing silence
from every moment which
imprisons bare truths that
wait for me at every
impending intersection.
Optimism rings the bell
of a house lying haunted from
years, in hope of acceptance.
Batalvi sits outside his home,
and for the first time, the sound
of his flute doesn't
settle on my eyelids as
water, separated.
Dreams pinned to the
open dangling strands of sky
gaze at the earth,
like a laconic parable being written
on the lines of my palm.
Garrulous thoughts dip
their lips into the pyramid
of self awareness books.
Love flutters around my walls
like a butterfly growing wings
after her fields were set on fire
for never to be replenished.
My burnt fingers traverse
ashes, and doodle a phoenix
on my the top of my hand.
Every time a bullet is fired,
a war crops up and leaves
behind silent pain.
I succumb to the aftermath
and surrender to edged needles
but my poems snowball like
wildflowers grow in all
places, with head high
and difficult to be tamed.
_____________________________
Thank you so much @writersnetwork and @mirakee
This is an honour :')��
#mondaymantras @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #writersnetworkI pedal through
the streets of life
©thunderbird__ -
thunderbird__
33w
Read More
Me and my core self talk
at cross purposes,
I launch a movement 'Quit My Past'
under the historic August movement,
but my conscience
stands in opposition to it,
following words of Savarkar-
'You can't win by disobedience'
I write about me being Iceland,
securing the title of most peaceful country
on Global Peace Index since its launch,
trying to trust what a wise man once said that
past is the nothing but the amalgamation
of words you say to yourself in future,
But when I read my own words,
they resonate with Taiwan, deranged
by military activities of my despotic emotions,
reflecting unbending China
My heart has become Catalonia,
it asks for secession from me, not able to stop itself
from beating for a dead man,
I declare it inadmissible repeating
words of Spanish government, and
suppress its voice by passing a Black Act
replicating the act of callousness of Britishers
towards Indians in history
These days when I take a peek out the window,
I see world undergoing electric cremation after being
hit by a horrific disease,
And when I look inside myself, I find spectre
of a scabulous woman who has been already cremated
@mirakee @writersnetwork #daadigotyourback #podMe and my core self
talk at cross purposes
©thunderbird__ -
thunderbird__
34w
Read More
I'm tired of the city
calling my name,
My name to me seems as
a tourist lost while shaking
hands with dubiety
I board a train to south,
but I reach north,
I carry my introduction
in my luggage, stammering
at every station,
but when the destination arrives,
they tell me that I've reached
the wrong place
Days wake up to moonlight
and night screeches of revising
same chapter over and over again,
Every chapter is a book,
Every book is nothing but
a reprint of the Great Bengal Famine,
even then the reader wants to read it,
he wants to get teleported to the
grave of millions, he wants to feel
how a loved one helplessly weeps
for his loss, he wants to be him,
he wants to tell the writer that he has
visited the same place when he secretly
wishes he never does
The city reeks of lies outstretching
into truth, passengers wait to witness
the metamorphosis, because they
love magic, they yearn to see words
breaking their eyes with an unseen hammer,
they are pulled towards mystery, and
writers are mysterious,
Every night an exhibition is held
in the city where writers stand naked
revealing their stories, and spectators
applaud their scars, and sing their praises,
The city shines with colours,
and homeless streets paint themselves
with verses till they are called beautiful and adorable
I'm tired of living as the world
sees me,
I'm tired of living in my own city
@mirakee @writersnetworkMy own city tires me now
©thunderbird__ -
thunderbird__
34w
Read More
Today I accidentally placed my
eyes on your picture,
So I wanted to ask you,
Did it rain there?
I wrote sonnets, yearning for the divine,
sitting in my balcony
Tell me,
Did you see a halo around your head
this evening, when you held a mirror in your hand?
Sun at my place reached zenith with rage,this afternoon
and I walked barefoot on the burning floor of memories,
Did you see a boy on the road banging his head
against the utility pole until 'I miss you's' wrapped
arms around his neck, today?
I drew a bird on a crippled sky, it flew and
sat on my shoulder, poked my skin and wrote
' Silent love wants to be a martyr now'
So, my love, will you purposely place your eyes
on my picture and set me free from this birth?
@mirakee @writersnetwork #mirrorDid it rain there?
©thunderbird__ -
thunderbird__
36w
Read More
You miss him these days, don't you?
His poetry, his smile, his songs, his vibes, you miss every thing. Don't you? I know you want to jump back to past and drag him to your present but this is life, and you don't get every pearl you demand. I know you feel this connection with him which may never be defined in words, like how he always looked like you twin soul, but see you just can operate your core self like he said, and universe isn't bound to act upon your advice. I know your heart is in pieces and it was never easy to let him go but darling sometimes some people are meant to stay in your heart but not your life. I know this thing worries you about his mental and physical health, you want to know about his well being, but even if things aren't fine with him, what can you do from umpteen miles away? He might be a story which you don't want the protagonist to end even if he wants to write another one with different characters. See you can't force the protagonist to mould his story to fit in your dreams but you can create poems where your breaths are still intermingled with your beloved. You can hold his hand tight, and exchange smiles with him in your metaphors.
I know love sounded like cliche before he came into your life. Everyone you met were merely an ephemeral sand ring that faded with time, but he still encircles your finger to exist in another birth with you. Many if's and but's cross your mind, you sit with a heavy head falling on both sides with heterogenous thoughts. But listen for a moment breathe, let this moment sink in. Maybe someday you'll sit beside him, leaning on his shoulder under the stars, writing a song of rebirth for your love. Maybe this will happen or maybe this won't, but these uncertainties can not stop you from breathing this moment. See this is life, a yarn of roses and thorns. I know you expect only roses, but darling they come together in the same packet. So just sit quietly and take a deep breathe, and on count of three exhale your grief. Stretch your lips, and bow your head with gratitude for the fact that you are till alive. I know now you'll say you wish to die, but see you can never read the end page of your story until the story writer completes his book on you. So why even waste time in self pity when you know that it does nothing but stifle your breathe. Doors might be locked with dust and curse, but acceptance is the key to the door of every uncertainty. There is a power above you, stronger than you, guiding you at every step, and taking care of you. So before you again sing the song of loneliness and heartbreak, for once look in the mirror, and put that lose strand behind your ear. I am sure life will meet you again one night like a traveller just like you met him once.
- thunderbird__
____________________________________________
I was so happy after reading comments on my previous hope note. So here I am posting a scribble from my old draft again hoping that it reaches like light to some dungeoned soul. ��
@mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #hopenotes
And I can never thank you enough for this brilliant initiative.
@hopenotes__©thunderbird__
-
thunderbird__
36w
Read More
Yesterday you broke your heart again, writing one poem after another for the deceitful wind. Probably the sun must have been too warm to handle for you yesterday. Mayhaps it would have ignited your sleeping wounds. I could see how you were quiet and yet bawling in your mind for help. I could see how your anxiety didn't even let you sit straight in your chair for long. Probably the antigens on your skin turned alien yesterday and you were searching for antibodies in your dark attic. I saw how your fingers asked you to take a pause, for they were hungry, and wanted to take an afternoon nap after that, but you held them by their nape and made them carry the jute bags of your emotions. By the way I wanted to ask did that chocolate on your table ignited your smile as always? Or did it also made you travel back to the horrified past? I am sure you wouldn't have watered the sunflowers in your garden yesterday. I saw their dropped shoulders looking for their owner. And did crying for hours at night helped? Did it feel better to stand before the mirror and break down like a poem on the paper? I saw how you started writing a threnody for your past but ended up writing the song of rebirth. See words can only write truth, they may turn disguised but 'Satyamev Jayate' runs in their veins like blood. I saw how you were trying so hard to write about a parallel universe, and the mirage of your happiness, but ended up making your fingers ache with poems of yearning. I know how hard it is for you right now to hold yourself together amid the absence of haunted dreams and the deceitful winds. But can't you just hold yourself for a day? For a life is nothing but just the amalgamation of races whose track is just of twenty four hours. Obviously it extends day after day, but who knows when your breath will be transported to your pyre. I know you hold these worries about future, and endless questions about your past, but for a minute look at the rainbow of gratitude. I know, I know you see it once in a blue moon, and right now it is not even raining, but you can create your own rainbow also. Hold a paper and a pen. Then pick up the red of self love that you abandoned while growing as an adult, and slowly dig your heart, and collect other colours, that are hiding behind the facade, to save themselves from the brutal world. Mix them all on a paper, and this time write a love letter addressed to yourself. For you are love even if you sulk into pangs of hatred quickly. For you are peace even if you expand into tornadoes on every other day. For you are one who has a purpose to fulfill until your last breathe. So hold yourself together just for a day. For life isn't about years or months or weeks, it is the journey of just one day.
~ thunderbird__
________________________________________________________
@hopenotes__
I happened to log in back for some reason and couldn't help scribbling after reading your recent post. You are doing a great job. Sending you tons of love and blessings.
And I did not read this after writing so pardon me for mistakes and errors. ��
And I will be back soon. ����
#hopenotes @mirakee @writersnetwork #podNo one can construct for you the bridge upon which precisely you must cross the stream of life, no one but you yourself alone.
- Friedrich Nietzche
©thunderbird__
-
harshad09
27w
Read Moreit's my submission for the #icanandiwill challenge
@thunderbird__
Diya , heartfelt apologies for spoiling your wonderful challenge
@writersbay ♥️♥️ for being what You are
@mirakee @writersnetwork #hope #willpower
#octobermusingsI can and I will
I can and I will
I can and I will ..
ohh , damn ,
sounds like some divine zeal
like effervescence of some fragrant feel
like some mutually beneficial serene deal
in this routinized precursory drill
does this sound ejecting some thrill ?
for , in every devilish hailstorm ,
my proses , they're neither undamaged nor busted ,
for by any of the appreciative norm ,
my poesies , they're neither saved nor wasted ,
just , the roads , let them be in any of the form ,
all my pieces , they're like paradigms , of paradoxes, either tenet or twisted ,
I know they're musings ,
not worthy of endorsed recitals ,
for they're oozing out
of all those contracepted genitals ,
for , they're like cravings ,
of barnyard humor , to be grown ,only in the pightles ,
for , whatever I try to cope ,
I am holding on to my near dead sources , of hope ,
engulfing your each insult as a dose , a dope ,
now I've learnt to walk on the thinnest of rope ,
let your galaxies be aglow , with charm and light ,
I have my scars , beaming , from harm and plight ,
but I have my beacons , for every storm and night ,
that'd guide me unto the pristine realms of flight ,
don't you pity on me , for my weaker wings ,
you can keep boasting , being lord of the rings ,
but never forget ,
there's one and only one , who holds all of the strings ,
and I always remember
//destiny listens ,
whenever conviction sings //
so despite every turmoil and my every failure
despite my travels , uncalled for and obscure ,
for me too , somewhere ,are oases , verdure ,
just I need to toil , to ploy , to meet the reinsure ,
but that I'd definitely do , with my powers , will ,
I'd paint alive , lucid , vivid , every canvas standstill ,
for to battle it out , to sustain and to survive , it's my addiction , my passion and my thrill ,
so , this won't be that much too big a deal ,
and that's my confidence , I can and I will ....
.
©harshad09 -
kin_jo
27w
Read MoreC H A ( L L E ) N G E
It was about 7pm when the ICAI screen flashed the results were out. my Fingers trembled, my consciousness quaked, my beats pulsated with discordant rhythm. The embarassment hoovered upon me and next step was to run and isolate myself in a room and cry for hours. The daily 16 hours study schedule, the only focus I had all through the year, my efforts went futile. Yes, i failed my CA final exam!
Failure is such a simple word yet when faced it's more like a jump-scare; its force is more insidious and paralyzing. All through my prepration I made thousands of flowcharts. But not even a single flowchart was 'what if I failed?' I was lost. Ever in my foreseeable future, I never thought I could fail. Being a topper with a merit ranker it was a usual to get nervous but results were always the dreamy eyed ones. From a crazy high to a bout of valley deep fall, A ever so bright student was now submerged under desolated waves. I tried to gather my regurgitated confidence and resumed my studies but altogether with a different approach. My greed, my pride, my life, everything revolved around that one word 'success'. I held that word like a solitary rock, in between the storm filled ocean. Such a wrong approach of life I had set for myself. Yet studied with a fallacy approach all through the dying summer. By october, I was a new found self. A loser, a underconfident, a success hound girl. My innocent leaves had fallen with the autumn huff. I was bare and shamelessly running towards success. I attempted my exams in November and in january, the very start of the new year, I got a tight slap to my new found attitude ' a second fail'
My agony did not stop here. My friends who were average in studies cleared ( a usual humanly feeling xD) I was burried under monologues of my own self doubt. This time I was drowning at the bottom of the ocean. I no longer had audacity to look myself in my own eyes. Depression was the struggle. The worried faces of my parents were visible but never reached my refractories. Because I was my new found obsession.
My cousin, younger to me had cleared that attempt, came forward and asked me to join a marathon training. I laughed at him for offering me a pity hand. But did join eventually. There i could not run 1km amongst the athlete's and I cursed myself, affirming "I am a loser". Slowly, the runs made me realised that roads does get rough but you do reach your abode if you are consistent. I understood compitition is with my ownself. I was not bothered what other runners did because the real fight was within myself. That year I ran 21kms. My exams followed and to be very honest very first time my results did not matter to me. By then I had joined a company and was earning well with my experience. Irrespective of pass or fail, I was happy and satiated. Result, for which I wasted important years of my life was now just a piece of paper, a mere affirmation, a stamp and a degree attached to my bio. Because I had won much before, on the day I ran for myself. My heart danced in liberosis, which was once saddled with peoples expectation The struggle was hard but here I am writing about it,
No more with a pinch of salt but as a proud runner!!
// Success is never about whether you cleared or failed. Success is all about how much you tried with determination and dedication//
_______________________++++++++++++_______________
ICAI - Institute of chartered accountants of India
This is my submission to the challenge #icanandiwill
#octobermusings @writersnetwork #hopenotes #icanandiwill @kehta_hai_joker #Pod #journal #wod #ceesrepostsAccept your shameful critisim
Embrace your disheartening failures
Change your outlook towards life
To win any challenge with optimism
©kin_jo -
I kept on stitching the metaphors,
Over and over again
With your favourite colour;
Little did I know,
I was fabricating the cloth
To cover the scars etched by you.
©saya__ -
_scas_
27w
Read MoreOne of my oldest, back on demand.
"Anurag, do you want me to set you up with one of my girls?", my editor laughed. Editors can be a pain in the ass, but mine was amazing. She had edited one best-seller of mine, in the last three years. We were like best friends now, with no feelings from either side, for sure. "Absolutely, not!", I said and laughed. "What's wrong with you, dude? You've been in the UK since the last five years, I've never seen you go out on a date!", she said, with a sense of trolling, like best friends usually do. "Dating is not my cup of tea", I said and took a sip from my coffee. "Are you sure, that you're not homosexual?", she said, before bursting out into laughter. "Of course, not.", I said, with a weird expression. "Then why don't you get yourself a girl?", she asked. I didn't say anything, to which she understood, that I have a story behind that. "There's a story, isn't it?", she enquired. "Maybe", I laughed. "I guess, the third best-seller!", she laughed and added, "Come on, start the story". "Okay fine, if you insist. I'm not telling you this because I'm going to write about this, so listen to the story as my friend, not as my editor", I said and started narrating the story.
"I had finally got admitted into an Estonian University. I had longed to get selected there. It was 29th August 2017, I remember. I had to get a flight that day. My dad told me to take the car to the airport and that someone else would take care of it from the parking. Taking my parents wishes and after hugging them, I left in my car. It was quite late. 12 or 1 at night, I suppose. It was amazing weather. The cool breeze didn't let me shut my windows. I always loved the road to the airport, with such a great drive and cool breeze, it felt like a perfect night. With my favourite songs playing, I was feeling so amazing, that I could die at the very moment. The trees, the wind, the song, the road, the car, the future, all seemed in my favour. What does a man want more? As I drove to the airport, I could see the lighting everywhere on the road, as if it's welcoming me to what the future holds for me. But little did I know about it.", I said. She was completely in the story as if she was imagining everything. After sipping my coffee, I continued.
"Then came a song. Give me love, by Ed Sheeran. He was at his prime, even then. But this song of his was one of my favourites. It brought back all the memories, of this girl. The girl I hadn't seen much, just a couple of times, I guess but she had me whipped, since the moment I saw her. I was so much smitten by her, that even my first Shakespearean poem, was written for her. Of course, she didn't get to read it anywhere. Even if she would've read it, she couldn't know that the poem was by me, because of my pen name, nor that it was for her, as I didn't know her name to mention. She had perfect eyes, hair, and everything. She was an angel, descended from heaven. I saw her a total of four times, but never got the courage to talk to her. I was even unsure if she had noticed me in the first place. But with the love in my heart, I kept it to myself. And I couldn't give my heart to any girl, as she already stole it.", I stopped, leaning backwards. She was laying her head, on the table, deep into the story.
"As I reached the airport, IGI, which was chosen as the best airport in the world, I took the road to Terminal 3. After parking my car, and getting into the building, I got my boarding pass, only to know that weather had got stormy now, to delay my flight. It was to depart at 6 in the morning. It was merely 2. I had to wait for another couple of hours, for the security check to start. It was the time when I was writing my second novel, so I opted to go to Starbucks. Taking my sip of the coffee", I abruptly stopped to take a sip, "So taking my sip of the coffee, I took out my laptop and started writing. Suddenly, I moved my face to see someone. That, someone, was the girl that I had thought about while coming there. She didn't see me, as I expected, and moved straight to the security section. Suddenly I realised, that it was my time to go to the security section as well. I paid the bill and left. With my bag, on my shoulders, and headphones, on my ears, I was in another world, after seeing her. I didn't want to call it Love, but more of an attraction.", I said, to make her smile. She got up and took a sip herself, only to realise it was stone-cold and we laughed about her getting lost into the story.
"After clearing the security, I headed towards the plane. I was still in a world unknown. The world of dreams and wildest fantasies. It was she, ruling my mind. Every song that played on the phone, seemed like it was being played for me. It was an amazing feeling. As I entered the cabin, to air hostess to welcome me, and started searching for my seat. 20B it was, I remember. As I moved towards my seat, I saw a girl on the same row, at the window seat, of probably my age, reading my first novel, so indulgently that it was flattering. You know the best part? It was her.",
I said and took the last sip of the coffee.
"What next?", she asked. I could see that she was getting restless. "Well, I went to my seat, which was next to her. Though I did notice her passing a smile to me while I was walking on the aisle of the plane, I didn't get the courage to talk to her. We had some stolen eye-contacts while sitting. I don't know what was she thinking, but I was in such a dilemma if she knows me. I was so flattered to know that she had noticed me all along. I didn't think that a girl like her, with such a gifted beauty, knew my presence. For the first hour, we didn't say anything, except our stealings for each other's smile. I had a thousand things to talk about, with her, though. I considered my personality as a confident one, but while sitting there, next to her, I felt so helpless that I could just jump off the plane.", I said, and we both laughed.
"Then?", she enquired. "Sorry dear, my coffee is done, and so is my story", I replied. She gave me a funny look as if she's going to cut my throat off. "Waiter!", she called and ordered two coffees. By the time coffee came, she asked me about her appearance once again, to which I said, "The most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I never use the word Beautiful for someone I don't know, cause the word covers both inside out, but with her? Dude, she had cast a spell on me. From the moment I saw her, I knew that she's an amazing person, even inside, in her soul.". She adored the way, I was speaking, like girls usually do when they see or hear something cute, I guess. In the meantime, the waiter brought us our respective coffees. From the first sip, I knew that there's no sugar in it, nor we were provided with sugar cubes but I wanted to see if she can judge that. And I resumed my story.
"After feeling so helpless, I greeted her. She replied with the same enthusiasm, at least that's what I think. I asked her about her name, to which she said Prachi and asked about mine, and I told her about my name as Anurag. I didn't remember that she was reading my book, under a pen name. I asked her about her destination, to which she said Moscow. Then I asked her if she liked the book, to which she, kind of, flattered me, by saying that she wanted to meet the novelist and hug him for penning down her feelings. I started feeling weirdly embarrassed, which she did notice and asked me about the matter. And I told her, I'm the same novelist about whom we are talking. At first, she didn't believe me at all. Then I showed her my library of writings on my phone after which, it was her turn to get embarrassed. We just laughed it out. We shared our experiences, past, present and our future ambitions. It was an amazing feeling. I asked her about feelings when she first saw me, back in High School. I still laugh at this question of mine. Like an hour before, I couldn't even gather the courage to speak to her, and now I was asking her straight questions. But her answer, literally, made me feel butterflies in my stomach. She said that after we passed by she did me again, by turning her head back and smiled, to which I admitted about doing the same and we laughed again, and this time, her hand was in my hand.", I said and all the moments flashed in my mind and a smile came across my face. She could see me blushing and smiled at that. And then I told her, about the sugarless coffee of ours to which we laughed as I did in the plane with Prachi, not with her hand in my hand though.
"So shall we chuck the coffee now?", I asked her. "Only if you're willing to tell me the whole story", bursting out in laughter. We paid the bill and bailed out of the café. It was the bustling afternoon of London city. We opted to walk, rather than taking a taxi on our way back. It was a three kilometres walk, so it gave me plenty of time to continue my story. "Between our talks about the deep, sensitive topics, about which I usually never talk about, we didn't realise that we had been flying since last six hours, and our talks got interrupted by an announcement, about the plane's arrival in Moscow. I could see in her eyes, that she wasn't willing to go anywhere. But she had to. She had to work in some, kind of, artistic workshop. She was an artist, studying Leonardo Di Vinci' artistic style. Yet, her smile glowed more than Mona Lisa, herself. That smile of hers, oh what a smile. For the last five hours, I had been talking to God's most beautiful creation, her. I didn't want her to leave me and get off in Moscow, so I got down with her, at last, I didn't tell her where I was going in the first place.""I did realise that I didn't have the Russian Visa, but luckily for me, I had some connections in the Indian Embassy in Russia, which granted me a visa for a week. But unfortunately, by the time we got down, we had lost contact with each other. I had no idea where she was. She was suddenly gone.", I said, making her worry, probably even more than I did, at the real-time. "But fate had it. We met again, at the currency exchange. We greeted again and, I guess, she was happy to see me there. Well, who wouldn't when they see a person from the same country as theirs in a foreign city? Probably that was the reason, I thought. To where she was off to, I asked her, to which she said, to her hotel. I had a friend in Russia, living almost two hours away from Moscow. I called her up and asked her if I could bring a friend with me. Excited, I asked Prachi if she would like to go to my friend's house, and probably 'consider' living there. Much as I expected, she was hesitant at first. Anyone would've. But again, much to my unexceptional, she agreed. We hired a car to my friend's house, and she welcomed us with such gratitude. After having a hot coffee, that friend of mine, asked Prachi if there's something between me and her, much for me to smack my head in disappointment. She's like you. Always trying to set me up with girls.", I said, and we laughed.
"We moved to the Moscow city, in her car, with the friend telling Prachi about my description of her, each time I saw her near my house back in India. I was really embarrassed with it, but I could see Prachi blushing pink, and smiling. For two hours, I was red as a tomato and she was pink as a strawberry. And my friend? Well, she was red, but as Satan. As we got in Moscow, Arina, the Russian friend, got a call and she apologised to us cause she had to go for a couple of hours, but I was really happy that it happened. At last, it was giving me some time alone, in the city of the Third Rome, Moscow. We went to her hotel, to cancel her bookings, of course. Then we went to a restaurant, as it was pretty late already. Strangely, I hadn't asked her about her love life in the past. Maybe, I didn't want to invade her privacy. But this time, I got the courage. She was really hesitant to tell me about it. But after me, not being me by pressurising her, she confessed it all. She told me about her past boyfriend, Zeke. Zeke was a dominating, kind of, guy, and thus making it very difficult for them to be in a relationship. But the scars Zeke gave her, time couldn't heal that, yet. After this, she asked about love life, to which I said that, since the day I saw her, I couldn't like another girl, to which she blushed and smiled. Meanwhile, the waiter came and we, monotonously, in the same tone, ordered the same thing, and this time, we both blushed.", I said, while holding the door for her, as we entered a restaurant of the same name, just like I did with Prachi three years back, only to make me realise, how the time had changed.
As I and my editor/friend took our seats in the restaurant, I was relishing my memories of pulling the chair for Prachi, trying to be a gentleman, on our first "kind-of" date, obviously. But the time had changed, it had been five years since the incident, and still, I couldn't get over it. Now, my friend and I took our seats, and she suddenly asked me to continue the story, to which I smiled and said, "After ordering the cuisine, we started talking about usual topics, family and stuff. I came to know that her father was a leading journalist, back in India, and she had come to Moscow to study mass media. Her ambition was to be a reporter for the BBC and travel the world. When she asked my aim, I was completely blank. I had no idea about it. I had the best selling novel on my sleeves, but I was about to enter a technology university. I remember, we ate our food real slow, looking into each other's eyes, occasionally. I felt like, I was so happy that I could die right then, without any grief.", to which my friend smiled and the food came.
-SCAS.
This is only part 1. To be continued. -
zohiii
27w
Read MorePicture (on the right) belongs to Pinterest (it's an extract from the lyrics of the song "The Scientist" by Coldplay), the writing (on the left) belongs to me.
.
-
asphodel_
27w
Read MoreEvery morning I contemplate my existence, ingesting the feeble drop of failures. Eyes open wide for the anthesis of it lash out the ineffable behavior betwixt the failed sumerian life in me.
The dying of summer ≈ colonise the begonia in me, to death.
The funicle known to empower my will, now sabotage my life with negativity.
(T)acendic, simplies my complex macrocosm, hidden in the dim glowing infloresence.
(A)nguish commemorate the summer in me dead. Self acceptance turns out to be a hatred everytime, I confront paramour residing inside.
(N)eanderthal does not reminisce in my cranial capacity, it lost the native nerves for the eicchornia wringed the cerebrum with friction.
(Y)ikes, contour the darkshades foraging freedom of thoughts, which usually remain unexpressed .
(A)roma tantalize kith and kin, souvenir the ill will behind the facade smile.
It's the winter month that seldom dies, Trompe L'oeil is the staple orchestra played as the background musing over my birth.
No summer, no spring can break the sire of darkfold in my molecules.
//mutations are limited into my exons, since the carnival bow out only during night//
#octobermusings.
-
say_me_krish
27w
Read MoreThis is an Elfchen poem.
11 words, 11 colours, 11 stanzas :)
@mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay @ocean_ @laus_deo
#skp_writes #pod #creativearenaShades of Life
White
Pearly snowflakes
Candyfloss cloudy sky
Empyrean shade of peace
Heaven
Yellow
Arousing sunshine
Beaming wild sunflowers
Positive tone of enlightment
Energy
Orange
Saccharine fruits
Shedding maple leaves
Mild hue of encouragement
Endurance
Red
Haemoglobin blood
Bewitching sunset sights
Romantic tinge of attraction
Danger
Pink
Roly- poly cheeks
Springtimes with Sakuras
Feminine denotion of affection
Tenderness
Brown
Intelligent walnuts
Trunks holding verdures
The colour of wholesomeness
Honesty
Purple
Lovely lavenders
Highly virulent foxgloves
Nostalgia and frustrating gloom
Spirituality
Blue
Amaranthine oceans
Dayspring with hydrangeas
The potential of understanding
Integrity
Green
Suspiring leaves
Precious dark emeralds
Colour of emotional healing
Wealth
Grey
Etiolated carcasses
Segments of cobblestones
Mature colour of conventionality
Formality
Black
Bloodthirsty panthers
Expressive charcoal pencils
Blackness stands with elegance
Mystery
~S r i K r i s h n a P S | Oct 10, 2020. -
His poetries about her felt like a half murder
Neither he cremated her beneath his words
Nor he resurrected her soul buried in the coffin of his rhymes
Neither he pushed the dagger deep, to fondle his four chambered throbs
Nor he pulled it out, oozing his tangible cramps
Its
Stuck
There
©zilch__ -
zilch__
27w
He stained his lips with matchsticks
As her lipstick started fading away
©zilch__ -
pa_luck
27w
Read MorePost-Card
If i paint you a postcard
when the sun rises but sunshine is far
and a chirping castle of breeze
shifts the hair strokes in its haze.
Would it look like a smile sneaking
from the laced white curtains
that refuse to cover a peeking pane
holding loosely a coffee mug stain.
Or like the rain washed paper plane
sleeping still around the paws of my furry cat
who smells the silence of
an upcoming thunderstorm roar.
Or like the denial of walk of time
which might hold my hand
and stay like a swinging chair
upon my cuddled back of a bear.
Or like the cosy linings of a misbehaving blanket
that carries the curves of the spent night
and reaches upto your hanging lids
with a sparkle of an innocent yawn.
©pa_luck
#series#off#sighs
#writersnetwork#readwriteunite#mirakee#podPost-Card
Tell me how it feels ?!
©pa_luck
