, , ́ , . My fingers have created ridges on it's 'happily ever after' page, trying desperately to seek an epilogue that never ends.
/How happy, can 'after's be? Is happiness episodic or is it an exhaustive, stretched out movie? What would you prefer, it to be?/
There is a bottomless whirlpool swirling in mind, that seeks no end. And I just want to open my arms, and feel each of its crushing waves pass over me.
Barbed wires, had many times, scratched the windows of my soul, making me see mists over my sanguine skys. It is at those times, hope seemed like a lost paper boat, in a futile attempt to survive, a rainstorm. I have stopped making origami, then on. The day I watched that paper boat drown... False hope. It felt like sucking on a bitter candy, the after taste, of which, has never left my mouth. Its countless assaults, have hurricaned the stitches, which I am trying to heal. Yet, I have accustomed myself to the smell of fatigue, when time, silently visits in acknowledgement, letting me know of its presence. It has become customary, for me, to stay 10 feets under w̶a̶t̶e̶r̶(falls). So much so that it feels tedious to come out of it, to breathe. But I need to. I need to b-r-e-a-t-h-e.To survive. And when I do come up for a gulp of air, I might as well enjoy, the scene of the crimson sun, setting, on my L I F E.
He was the mystical senex, that had survived through the currents of time. Spouting splutters of utility, whenever robustness needed a hand - that was his art. If you were among those talented titans, you would realise that his adroitness hardly lacked a stream which he hadn't knocked upon. His pot-belly that could contain almost anything, didn't deter a speck of his gracefulness. With orbs and Gills of aquamarine, he reciprocated only to fluidity (his only weakness, if any). Everytime, they played with his wise beard, he gave them irrigations of usage instead.
As a child, I drew hearts on flowing waters, and watched them being washed away by bubbles. I should have learnt my lesson then. Hearts weren't a permanent creation.
That day never ended, it's on a replay under different disguises..
Tendrils of hope, tightened around my closed fist. Tumultuous emotions played Tabata inside. Tired and torn between being thawed and tethered. Among thousands of push-buttons None, remotely belonged to me. Trust was a fragile favour, laying in my ruins, like an overused pan, Leaking lavas of emotions, Between the labyrinthine Legos of life.
From the depth of my yarns, I tried to pull out a few strings of poetry, But words sat on my needle, weaving a magical carpet, as if on spree. They flew me on it, helping me escape from the eccentric loop, I was stuck in. Like the ceiling fan above me, I had constantly been going around in circles, Doing only the service of fanning my negativity. They took me to the jungle of abstract thoughts, where fear and hope flexed their arms while crossing each other's path in the labyrinth of life. We hovered over the polished badges of honour and expectations. The ones that were used like Devil's ivy for decorating window frames but soon got entangled and marred the view. We sat on different tables, under piles of withered pages and watched the suppressed revolts within the eyes of many. Often, we stopped by the stream of grieving narratives. While we watched it flow it's own tortuous course, we sipped on its lessons, building our own wall of concrete, wishing to be protected from the same mistakes. The carpet of words frequently grew heavy. It Crinkled. Sometimes in hopelessness and other times in anger. As if searching for some key outlet. To vent and be soaked among pages, with love. It was then, i chanced upon gems that slit a part of themselves to craft their vase of dexterity. Who molded it delicately, with slight pinches of letters soaked in cups of rawness. When the artwork was ready, they left it on the windowsill for the passersby to see.
Words were always the most beautiful creation, and I loved being the passerby.
We usually use a person's behaviour as an excuse behind our anger or unreasonable actions. It's become a redundant habit. "Are we that weak to be a puppet of someone's response?" This life lesson was inspired by one of my college professors. I admire her. I dedicate this to her. __________________________________________________
I had lost my remote. Or maybe the joystick buttons weren't functional anymore. I didn't care, though. You see, it was easier being left that way. Rather than having obstacles pinch my way on finding my control. I had tried, you see, To stitch my ribcage and seal my heart inside but there were still wolves out there, that rose like a sun sneaking over the mountain, To devour my secrets. My weaknesses. I was tired of humming the same tune. My lungs were out of breathe. I felt like a captured parrot, with clipped wings. It wasn't fun sitting in the passenger's seat anymore. The earth is a sward, and we pick lilies of our choices, I had heard. And so my (r)evolution began. The spider's web I had spun around my ribcage, I strengthed it with the colourful knots of resilience and buoyancy, with skillful hands of self-control. I became that halcyon bird that fanned its tiny wings to calm the boiling ocean waters. It wasn't all plain sailing. The obstacles were as real and restricting as before. The only difference was that now, I enjoyed surfing through them. Now that I have captured the reins of my own cruise, I look down at the wolves circling my mountain, I kiss them goodbye.
A time when everyone is in momentary slumber. Yet, for me, it's a time of awakening. When the sun isn't blinding bright, with piercing sunlight. The truth needs to be curtained, to be safe. Neither is it too dark, to disguise the reality. While the bending, pale, yellow light, enters my room my reflective cosmoses are clear enough, like the silhouettes of my old trophies hurled against the walls. They all stand in silence, as if contemplating with me. I hide behind my armour of conscience, tired of the ever changing world. Like the phases of the moon, the right and wrong are undefined and evolutionary. Where glory and beauty, are those magical fireworks that brighten in one minute and diminish in the other. Smiles are left to wither as flowers of time. The tumultuous, wild horses in my mind try to seek shelter under the vast orange yonder. With each passing zephyrs, the colours of my life have changed. There were times when, I have felt like a black hole, consuming the slightest ray of light. Now, I stare at those old trophies again, my past accomplishments. How long will I hold on to these relics to satisfy the grazed fields of my self esteem? A perpetual sigh follows. I watch the sun dipping into the lava of seen and unseen. The horizon of uncertainty. The armour of my conscience is rusted. It's injured heavily. Whilst trying to keep me afloat against the crushing waves of time. Will my soul come out of this, alive?
. A paper plane that carries your secret wishes. Wishes that you once clasped between your palms, then whispered them to the winds. Or Is it a fiery sword drawn by the night's sky as a burning promise?
. A beacon of life that bounces merrily, when petted with delicate touches. Or Or is it a symbol of suffering as it struggles to sprout under the burden of soil on its shoulders?
ℝ. The warmth on your eyelids, that waters down your worries, as you welcome it with open arms. Or A batch of soldiers that excitedly rush down from the sky, only to loose their individuality in muddy pools.
ℝ. A beautiful 7-coloured ring. That gives a blissful imagination of unicorns sliding down its rims. Or Is it laughable to see how easily that sad smile is masked behind a sprinkle of hues?
Condensing info (more suited to being spread out in a novel) into a tiny, single part is a weird thing lol
I feel like all of this pretty much gives you the whole idea of what's going on without letting you know exactly what's going on lol..maybe..♀️
It's also essentially world building without showing you the world at all and leaving it up to your own imagination lol♀️ ~Such a cheat~ Thanks, Laziness! •~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~• Untitled For Now (7)
After the alternate me introduces himself, he goes on to explain the past and current state of this world. An unknown amount of time passes before I’m finally allowed to speak on the matter, “So...this world is located on the same earth I live on but the two worlds don’t necessarily intersect meaning we don’t know of each other’s presence?” I ask in summary as my hand gestures back and forth, towards myself and the reflection in the mirror, pointing to two imaginary representations of the worlds I’m trying to understand.
“And for whatever reason, this world’s inhabitants suddenly started to disintegrate into black sand or something? Then, while studying this phenomenon and the rest of civilization, some took that chance to mislead the people into thinking body modification would solve it. In reaction to that, there were many volunteers for human experimentation aka “heroes” popped up to sacrifice their lives to save humanity, and whatnot, by offering themselves to become cyborgs or machines or whatever? Eventually, the modifications were successful in that humanity became stronger, supposedly smarter, more efficient beings yet, this didn’t do anything to stop the spontaneous disintegration. Meanwhile, when all those advancements of society were spreading, a small group of scientists who had long been studying the concept of the human soul had found something possibly related to the strange deaths and reported it. Later, the soul scientists teamed up with others only to discover that human souls were disappearing, bit by bit, as if being slowly eaten away by something. That’s when the cyborg enthusiasts or whatever came and proposed to them another solution. Not all were in agreement but made compromises because it could be considered a short-term solution that may buy them time and aid them in coming up with a more long-term solution. So now, human brains (taken from nearly swallowed souls whose bodies were close to disintegration) have been downloaded into mostly artificial bodies to create the illusion that they’re still who they always were from when they were living. The majority of populations are on board with this as they have deemed it a success in avoiding the disintegration and because they found this form of “immortality” in the process. Others, however, claim that humanity is just destroying itself, faster than the disintegration, by genocide- that what was made are just computers, not living beings that were saved, and that humanity is in the process of self-extinction. But people are blinded by the way their lives are now, refusing to accept such reality as truth, choosing to believe the majority of a misguided world. You are one of the last living soul scientists and have lived this long only because you dared to go against your beliefs and accept mechanical parts. You were close to figuring out the cause of and how to stop the soul-devouring problem but realized time was limited because your soul has fallen prey to it too. Did I get all that right?”
“...” there’s a short silence before Ryz says, “You managed to summarize the evolution of this world’s centuries better than myself. Essentially, you are correct.”
I breathe a tired sigh of relief after trying to confirm my understanding of his lecture (seriously, my brain hurts- I've never paid anywhere near this much attention to all my school lessons combined compared to digesting all the info from just now). Then, looking into the blue eyes staring back at me, I say in a mild accusatory tone, “But there are some things you didn’t tell me. For example: why am I here?”
don't you find it a bit sad, tying your shoelaces into ribbons that don't wrap presents under the same holiday tree. for you were used to those lights flickering way much, not noticing that the stars shine the same too. even brighter, i guess.
hats off to those whose fingers never get entangled whenever they decide to tie their sneakers. just to end up loose the moment they step on the ground, grass intertwined amidst the hollows in the soles of their feet. even footprints leave holes and orifices that give way for earthworms to live in a minute's notice.
we're all the same shards each from a different glass, confusing every little thing into something worthwhile. because isn't it supposed to be that way? or maybe there's just a few of us left who still find fallen leaves more amusing than specks of gold priced a bit higher than its actual worth. for we break ourselves only to find out that one cannot fix oneself unless it's already been broken.
Dear oh dear! The stone paths down the road, soused by the transparent raindrops, it has all dried by the time the final rays of vermillion sunset shone. Separated by the windows, and the fancy details add up to the seemingly melancholic, yet fresh experience.
At the same time, I recognize myself in an abstract swing, up and down, delighted and crestfallen, North and South..
Oh sweet redolences! Along with your strong, yet pleasing senses, tingling among the minds, how you make us cherish each passing second. I've learned that a time without clamant cries is actually beneficial. I've learned that even the most formal gatherings may turn into an informal, friendly one.. Oh, if you've come back one day, please inform me!
Pulchritudinous senses, gossip just at a healthy amount, coffee serving the tastes craving for it; I must say, even if "something" repeated may be less satisfying, "nothing" is never satisfying.
The distances that have separated us is quite unimaginable, but sometimes, a delay of something is always better than a total cancellation.
When this ends, can we reconcile once again? To the sweet redolences that have connected us long ago? . . . . -- SUMMARY --
This expresses any relationship's hardship during the pandemic which causes their physical separation. This expresses their longing to go back once again to the past times.
-- VOCABULARY --
1 | kaffeeklatsch (cof-fee-clatch) Derived from the German words kaffee- (coffee) and -klatsch (gossip) It is an informal social gathering in which coffee is served.
2 | redolence - a pleasant smell 3 | souse - to make wet 4 | vermillion - vivid reddish-orange 5 | clamant - marked by loud cries especially in protest 6 | pulchritudinous - gorgeous; vivid --
I've always tried to mend things which weren't broken, maybe that's why, I think, my paths have always been made of broken cobblestones. — the viscoelastic skyline, scribbles amid her timeless fortitude, and I gape at them with feet sinking in the quicksand of errs.
Endless echoes of verses about happiness have metamorphosed into macabre screechings, in my lonesome weeks, days and hours.
I held my cherry blossom petal too tightly, to protect it from the dullness and envy outside; I clasped onto it for far too long. When I exerted the pressure from my balled-up fist, pale and grey ash was the sole fortune left. A wind blew it away as well.
"Why do you gawk at the ground? Heave your head high, across, deep enough, the infinitude lays undiscovered." someone said : "someone" who collapsed in the cracks of my misery, willingly? Maybe, or perhaps I trampled over him. Isn't it sad, that cautiousness was the reason for all the catastrophes? And now, at last, when I crave to lift my damaged self up, the sky reminds me, it crashes a thunderbolt on the ground beneath; it dares to break it, that I have been wrong.
Through braids of love and longing, I bound fragments that I believed were my reasons to live. I held back when every extract of the universe implored to let go. Translucent raindrops, the crackling in a fireplace, soft murmurs on cold nights, mother's caressing pats on my head — everything; I desperately strived to bring them back, to contain them in trunks and jars. But they all wilted.
I dipped my complexion in vibrant shades of a rainbow, emptied closet of my choicest clothes and crammed them with the ones that blended an outsider in. Since the days when innocence was still an attribute, I dreamt about living like others; I constructed a personality that resembled all of theirs and none of mine; the nuance of my existence completely annihilated.
I've been trying to flood the voids, heal the cracks, and traversing miles to mend the broken road, and in retrospect, it was a ruse, a betrayal I conspired against myself. And, retribution, has a high toll.
I did what I did and regret would be a word falling short of its meaning when it comes to me — my road is a series of cracked cobblestones but I've pockets clittering with pebbles of acceptance, and slowly, I'm placing each one in the gaps, with faith. One day, I'd bask in all of the sky's hues without losing any of mine; I'd be me and I'd be dangerous.
@_rainfrost_ thank you so much for this beautiful challenge, Potterhead. ♡
I'm standing on the shore, with my forehead burning with the light of eclipsing sun. And the tides which are emptying sand beneath my feet, are making me realise how everything affects everything. Time is relative, and so are feelings, eventually they slip away like an evanescing dream, leaving us wanting more.
A soft breeze catches me off guard and all my thoughts scatter, just like that. I wonder if the sky ever tried collecting back its stars but let go, for it realised there's more beauty in growing apart than to hold on to something and keep it from shining. I lay down on the caramel sand, this time without worrying about my favourite sundress or my messy hair. As the waves hit my feet rhythmically, I can't help but think about the song that I always skipped but couldn't ever delete. Our hearts hold onto things that are meant to be temporary; choking them, which in turn suffocate our dreams. Do we ever learn?
The sand that somehow ended up in my fists seemed to be struggling and the tighter my grip became, the more it slipped away, so I freed myself; from digging into my own skin. And believe me, the feeling was refreshing.
It was soothing to watch the clouds play hide and seek, while the wind and waves danced coyly to each other's symphony. Even the ether blushed a deep crimson at nature's alluring chicanery. Or was it just an innocent serendipity? Either way, the feeling was ethereal and the urge to capture the moment in my parched polaroid was overwhelming. I keep it in my scrapbook, intending to stick it later, and scribbled some words beside it;
"Waves of past embrace me like a rose; yet all I can feel are the rancorous thorns, maybe someday they'll fade away too and I'll find my abode."
We humans are bound by the chains of memories and feelings, and though the key is just within a hand's reach, we are too afraid to set ourselves free. Maybe it's stockholm syndrome that we have entangled ourselves in.
It's a beautiful sight and the more I look at the vast sky, the more depth I keep finding. I lay there for another minute; one that feels like an eternity, hoping to find a meaning of our existence, it's just in vain.
So I decide to let go of my worries and let the wind caress me, even if it's just for a moment. - Sakshi
I don't really want to sleep because I'll stay strong Don't really want to sleep because I'll stay strong only Really want to sleep? Because I'll stay strong only today Want to sleep because I'll stay strong only today's evening To sleep because I'll stay strong, only today's evening strikes Sleep, because I'll stay strong, only today's evening strikes me Because I'll stay strong, only today's evening strikes me tragically I'll stay strong; only today's evening strikes me tragically now "Stay strong," only today's evening strikes me tragically, now I Strong.. only today's evening strikes me tragically, now I foresee
Only today's evening strikes me tragically, now I foresee.. afterlife
Today... and tonight... life falls shy Now I foresee afterlife.. . . . . -- SUMMARY --
This expresses the fact that even people with the strongest bodies and mentalities may eventually face a life-changing event upon them, unavoidable, and possibly permament.
-- NOTE --
Had to do something else, thus the delay!
Also, I tried a very new, intricate writing style in which each of the first line's words will respectively be the first word for the next line; a new word is also added at the end, so that each line has exactly 10 words. --
Leave this door unknocked. There's a house in ruin inside. Look at the street around. There are hundred better houses. Move to the next one.
Didn't the wind warn you Or the broken cobblestones prick you When you walked through this alleyway?
Didn't you notice the rust on the doorknob and hinges? Didn't that tell you that this door won't open to welcome you? Can you smell the aroma of caffeine That's lingering on the street? It'll taste way better than the cup of despair and darkness here you'll receive.
Sometimes I want to write in bold on the door With rough edged haphazard alphabets, 'Do not disturb the damsel in distress'.