Mirakee
i like you
a little more than
a lot
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tumaku
2d
-
to see you grow old
is a dream
-&-
to grow old with you
is a wish -
tumaku
4d
in that crowd
i could only see you -
tumaku
4d
we miss someone
it is because
they are precious
to us -
as each day passes
i can't help
but like you more -
little things like
holding your hand
as we walk
listening to your
humming of songs
is worth cherishing -
i trust you
for all my decisions
except
those you take
for your own -
looking
at her picture
-&-
smiling
is altogether
a different feeling -
"describe peace"
she asked
"friends"
he replied
"ok, then describe love"
she fumed
"you"
he smiled -
you're the closest
i've been to the moon
-
And when she exhales loves, the sky imprints the moon
©inked_selenophile -
sse7enn
19w
Oh i've been day dreaming
i've been seeing you all the time
Oh now my head spinning
you're always on my mind
Oh i keep on humming
our favorite song's lines
Oh lately i'm writing
in love, these poetic rhymes -
fireblast_
19w
Read MoreC o l o r s
Blue
The color of sorrow is blue. It lives under the creases of your eyes, in words you left unsaid. It's what you feel when you board a train on a cold winter night but don't look back, when you're alone in your apartment covered in cold damp sheets and cry over all that you've lost. It's the color of the vein that throbs in your hand when you hold someone so tight. It's the color of sky, color of ocean. It's the color of everything you have to let go.
Green
It's the color of foliage covering death-stained bones of someone you never knew. It's the color of leaves before they fall, it's the pulse of earth. If you mix blue and yellow, you get green. It's that love you feel when you first meet someone only to become a stranger. It's the beginning of another ending.
Black
It's the color of fear, color of darkness. It's what you wear when you lose someone you can't replace. It's nothingness. It's the only color you can see with your eyes closed.
Red
It's the color of blood, pain and love. It's the color you write history with. It's what stays with you when you want to forget. A color you can read on a man's face when you say ''no''
Yellow
It's the color of happiness. It's the color of your favorite lullaby sung after victory. It's the laughter of clouds before they cover the sky. It's what Van Gogh ate for supper. It's the color of light, color of sun. It's what Icarus saw before burning to death.
@fireblast_
(Art and poetry belongs to me).
-
renukadeshpande_
26w
Read More// Turning leaves //
It always was beautiful in the fall. The sky was mesmerising and so was the ground. As there laid the thousands of leaves beneath the tree. Selflessly making their sacrifice. It was hard to understand or decipher that how deep this phenomenon was. As it's beauty catches the eyes off-guard. And as you walk down those beautiful lanes in the morning sun. All you can do is smile and feel blessed to be a part of this moment.
And in that moment we realise that, it isn't just about the falling of the leaves. Or the changing of world's colour. It's much more than that. It's about us, you me and everyone. Who are part of this planet. And have faced and survived this painful yet most beautiful process called; the transformation.
To begin with, change isn't ever easy. Especially the changes that change you for good. As they're all about making you better. And being better is hardly ever easy. Its more about letting things go. Even if they're once the thing you couldn't live without. It's like shedding a skin off yourself like you're being reborn. And it is also about painfully saying good-byes to people you never thought you could ever leave. It's almost doing, facing and winning over everything you never thought you could do or become.
And so sometimes when I walk down these beautiful tree leaves. I fell pain of crumpling them beneath my feet. But on the other hand I realise that that's what I do too. And you me we all do it. We leave part of ourselves like the leaves of the tree. We shed them off, sometimes it's in the form of people, feelings, emotions, memories and places. We shed. And in those moments I feel fortunate to be able to weep the loss. And express the happiness of the new buds. Unlike the tree. Which silently bears it all. As it stands tall even with all of its leaves have fallen off.
As before the new buds and the fallen leaves. There is a time, a period where the leaves have fallen and the new ones are yet to arrive. And all that is left are the vacant branches. In those cold moments there is no assurance, no gaurantee that there will be good days, or that there will be new growth. It can be the trees last fall. And it might be just inches from its end. There is no guarantee that it'll see the blossoming sun; but it stays.
And that's how it is with us. The transformation phase is so hard. That sometimes it feels like death. We feel like we are dying, along with our habits, people, places and all the things that fell off. We are tired, frustrated, sad and many other emotions at the same time.
And after months of cold and hard day's. One day all of a sudden, there is a swift breeze that brushes across. Turning the leaves as it kisses them a final good-bye. A warm good-bye. A good-bye that assures the fallen that they've done thier part and even in thier going they've done no harm but to make this earth look beautifully golden in the arrival of the new little buds.
In such moment, when I stand beneath the tree. On those fallen leaves, I gaze down. I see the yesterday, which has left off. And upwards on the tree I see those new sprouts, assuring me a better tomorrow. And as I stand there amidist the leaves. I feel the golden crisp of them mesmerisingly beautiful. As I smile to myself realising that; no matter how hard it is shed off, or to step on the fallen. This process of transformation is the most beautiful thing we as living beings can ever go through.
- renuka .d
@mirakee
@writersnetwork
@odysseus|
-
girlywriter
27w
To cure a disease
You need a medicine
To achieve success
You've to face the failures
©girlywriter -
Beneath the layers
In a corner of the kitchen,
Sat a pink little onion.
Covered in layers,
Did it hide its true nature?
One beneath the other,
Every layer had a different color.
Isn't this how, a human
Conceals his own disposition.
Keeping the soul and heart
Wrapped in several disguised cast.
Was it to mislead,
Or protect thyself from being misread.
Was it a cover to safeguard,
Or just a farce of high regard.
An arrangement of convenience,
Or sworn to self act of allegiance?
They are all pretty pink on surface,
But ungirding bring about the dermis.
Ploymorphous though it seems,
At the core it has its own distinct beam.
Every soul has its own tenderness,
Some are brittle, some are resilient.
Nonetheless at some point,
They will all disintegrate.
To keep the core unscathed,
Layers of different tint form the masquerade.
To see its true hue and form,
Win over the faith and show care and warmth.
©anushree_jain
