That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Grid View
List View
  • unsung_seagull 9h

    I imagine myself rolling from over a hill. Down over the slopes then to a flower laden valley. Just like a rhyme-less melody of a budding guitarist.

    I imagine myself diving in the sea. Feel the cold and brush of the liberation. Everything washed away to come up clean.

    I imagine myself living in a well. Walls collapsing, bringing upon me, all my fears. Then just flapping my wings to escape the demons.

    I imagine myself in the sky like a kite. Wind at the helm and birds as companions. The clouds shower rains and thunderbolts applause. 

    One of those days of June noons. When I'm confident enough catch moons. I imagine myself not doing anything and just watch the pouring rain.

    Brought to life by my mom's chai. Thanking life for its vanities. I imagine myself, laid back, full of gratitude. Trying to find happiness in little things of life.


  • unsung_seagull 1d

    An unfinished poem
    Is a hungry,
    Restless beast
    On a hunting spree
    For right words.

    The finished one
    Is a calm
    Composed bird.
    That makes heart
    As light as
    A humble feather.

    I wonder if I am
    Latter or former.


  • unsung_seagull 3d

    When I looked
    In the mirror
    And looked in
    My own eyes.
    Not far down
    From the best of
    Life's realisations.
    Not far away from
    The best of my

    I've found you.
    At the stroke
    Of midnight.
    When the roof
    Of my room threw
    My past on my face.
    I held a faded pic
    Between my guilt
    And prayers.
    In the clutches of
    My humiliations..

    I've found you.
    Down in a
    Dungeon when
    I was lost.
    Demons pranced
    Over my chest
    And I had to hold
    On to something.
    Often as a final
    Ray of hope.

    I've found you.
    From the ticks of
    The wall clock to
    Folds of my bed.
    The late night
    Rumbling in my
    Head to the
    Post nut clarity..

    You're not really
    Like the rustle
    Of dry leaves,
    And the feable
    Ramble of my pen.
    The steady kisses
    Of the wind and
    The ubiquitous
    Strokes of emptiness..

    I thought that love
    Would last for ever..
    But even in that

    I've found you.

  • unsung_seagull 4d

    To the one who's aloof, lonely and needs a company

    #start #pod #wod @writersnetwork

    Read More

    Your smile is
    A lie these days.
    Your eyes don't
    Ooze a genuine
    Look. You crack,
    Uncomfortable jokes
    And laugh..

    I know you've
    Built walls.
    Thick skin.
    Sharp eyes.
    Iron-clad heart.

    The glances
    You hide.
    The words you
    Give away..

    Pics you refuse
    To send and
    The songs you've
    Stopped talking

    If ever, from,
    Over your roof,
    The moon falls
    And gets you
    Soaked in starlight.

    The cosmic
    Loneliness creeps
    To your bed and
    You turn vulnerable..

    If you just wanna
    Cry it all away and
    Be real for a night.
    Don't hold back..

    Call me.
    I am there.


  • unsung_seagull 1w

    I wish,
    The day
    Were my bed,
    A blanket.

    A blissful sleep.
    And you,
    A wishful dream.


  • unsung_seagull 1w

    For the stars 
    You had promised,
    I've still preserved some 
    Darkness in me.

    For the rains
    You had assured,
    I've still kept some 
    Thirst unquenched.

    And for the rainbows,
    My bleached heart,
    Still waits like a canvas,
    In its whitish glory.

    Paint me or taint me.
    Bruises or some blemishes.
    Just don't leave me 
    Stabbed with apathy.

    Not the violence of silence.
    Don't want this
    Emptiness again.
    Pain or some peace..

    Make me feel..


  • unsung_seagull 1w

    As the ticks of
    The clock,
    Hammer through
    The stillness of
    The night.

    In a room that's
    Sleeplessly rolls,
    A person who has
    Forgotten to fight.

    Flutters like a bird..
    Corner to corner..
    Poking old wounds.
    Mocking budding

    Of memories with
    Wrinkled faces,
    Feed on colours.
    No shadows cast.
    No legacy left.
    It's a clean sweep.

    Oblivion sticks on
    The walls to absorb
    What you remember.
    Even demons are
    Anxious to make
    Their mark here..
    The dead are afraid
    Of being forgotten.

    But tonight,
    I have decided to live.

    I'll tame that bird.
    Paint on the walls,
    My fondest memories.
    I shall invite all my
    Demons for a feast.
    No one will be
    Forgotten tonight.
    No one has to die.


  • unsung_seagull 1w

    In this room where intensity of light penetrating the darkness is dwindling. Where only ticks of the clock fight the deafening silence.. Poetry is my last hope.

    I lay here suspending my animation. I roll restlessly on my bed like I've forgotten to fight long ago. I fiddle with chances of me able to make it or simply give in to fade away.

    I don't respond to the mice that run around here. Neither to the suicidal noises that take a toll now and then. It's simply a long run of nothing. Pure emptiness. A vacuum.

    Do you ever feel like you belong nowhere? Not to yourself, not to anyone or anywhere. Doesn't that send creeps sometimes? How to find a purpose in these sorts?

    Then I look around and take my mobile. Put on the incognito and jerk off hoping to fall asleep. I do. But is that the answer? Or it's the only one?

    I suppose life is a really long journey to fall asleep. Finding ways to sleep daily to pass out ultimately. Maybe sleep is where we belong. Sleep is home. The only purpose.

    #combination @writersnetwork #pod #wod #insomnia

    Read More

    Sleep is a real home.
    Insomniacs are homeless.


  • unsung_seagull 1w

    Moon was made
    A canvas to
    Paint a dream.

    Sun was tamed
    To find my way
    To heaven.

    Stars were just
    Another excuse,
    The reason is same.

    My desires always
    Take off from
    Depth of the oceans..

    Destination is her.

    Some fantasies
    Crash land on
    Barren swamps..

    Points of my despair.
    They eventually
    Become poems.

    It has rained here
    She must have
    Opened her window
    And kissed the winds
    Of Punjab today..

    Monsoon in my place,
    Is an event of
    Her grace.


  • unsung_seagull 1w

    Thoughts are
    Running wild
    To fall into words.
    And I'm tired of
    Just another verse.

    I want someone
    To come along,
    To usher rains.
    Not to write this time
    But to sing
    Some songs.

    I'm tired of
    The unsung.
    I just want to dance.