Mirakee
That is grief.
The damage runs deeper
than what can be seen.
©whitewings
whitewings
Grid View
List View
Reposts
-
whitewings
1w
Read MoreThe initial reaction wasn't pain. It was panic. A million thoughts and emotions, racing in my mind. Past, present, future. Memories. Plans. Everything was suddenly up in the air. Like an internal earthquake or tsunami maybe. I wasn't calm enough to feel the pain, gauge the damage. Immediately, I went into denial. Underplaying the hurt. Telling myself that I was okay and feeling normal... that sending love and forgiveness would be easy. After all, there was love, to begin with. But as days went by... I noticed, I was unable to cry. That's when I realized... I was in emotional shock. And my emotional system had abruptly shut down. That is grief. The damage runs deeper than what can be seen.
©whitewings -
whitewings
2w
Read More
This pain runs through my body
and ties me to the ground underneath.
My veins get emptied,
to an unending pit,
at the center of the earth.
Pale and drained...
I stand, in utter shock.
Lips parted,
by the weight
of words entangled,
hanging...
hooked in my gut.
Enough air in my lungs.
Enough to keep me afloat.
But I'm drowning,
under the desert in my throat.
Your face...
blurred in my memories.
Your betrayal...
still fresh,
oozing from my heart...
bleeding.
I'm bleeding vacuum,
because that's all that remains within me.
I had given you all the keys.
Not knowing,
you... were the thief.
©whitewingsI had given you all the keys.
Not knowing,
you... were the thief.
©whitewings -
whitewings
2w
Read More
Little girl waits...
for papa to come home.
Not for the toys he'd bring,
but to merrily climb...
in the arms that feel
safe and secure.
Little girl stands,
all evening by the window...
looking longingly at the street.
Hoping it is him,
the clicking of shoes she's hearing.
She sees a silhouette come close...
with a staggering gait,
and a frown
instead of a smile on his face.
"Papa is drunk tonight",
she mumbles to herself.
"Tonight isn't for play",
he says.
And heads to the kitchen straight.
A strange woman was holding his hand.
Little girl wonders,
is she a friend of him,
or her mother's acquaintance.
Little girls hears...
screaming and crying...
plates and cups being thrown,
slaps and punches being exchanged.
Hiding behind the door,
little girl waits...
for the storm to go away.
Twenty years later,
little girl is still stuck behind that door.
Her daughter is fast asleep in the room upstairs.
The little girl waits...
in utter terror, all alone,
for her husband
to come home.
©whitewingsLittle girl waits...
©whitewings -
whitewings
2w
Read More
For a moment,
I will stop thinking about you...
and your scars and wounds.
What you did and why you did.
How you must be feeling.
For a moment,
I will think only about me
and my broken dreams.
How heart broken I am.
How deeply I am hurting.
For a moment
I will tend to
only my wounds.
The ones I received
from you.
For a moment
I will let myself hate you,
for your misdeeds,
for the pain and suffering
you inflicted upon me.
For a moment
I will forget,
all the good times we shared.
And I won't judge or stop myself.
Instead, I will accept...
that I feel betrayed
and disappointed.
Not in you...
but my own judgements,
wits and senses.
For a moment
I will grieve,
in silence.
For a moment
I will allow myself to forget,
I did truly love you.
For a moment
I will pretend,
to forgive myself...
for placing my faith,
in a coward like you.
©whitewingsFor a moment
I will pretend,
to forgive myself...
for placing my faith,
in a coward like you.
©whitewings -
Invaders to a temple...
with ropes and chisel and hooks.
Thieves and soldiers alike,
to steal and claim,
what isn't theirs.
A brick, a pillar, a tree in the courtyard
burned, demolished, destroyed.
Yet the deity stood tall.
Because the sanctum remained untouched.
Until a lizard slithered
through the alleys and cracks in the walls...
into the center,
the heart of the temple.
A poisonous sting was all it took,
to crack the marble,
to wash away the colors
of a stone statue.
©whitewings -
whitewings
2w
A heavy downpour
in the silence of the night.
Seamless they fall...
the flames of dense drops.
Droplets hit the ground,
but make no sound.
No thunder to accompany,
no lightening.
Just a silent hailstorm,
hitting and destroying
the crops.
©whitewings -
whitewings
5w
Maybe I'll just wander through life, like a tourist in a foreign land... watching people go about their daily life, work, traffic, market places and parks. Stopping by to breathe in the colors of a sunset I'd be seeing for the first and probably the last time, to pet a street dog sleeping on the pavement, to sit over a cup of tea with a random vendor and talk about religion and politics and her family. Maybe I'll own nothing, except my body, my emotions and my thoughts. And maybe I'll leave early... because I have other countries to explore.
©whitewings -
whitewings
6w
People like to call strong women as goddesses. Because that's how they want a strong woman to be... mythological, imaginary, non existent... except in fantasies. Someone who is, as well as isn't there. A soothing, calming, empowering dream... to give them courage and hope to escape grim realities. A strong woman cannot be a human. She's not supposed to be. Because humans speak. Humans feel. And humans have needs.
©whitewings -
whitewings
7w
Read More
Four seeds sown,
four grains reaped.
Every night is a journey,
to replenish
what was lost in the morning.
Just before sunrise,
a potion is brewed...
Stirred with the ladle of loss
boiling with dew
the grains I grew.
Four cups poured.
Fallen on the floor,
fifth was my cup
that remained empty.
They forgot to save
even a single drop for me.
©whitewingsFour cups poured.
Fallen on the floor,
fifth was my cup
that remained empty.
They forgot to save
even a single drop for me.
©whitewings -
whitewings
7w
Read More
As I stepped into the city, an eerie feeling wrapped my being. It was still noon time, so I brushed off the feeling to be arising due to the obvious haunted aura that spring afternoons carried in this part of the country. I took a cab and let the car window down to taste the air of this new place. But as the vehicle moved through the empty roads of a city that seemed to be haunted more than alive, I just couldn't shake a sinking feeling of dread and uneasiness that made me squirm in my seat. For the first time wide empty roads and highways and flyovers didn't make me feel free and ecstatic. Instead, they invoked in me... a sense of fear and dread. For the first time silence and stillness didn't feel soothing... but threatening. It felt like the driver was a spirit, taking me around a ghost town... through the alleys of a graveyard... a burnt down city... with thick layer of dust settled upon homes and roads and chimneys of factories that seemed to have been closed for decades. The parks were full of prickly plants... no flowers, no fruit bearing trees... quite unusual for this part of the country. All through my drive of about an hour, I didn't find a single person actively participating in life. People were... just lazily dragging their bodies around localities. As if ghosts from the cementery had found their way into the town. Death loomed in the air that I was breathing. It seemed to be a secret small cemetery that had been plucked from the spirit world and placed in the middle of a living country. And I... happened to be a random traveler... who had mistakenly stepped into this haunted land of the dead. My gut screamed... to run away before it was too late. Before I too, would become one of them... a haunted spirit... wandering out of my grave.
©WhiteWingsMy gut screamed... to run away before it was too late. Before I too, would become one of them... a haunted spirit... wandering out of my grave.
©whitewings
-
pediae
40w
Read More''Put your trust in the light while there is still time; then you will become children of the light.....”
@writersnetwork @mirakee #pediae #lightIt's not so much a worry
that Children
are afraid of the night;
of the dark,
when the light of day is gone
and the shadows combine,
they cower in fear,
but that you can understand.
what makes our foreheads
wrinkle in worry
is that our adults,
are more afraid of the light
they have ventured
far too long into the dark,
and embraced darkness,
that they are sorely afraid
of the revealing light of day
- Pediae -
It's the broken,
that knows the vulnerability of the whole!
©lord1krishna -
It was a home that changed its shape every time she tried to escape it. So that she would feel that she was in the new home, and she has escaped the old one already. But every time she opened the door of that home and stepped out, the grass under her feet felt the same. The color of the sky looked the same. The touch of that breeze on her skin felt the same too. Once, she turned around and looked at that home and asked herself why wasn't she able to feel any different after escaping so many homes, so many times? Was it about that home after all? Or was it about herself?
- Akshay Vasu -
Search for the things that you lost in the place that they were lost, not in the people who lost it.
- Akshay Vasu -
okayckay
26w
Read MoreLong time, no see!
I hope you guys are still here and writing
@whitewings @iamjass @krishnegaPoetry may not
affirm my trust
in tomorrows,
but it does
cajole me into
weathering
the storms
of todays.
© OKayCKay -
ayushsangwan
28w
and when a poem begins, it comes into form like a sweater, slowly as the ball of despair loses it wool. and when it is completed. people touch its fabric. they sense the warmth it carries. they feel as if it was made just for them. and they wear it to comfort themselves. someone else's pain becomes their remedy.
- ayush sangwan, when a poem begins -
krishnega
32w
Read MoreWhat I think of you @whitewings , me and everyone else.
________________________________________
A bird’s eye view.
Writing. Writing is all you do. You’ve grown into a dream, you’ve never dreamt of. You’re a writer. That’s all you are. You don’t try to be better, you just want to be true. You don’t want escape; you see pain, suffering, loneliness, betrayal and you’re comfortable. No hiding, no evading. You don’t see why life isn’t beautiful. You’ve seen guilty sunsets and poetic lies. You’ve walked miles and found wildflowers bloom in the battlefields. You haven’t seen it all, but, you’ve seen enough to be. Just be.
There was a time when you started. When you loved writing for reasons beyond writing. The excitement in metaphors and references. Writing took you to a different world; better people. Or at-least, that’s what you thought. Intrigued. Excited. You were young. You thought this could go on. But could it? Even then, at the back of your mind, there was Reality. Taunting. Scaring.
Slowly, words took to you. It became a habit. Every time you fell for the sky, the stars or the flowers, you would count on words to freeze the time. Trying to hold a fleeting moment. You began collecting them at the first sight. Little did you know, that the second gaze would hit you with a memory. And the third wave would be a poetry. Sometimes paper-boats bring love to your paparazzi. And you smile. You’re grateful. But you know it won’t last. And you’re tired.
You are a witness to how cruel and kind this life can be. But, you won’t tell no stories of adventure or love. You write snippets. Your words inspire stories and poems. You take no credit, nor care to know someone, beyond the writer he/she is. You don’t want to know. You don’t want to judge. Life has already begun happening to everyone. And we are all in the middle of something different.
-Krishnega | 11sep2020
#personalfavwrites #krishnega
Dedicated to: @iamjass @okayckay and for the writers here and away.You first took to words, as an artist. Now, you are only a writer, writing for the same reason the earth keeps spinning.
-Krish -
He always says that he doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of him. But you can always hear his longing for love when he said it. If you wish to leave, he’ll walk you out with a smile and make sure you feel no guilt. But if you choose to stay, he’s not going to make it very comfortable. He hasn’t had much experience with that. But, he is a good person. And I know you won’t regret staying.
-Krish -
krishnega
31w
Being young, I used to give pieces of my heart to people and hurt over their opinions and words. Now, I give only love.
My Love not being loved still hurts, but not as much. Because now I know, I’d never stand to be heartless.
-Krish -
rasiika
39w
©rasiika
