Miraquill
.
©winter_dreams
winter_dreams
Only me.
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winter_dreams
24w
Read MoreTo miraquill,
As an engineering student who is avidly told about entrepreneurship, I understand the growing and expanding of this app, the changes and all the other things that have happened since 2019 (I guess?).
And miraquill is a good name, but even today when I install this app, I type mirakee on the search bar.
So, as a writer who was here in 2018 mirakee era, I feel conflicted. I miss the old feed, the old people who have left and perhaps, the old me, too. I have no doubt that platforms will grow but for us, the old writers, mirakee will be fond memories of our favorite people, our favorite poems, our favorite words and our favorite comment sections. So, as a writer, I feel sadness and longing for the things that once used to be.
My journey on this app will always be my fondest memory because I remember experimenting writing, then writing for validation and finally, writing for myself and accepting that. And at the expense of sounding crazy, maybe a lot of journeys are like that.
I have always wanted to write this out but felt as if it was of no importance to anyone, or me, but it is important because mirakee chased a lot of my nightmares away. I still come here to write when I want to just write and let go and I still come here to read people who bring back good old times to me and I still come back sometimes to just read.
And as I conclude, I feel acceptance for my writing, which is an important part of me and I feel acceptance of reality, as we all do. This is what life is. A good old simple chapter in our book waiting to make our future selves realize: this is good. Future is fond of simple past even if it seems complicated in the present.
-Juhi, winter_dreams -
winter_dreams
26w
Read More
I write it feeling I'm invalid. This is invalid. Me is not real. My emotions are not worthy.
But if I think like this
If this is not it, what is?What is me?
I may confuse you
But I confuse me more.
You know what? I don't care about you
Not for this moment
Because I care too much about you.
Always.
There is a difference between what is me
And who am I?
Today I ask myself
What is me?
I was roaming the corridor and I saw something
Peaking out of someone's room
Something that reminded me of my life like it was a few years ago.
It seemed almost homey.
What is me? Why was it like me?
What is it to me?
Why am I restless?
Why is there so much going in my brain at such a great speed?
Is this what I call anxiety?
Or something to anyhow force reality at the back of my mind?
What is me without the people in my life?
Without the people in my past that are hard to let go?
I want so much to open something in the reality driving away machine in my hand
Until I realise what this actually is
What this all actually means
There are no commas no full stops
It all fades away into nothingness so fast
But that is how it is in my mind
And if I can't accept it, how do I expect you to accept it?
I want to care so much about everything
Just not about things that matter
Because if I do it will become real
And reality is not good today.
It would take effort to make it good for tomorrow.
Effort I don't know how to make
Anxiety I don't know how to suppress
Doubts I don't know how to extinguish
But if I drown
If I drown again
The water will ask
"What was all it for?"
And I can ignore the water
But the reflection, it demands answers
Even in dreams.
©winter_dreams -
winter_dreams
39w
Read More
WHEN I BREAK
When I break, may it be in such glory
That you feel bewitched watching me crumble
Let's create a romance so devastating
They come and see and cry and come again.
When I break, may it be on the banks of the river
May it be such a leap of shattered pieces
That the water wonders,
Will my depth cover the damage in clean deception
Or will it stretch through the oceans,
Like the pieces of herself?
When I break, may it be so loud
It will deafen anyone who doesn't care
And feel like crystal of despair and power simultaneously
On the ears of people I give the power to watch me unbecome my soul essence.
When I break, may it be so blazing
It burns everything that is not me
And i feel content in my ashes
Travelling the world.
When I break, may the trust I build be so strong
It doesn't break the people I trust or me
May it break everything I let happen
But not everything I made happen.
When I break, may it be in an unsymmetrical poem
May it make sense to everyone in their own way
Enough to let me break
Enough to let them break
Just, enough.
-JuhiWhen I Break
©winter_dreams -
winter_dreams
55w
Read More
I know it is a very long story, but I realized something today and wanted to share it, I apologize for all the grammatical errors in advance. ❤️
The Kitchen And The Lizard
So it is my duty to clean the kitchen before sleeping every night and usually I do it right after the dinner is done. In this season, no matter how much I keep the kitchen clean, lizards enter the kitchen because it is hot outside and there is water in kitchen, hence, providing coolness. I have made my peace with it, I clean the kitchen thoroughly at night and first thing in the morning to maintain hygiene and check for lizards. Today, though, we went to terrace right after dinner and what was supposed to be a 15 minutes walk turned out to be a 2 hour long conversation with a friend. And since I usually don't go out and socialize much, mom was okay with leaving me on terrace and hence by the time we came down, kitchen was still in need to be cleaned. What I didn't comprehend was there was no commotion and light in the kitchen for 2 hours, there was a chance that a lizard will be there. I switch the light on and freeze because I see a lizard right in front of me near sink, what felt like staring at me. Now I am, on some days, extremely brave and shoo them away and on some days I have this irritational fear that they will jump on me if I go near them.
Today was the day I was scared of them, but like triple the amount. So I froze on the entrance for a good one minute before mom came and I said, don't worry, I'll take care of it. My brain was completely frozen and I was scared. So my mom said, take the mixture of dettol and water on the serving and spray it on the lizard, they can't stand the smell of it. It was something I know by heart, having done this many times before, but in the moment, I had no idea how I'll do it. But I sent mom to bed already and had to do it myself. So I slowly backed away, brought the mixture and froze again at the entrance of kitchen. For good 15 minutes I had no idea what to do and how to do it, even if I had done this a million times before. It was very late at night and everything in the house was very quite and as I felt the strength to take a step forward, the lizard moved. It was nearing the kitchen stand and I couldn't let that happen because I still had to clean, so I took quick, scared steps and sprayed the mixture on it. After good 20-25 sprays, it was out the window and I was shaking. Even as I was cleaning the kitchen, I felt shaky and it took good few minutes past my normal time for me to do my basic work. And as I came to my bed I realized, it took me 15 minutes to gather strength to do something that was over in probably 30 seconds or less.
Sometimes in life, it takes us time to move forward as well. We stare at our insecurities and freeze. We can't back out because of the work we have to do for our dreams and future but that lizard, oh man. Staring us in the eye and making us freeze. Although it is difficult to stand outside the kitchen in that uncomfortable position but it feels safer than the feeling of the lizard, aka the doubts creeping on us. It becomes the comfort zone, staring at the insecurities, telling us, what if you never move on? What if you never succeed in life? And we get so absorbed in those insecurities we don't see the kitchen require cleaning and we are wasting our time. But when the lizard gets close to affecting our kitchen, the kitchen we spend time on daily to clean, we make a move. And we may shake on those days and doubt what we are doing and go to bed late and think I'm stupid, remember you still cleaned the kitchen, the lizard is outside your house, you made it go away, or even it is not, when you wake up in the morning, you'll clean your kitchen and maybe you'll find it below your gas stove and jump back a little, but you will always make it go away, clean the kitchen and do your work, you didn't let the kitchen stink or stay dirty. You worked, even if it meant facing the lizard.
©winter_dreams -
winter_dreams
67w
You And Her and Death
You come home smelling like her
And in the warmth of your hug
I ask myself, is it even my place to ask?
Is it my place to doubt?
Funny enough, I've never learnt where my place is since then.
You come home smelling like her
I don't know how many 'hers'
I've lost count or maybe my mind
And as you hug me again
I wonder if it's alright if I wish you weren't here
I wonder if it's alright to be angry with you.
Funny enough, I've never had the sense to connect my emotions to myself again.
You come home smelling like her
And this time I stare before I hug
You smile and give me a lie
It must've been good enough
I see everyone around me smile
And I wonder maybe my eyes and nose lie?
Maybe there is no gravity in my doubts.
Funny enough, I never look in the mirror and smile, it reeks of you, and you reek of her.
Death, you see, has two meanings in my dictionary.
One where you walk out the door and never come back
Two where you are lifted out of the door and never brought back.
You come back home smelling like her again
This time there are no hugs, no smiles,
No decency to lie.
And as you sit on the front of the sofa watching TV
I wondered if it's okay if I wished to not see you again
And I never did.
You chose the wrong death.
Funny enough, I've never given myself the luxury of choices again.
I sped to 85 on a 50 road
Trying to find the smell of home in the tress I pass
I break 1000 plates that reek of anger
Trying to find the crack to mix with despair and grief
I punch the mess, reek of blood and look in the mirror
I don't smile
I don't see you
I drive back to the empty house in trail of blood and horns
I don't give myself the privilege of choice, you took that away.
You don't come home and I don't smell her
I try to breathe, to be free
And in the cold emptiness
I lie on the bed and ask myself
Can I take it back?
Would I mind her smell again if it means you come home again?
And I close my eyes and don't hide.
Funny enough, funerals don't lie, neither did my love.
You did. She did.
©winter_dreams -
winter_dreams
86w
Read More
Hello everyone. I'm back. Kinda? Did y'all miss me?
Okay. So I have a lot to say. I missed mirakee soooo much.
I forgot how I could write whatever I want here.
I've been a lil antisocial lately. It's like a lot of things making sense all at once and it gets a lil too much sometimes .
I feel guilt, embarrassment, resent, regret but the feeling that gave me the final push to download mirakee again was...
I realized that we're all alone, fighting our own battles in this world and for the first time this doesn't scare me or makes me sad. I don't know. For the first time in forever, I don't feel like I need someone's attention. I'm happy having my own attention.
Here's a piece from the mess of my ocean :)
#mirakee #writersnetwork:):
There are stars in my smile
And they form small constellations to hold onto people.
My comfort and trust were travellers,
Staying in anyone, who shows a flicker of care.
Maybe my hollowness was full of itself
And I had no room to share.
Comfort now shivers in a dark corner,
Refusing to come out and soak reality.
Trust comes home once a year, shakes its head
And takes a U-turn
But not before promising another visit.
It tells me,
"If upto me, I would've cut all ties,
But my lover, hope, thinks it ain't right."
Insecurities tip-toes in the room as I write,
Hand in hand with its best friend, doubt.
They sparkle their magic glitter and I feel dizzy,
All that is not me, shines bright.
So bright I thought I'm black and hollow.
Oh wait. I am.
And as the dizziness disappears,
It takes away a little of me with it.
Somedays pride, somedays confidence.
Today though, a gust hollers from my favorite window,
The only clean and pure thing in this room
And as I try to digest the fact
That the last good thing inside is about to get tainted;
The window overhauls the hollers to sounds
And I feel it before I see it, loneliness.
I close my eyes and wait for sadness and fear to come through,
But they don't.
I see light, blinding light,
At midnight.
I see stars of my smile, smiling in their own light.
Then, loneliness makes a sound
And everything falls into place.
©winter_dreams -
winter_dreams
107w
Read More
Ab - Normal?
This is not a writeup.
This is my heart bleeding the only way it knows.
I've never felt like I truly belonged somewhere.
I never felt I'm one of the crowd.
And I wanted to. For so so long.
It started a long time ago too.
My parents used to work and on days when I had to be picked up from school,
There were often miscommunications.
I used to watch parents come and children go with them.
More so often than not I was the last one to go home.
I've never felt like I'm normal.
I can stand in between group of people and
I'll always have this feeling
They all have something in common, every last one of them, that I don't.
And that's why they communicate so casually.
I always felt left out.
I've had trust issues even before I knew the meaning of this term.
I don't have anyone to call my home. No friends I can really call my true friends.
You'll often find me mingling, smiling, making conversations
But I'll never tell them what's on my mind.
My throat refuses to let those words out of the cage.
What if my thoughts, feelings, emotions are weird, different, not normal?
I've tried making peace with the fact I don't know how to hold people in my life.
They always slip away.
All of the people surrounding me know this secret
The key to my insecurities.
They know or they fake confidence amazingly.
Some days, most days, I feel ashamed of my own thoughts.
I feel ashamed of loathing me.
Other days, I pick myself up and move on.
I tried talking to people, random strangers and failed.
I don't really know what I want anymore.
I don't really know what is normal anymore.
-Juhi
( i knowwww. I may or may not remove it soon.
I knowww. I'm like the worst one for not replying to you people. I'm fine. Kind of. Thank you for caring. I hope you all are too.).
-
winter_dreams
118w
Close your eyes and cry,
Sing softly and don't ask me why.
©winter_dreams -
winter_dreams
119w
Read More
I sometimes forget how tangled I am.
I sometimes forget how okay it is to be so.I've three years worth of tears left to cry
It's time to be on my own
I've been sputtering apologies straight for years now
I thing it's time to forgive myself before I'm far too gone.
©winter_dreams -
Heal
I'm coming to terms with a lot of things these days.
I don't miss people, I miss what I was when I was with them,
The extremely pure power of positively and determination I possessed.
I guess we spend most of our life earning respect and chasing love,
I think the most we need is to close our eyes and feel the respect from our hearts reflecting in our minds.
I've been told I speak a lot less these days, I work a little more, I think a little more, I feel a little more.
Some random part of a book I read a long time ago hit me suddenly today, at a random hour and I had a good cry.
I bid a little more farewell, I felt a little less.
I realised people around me are a little less different than me and I expected to feel the content of normalness,
But all I felt was a sharp slap of logic and a warm hug of desires to be my own self.
I look inside and feel hate sometimes,
Sometimes I am amazed I am still standing,
Sometimes it's pure confusion.
But I'm not numb anymore.
It's a tiny step,
But a step nonetheless.
The above lines don't relate to each other
And it brings me comfort,
To wrap all extreme parts of me in one.
I guess I will heal, the depression and over thinking a few people I loved in the past gifted me are ready to rest in the near future.
I guess I'm coming to terms with things that are normal,
To still love people who aren't around,
To miss memories we had with people and feel guilt,
To feel it is acceptable to move on from guilt,
To accept demise and be okay with grieving.
It will all come to an end
And then we'll have another round
And another end
And another round.
I'll writing heartbreaking stories,
I'll cry with them and I'll heal,
I'll break again.
As long as I learn to depend on myself,
In weakness and strongness,
I'll be okay.
©winter_dreams
-
shizaine
38w
Read MoreMy refrigerator is a mess. It's almost been eleven months since I bought the cheese, almost nine since it expired, almost seven since you died. The cheese for the Paprika Pie, you were supposed to teach me how to bake. It doesn't stink, you know. It's just there, wrapped in plastic, 'authentic greek Feta'. I just don't have the heart to throw it out, and so it stays.
It's almost frustrating how your death affects me. In the most mundane of things, the shattering finality of it. The stabbing invasiveness in every moment I experience, the beautiful ones, the tragic ones, every place I go to. You will have none of that, nothing. Every future photograph will find you missing.
But today's about cheese. While I'm away at work, my roommate decides to clean the refrigerator. When I return home, I find the cheese in the garbage.
'You...', I say dumbly, 'you... threw the cheese...'
'Yes, duh!' comes the almost irritated reply, 'Do you NOT look at the expiry dates or what!'Feta
-
raika_
30w
We are the fragments of
past and future
randomly assorted together
into a present
living imperfect days,
wishing for
a perfect tomorrow
We are a bundle of lies
that we tell ourselves,
stacked together
with insecurities
staring at the sand
slip away in the hourglass
wishing for every second
to be our last
Our souls were
dipped in rainbows
when we were born
and now the colours
are wearing off with
every passing minute
and if you look closely,
you'll see how we all are
shades of black and white
on the outside
and voids on the inside
Will we ever be okay?
-raika -
thegreymetaphor
35w
Read More"I absolutely want nothing but to be held right now", she manages to whisper in between sniffles as the grip of her fingers entwined on mine tightens.
I look at her helplessly, my fists clench. How much more? I wonder, grudging. How close do I need to hold you for you to stop wanting to be held? How tight should my clasp on you be for you to not uproot my nails when you turn your back on me? All over again. I want to say it out loud and preface it with a bitter laugh. I don't, ofcourse. Because she's breaking down. And I'm tagging along, whether I like it or not.
"I'm such a mess", she finally forces a sigh, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation, almost mad at herself.
"You're such a ... Rudolph", I retort confused, only half joking because her sniffling nose beneath those glossy eyes is a shade of crimson due to all the sobbing over a jerk who wouldn rather love someone else. I close my eyes before they can roll.
"Stop making me laugh."
"Stop crying then!" I almost shout. Staring blankly at her, my face expressionless, hopefully not at all transparent to the frustration coursing through me.
She gives me one of her defiant looks. The one that says I'm-not-mad-but-I'm-gonna-be-a-brat. Eyes indignant, lips puckered up into a little pout. Face flushed and nose red. So much for having the prettiest face on the planet. Pathetic!
"Keep looking at me like that and I'll kiss you till you drop", I say with a straight face, not at all joking.
But she snorts. Ofcourse.
"You mean like my very platonic roommate?" She laughs, making finger quotes around "platonic", evidently recalling what the bastard had said.
"Don't you quote that jerk to me, it's repulsive!" I clench my fist again.
"Hey! Don't be like that now. It's not his fault and you know it. We don't get to choose whom we fall for", says the girl who has just spent two hours breaking down, in defence of her heartbreaker.
"Besides", she continues, "I love the way he loves him. Keenan makes him happy in a way I never can. I'd never have known of the existence of that doe-eyed smile if it wasn't for him.", says this girl like it's the only truth she's ever known. Like it's not at all a punch in the gut to say it out loud. This girl who says stuff such as this with utmost sincerity and then wonders at 2:00 ams if there's anything even remotely lovable about her.
"I love the way he loves him."
I reiterate her words to myself, over and over again, because that's the only set of words that makes sense tonight.
They hang in the air around us as I hold her fragile frame a little closer than I intend to.
©Srishti
____________________________________________________________________
If you want to believe this isn't fiction, be my guest.
Also, this is grossly hopeless. Eww.
But then, what is hopeless if not my definition of love?
Okay again, eww.Single plank bridge
I've never been afraid of love.
But I'm terrified of who I become when I hold someone nearer than necessary.
©thegreymetaphor -
Hold on
Inhale storm to exhale garden winds
Let dusts sit on thy lips like rainbows
Restrict'd rabbits run anxiously inside
Still knit legs with let-go-learnt-leaves
Holy is an eve of honeyed holocausts
Flowers thou hold are thunder-struck
Afraid to be vulnerable to tricky touch
Reserved it tries to get buried into clay
Self grave feels like a home in heaven
Still patriotic petals struggle to bloom
Mislead thy ghosts amidst redwoods
Greys relax spines on the rigid greens
Hold those hands of dancing branches
Sing battle-chant with injur'd sparrows
Paint hope on the dying sun for healin'
Benches are beaten by red retro-roses
Older faces giggle like young first love
Sink in the moments of solitude-sitting
Not noise but celebrate joy in kid plays
Look around brokenness is lov'd purely
Faces try to lose masks but life doesn't
Transient peace pays tribute to traumas
Future and past get washed away softly
An ultimate truth of present satisfies you
For it's a soulful walk of just-wrecked-will
©jeelpatel -
Bohemian Brain-freeze
Corrupt are the souls that fail
to chuckle at a giggling toddler,
clinging onto it's first few threads
of life; to remind them
that it's not human to term
a posthumous love child as forbidden,
is as absurd a tomfoolery
as a turnkey trying to plant harmony
in a lunatic's mind.
For, it's the same societal dogma
that says -
five bloodied polka dots
on your white skirt and you become
an instant persona-non-grata
even to the colourblind;
that life doesn't drop out of a celibate's womb
will be a tight-lipped truth they'll take to tomb.
I say, it's borderline touché
that despite countless self-proclaimed,
woke people in this one hell of a
social-media-friendly-progressive world,
'the recurrent admission that I belong nowhere,
is the closest I've felt to homely' -
is what many, like me, must blatantly chant away;
to us, peace is now just a broken switchboard
across heaven and hell,
as dysfunctional as a marital milquetoast
on a 24×7 thankless job minus the decent pay.
A little cognitive dissonance at play
and one might often find me sparwling out
at broad daylight, when
crickets and critiques think it best to shut up.
The hot, stinky chicken soup,
on a playful Friday,
smells less worse than the dog
that I forgot to wash
(because I, precisely, don't have one);
it's hotter than the hotbed of moon-madness
my poetry holds - one callous sip of ecstacy
and it sets off to draw loops on a comatose tongue:
slurp, slurp, slurping into an itch
for a dirty apple porridge chunk.
You see, there's nothing more delicately
detrimental than a lonely man's pain.
Long shaky voicemails (never sent),
few hastily-paused alarming video clips,
an unhealthy proportion of semi-chewed pills,
and staunch clinomania - and there -
he has sealed off his telltale terrain
(which, by the way, none ever question) -
and this how you effectively reach
yet another dead end.
And just so you know, this is all but a sloppy,
ornamental aide-memoire;
a frivolous ploy,
to hereby leave you behind
as an added witness
to the seasonal submission
of a candid killjoy.
©Merusri Mukherjee -
mirror
46w
Read More//absaar
(sight)
hazy when it rains
i look out of a window
stretching my palms towards freedom
pretending
that there is more to this world
while a subdued part of me wonders
what more can i ever see
through the only window i am allowed to keep
fuzzy when it's cold
my window is frosted
with facades and faint cries
of everything that is
protecting me from what lives
outside my room
that my crutches cannot distinguish
with two clicks on the ground
on the other side of the only window
i am allowed to keep
bright in summer, i feel heat
i try to look outside but my eyes betray me
as i fail to make sense of the beauty
that i've only drawn in pictures
that are now paper planes, flying
i scratch the window, try to break through
for myself
a view
that is for once not adulterated
with the descriptions
from the eyes of everyone else
who's been luckier than me
to see the world, unfiltered
but what view do i see
when my eyes physically prevent me
from distinguishing between
sky blue and tree green
as i sit behind a dead black screen
realising, that to me, the world shall always look alike,
through whatever window i'm allowed to keep.
©mirrorabsaar
©mirror
-
Snoring.
Do I have a
Claim over asking
Questions?
If yes, then I’ll ask,
All in whys,
Maybe write a song
Out of it,
Or a poem,
Because I won’t
Get answers,
From indifference snoring
In the next room,
But I do require
A song or a poem,
Badly, out of fear,
To keep me from
Sinking, every
Night.
©greypages_ -
For what to be
Loved feels like,
He won’t leave,
I can scratch that
On the back of my
Palm,
I have faith in my
Waters,
But for what to be
Hurt feels like,
He won’t look back at me,
I want to scratch my
Name on the back of
His palm,
To not let him leave,
But,
I made the water
Too cold,
For what my warmth
Ascertains
The cold invalidates,
And now,
I will have to bear the scars,
His cold, austere breath
Filling my lungs,
Every second
Till he relents.
©greypages_ -
unsung_seagull
27w
Read MoreBeginning of a new perspective starts with listening
#beginning @writersnetwork
WnrListen
Listen to the breeze
As it passes by.
The rustle of the leaves,
The calm it assures.
Listen to the thoughts
It invokes, as it
Touches your insides.
..
Listen to the river
As it cuts through rocks.
The pebbles it
Brushes past.
The persistence it
Inspires.
Listen to the tones
It brings you back,
As it flows soaking
Your heart.
..
Listen to the snow
As it settles on the soil.
The white that covers,
The cold that spreads.
Listen to the fire
It can light.
In the corner of
Your mind.
The summer that's
Still alive.
..
©unsung_seagull -
53.7%
The man took out his belt,
marked her skin in a Valentine red,
I think, I think loud, that she prayed,
She said, "Allah, where's relief?"
The man took out his belt,
marked her skin in a Valentine red,
I think, I think loud, that she prayed,
She said, "God, end this today."
The man took out his belt,
marked her skin in a Valentine red,
An atheist, she didn't pray,
She perhaps remembered how
her father cut her ma down,
pulled her out from a dead pit,
and how he didn't stroke her skin,
On February Fourteen!
Can you compensate?
Women are so ignorant,
they turn to different Gods,
they turn away from Gods,
Yet, they keep saying,
"Perhaps, God is a woman!"
Would you ask Saraswati,
to come down to school,
in a skirt?
Oh yes, since you believe,
Would you dare to ask,
Mother Saraswati to come down,
in a skirt?
Uniforms cling to my skin,
A liberal, I scream,
"Liberation, here it is!"
Meanwhile, a trans woman
who cannot afford a transition,
looks at herself in a pant and a shirt,
because that is the binary garb,
kills herself.
What's suicide?
Most of it is institutionalised murder.
Sister, I don't know if you have read Marx,
Lacan, Kant, Derrida, or two pages of Clara Zetkin, Dhasal, Mahasweta Devi or even Arundhati Roy for the matter of fact.
I don't know if you will choose to.
All I know is, if you want to hold a book in your hand, and the saffronised warmongers do not let you, here we will rage with you,
clothed and naked,
as naked as Nangeli,
as naked as the raped body of Thangjam Manorama,
or as clothed as Savitribai Phule,
or as clothed as my mother,
who wears a saree with ardent care, everyday.
Here, we will rage with you, today,
for they have taken away the book
from your hand.
We will March again,
twenty or two hundred,
with pride,
yet with shame,
ashamed at our female literacy rate,
so stagnant at a quivering,
fifty three point seven percent.
©accismus
