Quotes and poetry by thelinguist11

Main Zindagi Ka Saath Nibhata Chala Gaya,
Har Fikr Ko Dhue Mein Udata Chala Gaya.
By unknown writer

Song on my mind-

Is there, was there, could there be,
a greater curse, a shorter fuse, a hurtling meteor larger than the humanity?
You're judged and so is she,
we're all here like a profanity.
So let me and my coffee be,
So let me and my coffee be.

A Wednesday morning ode to the most potent potion, cheers.

©thelinguist11

thelinguist11 45w

poem I wrote sitting across the table from you-

If I could hold a brush like all the greats, I could maybe trace the perfect curve of your nape,
capture the lone curl on your forehead,
become obsessed till I blend the perfect colour of your irises,

If I could enchant the nib to compose sonnets in your honour,
I could perhaps talk about what I feel, when I catch you looking at me,
find the perfect words to describe your affect on me,
scribble in the margins about who I am, because you are you,

If I was anyone but me, I could immortalise you, make you the muse of the world,
but then would you only be mine?

~Sharvari
©thelinguist11

thelinguist11 45w

Being a voracious writer with a unquenchable curiosity is difficult. For we're the ones asking "What next?"
So here's to us. To all the unanswered questions with a healthy dose of reality thrown in the medleys that are the fairy tales.❤
@readwriteunite @mirakeeapp @writers_paradise @writersnetwork

~After 'Happily Ever After'.~

So what after the last page?
What's at the other side of sunset?
Will he keep her happy, or just buy her more glass slippers?
Will she be content brushing her hair forever, or will she want to venture out to leave her mark?
Will the slain dragons give him nightmares, or will he bask in their long forgotten glory with a potbelly?
Will she live in fear of spindles all her life, or will she mend tears and stitch buttons?
Will his disfigured form haunt him, or will he accept those scars as a part of his appearance?
Will she cry wolf every time, or will she shed daintiness to adopt a measure of self sufficiency?
Will he regret waking her with a kiss, or look forward to the little ritual?
Will she learn to adjust on ground, or crave those myriads of corals she used to see from the window of her childhood bedroom?
Will the scabbard revel in its magnificent glory, or will his sword rust with age?
Will the grass still look greener from the other side?
Will the ring still fit?
What next, I ask you, what next after the end?

©Sharvari
©thelinguist11

thelinguist11 79w

... sleep has eluded me, but not the thought of what could have been

©thelinguist11

thelinguist11 94w

Verandah

©thelinguist11

Sometimes he thought the house was haunted.

Jasmine scented, the house still sung to the chimes of her long gone anklets.

The English Saab still peered in the mango grove, hoping to catch a glimpse of her wiping the incriminating yellow on the edge of red saree.

The birds on the Ashoka still chirped hopefully, that any minute she'd come out to set them a bowl of water and throw some grain.

The bed still smelled of the oil concoction she applied before bed every night, a strong aroma of mustard with the undertones of coconut.

The curry leaf plant on the kitchen sill still defiantly angled itself to the sliver of sunlight.

Sometimes the air blew through the curtains, swishing in a way as though she was singing the Rabindra Sangeet, sitting in her recliner by the window.

She had left, but then why did the Hoogly weep?

She had left, but why did the moon rise every night, red with vengeance?

She had left, but then why did his bed feel feverishly warm when he lay down to sleep?

She had left, he'd seen to it, her mangled body, hastily thrown in a pit.

She was gone, and not knowing what to do next, he'd built a verandah over it.

~Sharvari

thelinguist11 94w

Word Prompt:

Write a 8 word micro-tale on Melody

Jasmine scented, my house sings with your anklets .

thelinguist11 95w

Maybe
shooting stars don't fall
maybe
they take a leap of faith
into Earth's awaiting arms
to tell you
that's it's okay to
make the jump
cross the bridge
pick up the phone ...

... And say hello.

~selfmusings
//Sharvari

©thelinguist11

thelinguist11 95w

Word Prompt:

Write a 6 word short tale on Helpless

The broken bangles pierced her soul.

thelinguist11 250w

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@romanticwriters

L'amour

Petite is my colour ,
But so is an ugly green.
I am the tear in the tapestry,
And the mend in a weary coat.
I am the wisdom of ages,
Culminated into foolish mistakes.
I am the rich and the poor,
I am the brave but I also cower,
I am manipulation and the will to be desired,
I am, to an atheist, but a mere tale of yore.
I am the lonely moon, and an all-encompassing sea, clamouring to meet him.
I am citadels burnt to ground and monuments erected.
I am a chaste bow and then the sensous 'come hither'.
I am the shelter, but I am also the storm.
I am madness and too much bluster,
I am a meek acceptance under an iron will.
I am a whisky too many and the champagne overflown.
I am the regret at deathbed,
I am the peaceful last sight.
I am the smitten,
I am the hardest goodbye.
I am a choked back sob and the utter sound of relief.
I am the doves in the lake and the aftermath of a war.
I am the temptous flight down the stairs.
I am him you write about, and I am you he searches for in the words.

-Sharvari.

©thelinguist11