Miraquill
The Fordrunken Relâche - Kickshaw Still, Yet Hadean For Keeps.
The Night of Shame.
Stars were glittering in her eyes. She was drinking cloudy bay through her charms. Eating pretzels on her first dinner, she was a charm aye. Her eyes, intoxicating enough to sunk the ships of cupids. Yet, polarizing the visions of pervasive puns. I had one night of comfort, where everything started over marlboro and macallan 18. I'm indulging in the sweet abusal of conscience, with my mind on fucks and curses. I was alone though, adrift until the next puff of purge. The smoke of heavy hearts, the ash tray of dreamers, dibs on that. My will was kneeling and hands got clumsy. Yeah, the writer in me was breaking the mould. It's either deep sleep of guilt and favours or metamorphosis. Well, the night was young, or so i thought before doing the unspeakable. What's the greatest sin of all time ? Asking for love, no. Forgiveness, maybe. Cruelty, for sure. Socializing, yeah whatever. My mistake ? I asked for the light. My desperacy for finishing my night with the last cig friend of mine costed me. Well, it wouldn't be bad if it's just the light. The worst is yet to come. My depraved and defiled senses got sober as she lit my last dose of nicotine. I was in between the sweet, yet synchronised slaking of smoke as the cigarette was snatched from me lips. Now, usually the other one in me gets all cranky when it happens. But then again, me getting angry in this wasted phase, yeah that was a good idea. And yep, it was almost about to happen, but the cig had landed on me lips again. I turned my gaze, just out of curiosity and it leads to her. This epitome of simplicity, the zero fucks given personality, the sweet charm and one plain smile of trouble. And evening in lombard st. would be fun they said, have at it, they also said that though. Well, i ain't worried, she was. I would have normally handled the liquor, but then again i was not going too. What's the point of wasting the night, if being sober is the goal. Why so stiff and weird. Why about letting the guard down. What about painting pictures, what about writing delicacies. What about love, what about friendship. Why the frustration ? Why not one more round, don't forget her name though. Medaline, she said. Medaline it is. I'm going down, way down than me troubles, it's getting darker. You're moving funny, and I'm writing bullshit. Maybe tomorrow M, maybe tomorrow. If I'm lucky enough. Pardon my liquor and have my gratitude. This was a good one. A coincidence, merely. A night to savour maybe. Along came the dawn, vice. You're in the bed, reeking of abusals. You opened the drapes and here comes the mocking. The sunshine stabbing the warmth on your normal face. The cool breeze healing what was damaged the last night. You made yourself appropriate and check for the wallet. Good lord, it's there along with a crumbled paper. Yep, there's the bill you would've said. You opened the paper to face the taxation of happiness. And it's a number with nothing but a note. The pleasure is all mine. Huh, trouble found me. And along came the simper, curse the writings and cheers to what's next. Love long and let go of lassitude. Love conquers all. A life of loathing, a heart of fear, an ego of entirety and this guilt of pen. Shalom aleichem, Madeline. For the light being.
©_hadeantusche
_hadeantusche
The ink here is idle. Don't be here.
-
_hadeantusche
4w
Read More"There is always madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."
– Friedrich Nietzsche
#damned #kickshaws -
Rant ///
Why do people lose ?
Maybe, they want to.
Sometimes, they don't.
Then again, they do.
Defeat is not needed.
Loss is respectable.
People should cry.
Everything falls.
Despair stands.
Latom.
©_hadeantusche -
वक़्त-ए-नज़ारा ///
कागजों में ढूँढोगे इल्म या तिलमिलाहट से पूछोगे,
फ़ासिक़ बेग़ैरत है पूरा, किसे शराफ़त से पूछोगे,
ज़ब्त क़लाम है क्यों, कैसी ख़ामोशी है कफ़ से,
बदमस्ती आबशारों की अब इंतेज़ारों से सुनोगे,
दोज़ख फ़क़त वाबस्ता थी, मेरी शाहकारी भी पूछोगे,
क़ल्ब सितमगर हैं सभी, क्या शिकस्तें सारी ही पूछोगे,
इल्तिमास गर्द क्यों रहे, कैसा उन्स है अदाकारी से,
अब इम्कान-ए-अज़मत भी पूरी फ़ासिक़ की सुनोगे,
तुम लबों की इमरोज़ हर नज़ाकत पूछोगे,
अब कातिब से किताबत का पता भी पूछोगे,
खुद आफ़त-ए-आबादी की उलझन हो कब से,
खानाबदोशों का हिज्र क्या फ़ासिक़ से सुनोगे,
मुख़ालिफ़ बन तुम सराब की मसाफत पूछोगे,
किल्लत-ए-ख़ुतूत की वाकिफ कहानी पूछोगे,
फ़ासिक़ से कहना, मेरी इमदाद हो अदब से,
और आगे से इबारत महज़ शकेबा से सुनोगे
©_hadeantusche -
Mercy///
May the mercy macerate the myths of me pen. May the ether provides vice to metatron. The bishops are coming and time is up.
©_hadeantusche -
_hadeantusche
10w
Read More
As soon as this trial started, i have made a vow to myself. I will not change any of my profile pictures. My profile here has the image of JD. And i won't change it until the verdict arrives. Well, it did.
JOHNNY DEPP HAS PROVED THAT HE HAS BEEN DONE WRONG BY ALL MEANS. UNANIMOUSLY.
YES, MY FAVOURITE ACTOR IS NOT GUILTY.
AND YES, I STILL WON'T CHANGE MY PROFILE PICTURE. WHY THE HELL WOULD I ?
It's JOHNNY F'N DEPP afterall.
#JusticeforjohnnydeppJOHNNY DEPP///
Thank You Johnny. Thanks for telling the world that men can be abused too. Thanks for telling the fake feminists that men can be gas lighted too. Men too can fall for the cheap tricks of misconduct. Yes, domestic violence is a serious thing. Yes, men suffer more dv than the women. Yes, the life of a men can be ruined too. Yes, talking about it matters. Yes, justice is mandatory. Yes, you have won. You, beautiful, beautiful person. It's a pleasure to be on your side. I can proudly say, that I'm a fan.
And, to Amber, the narcissist - This is the day you will always remember as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow.
Thanks to the Jury and the Court.
JUSTICE SERVED LATE, BUT STILL STONE COLD. YOU CAN BELIEVE THAT. -
Rant///
I'm done with everything, yet just getting started somehow.
©_hadeantusche -
_hadeantusche
23w
Read More
Yea, all things live forever, though at times they sleep and are forgotten.
- H. Rider Haggard
#beyondsinful #damnedParanoxysm///
Yes you were. You were my oblivion, the tears of this everlasting trance. The one which berates every sense of mine. I might not be accepting it nowadays, but i also wanted to go over the excellencies. I wana waste myself on par with paragons, where pedantic people polarize the plausibility of this proverbial purge. Maybe we don't deserve the moon for our time, maybe the vehemence of prometheus is too much to ask for now. Maybe nebula is better without two noxious souls of hexes and hell. They were worried for me, those who don't have nothing to do with this egotistical rigmarole of mine. I have seen the romantic dawn admiring the blood of benevolence. I have seen the corruption of dreams to the last rites of reconnaissance. Why do the good suffer ? What about thomas ? Why do we fail so viciously ? What's wrong with Bruce ? What is the value of dignity on the market of humanity ? I fuckin' stand by Johnny Depp. Why do tears emerge ? I wonder if hazel ever cried to the point of numbness. What is the fault of the victim ? My heart goes out for Aaliyah. Why would i read Shakespeare ? Fuck this charade of playing pretences, to hell with the literature. Moloch might be obliged to that, but vice isn't. I have seen the delicacies of death, with necromancers chanting for the devastation to come over. I have seen the affection of fear and loathings, where nicotine is the valentine of those doomed to dismal dystopia. They will continue to abuse the humanity, with their painful trance of totalitarian travesty. They are indeed sealed in the bonds of quietus, me too, moloch, me too. Stop that ? For what, i mean nothing is stopping it, the stagnant slander of mobile malady. See, i told you this would happen, i kept telling you about dema and the tyranny of stereotypes. But, you never listened. You are the one responsible for me moloch, you're the undersigned here, the one with your hand over my shoulder. You have played too much of this round. Being a howitzer, not so good now are we, eh ? Time's up, the jig is over, hail mary flipped herself on your sorry sins. You are all alone with me now. So tell me again moloch, Why would i stop ? I might not be the one for love and laters, but yeah, I'll make sure to be the one. The one of that kind, moloch. The one who will butcher your insecurities, your plugs and pipers. I will pay my respects too, salut. Your teachings, you say. Well, i did learn from you, and yeah I don't want halves and halves. I want everything in entirety. I want your quill, i want your liquor and yeah i want your persona. So yeah, no more suicidal sprees, no more scathing upon the broken hearts. No more payphones for happiness and health. You wanted me to take the throne and here i am, MOLOCH. Still a nuisance for the hell's chariot. Hail Satan they say, some are against it, some are here to spat on me face. Do i care, hell nah ? It's just like pac said ? This that solo ride to rumble. This is my knowledge from them greats. I have studied their cadence, i have copied their style, and it's about that time. The time, where you are to hold upon your dear life and legacy. The moment y'all been waiting for, the butchers and behemoths. Ahh, it's like a breath of fresh air, you call this madness, eh, Moloch. Me, I call this paranoxysm. So yeah, die and remain dead. Farewell, me confidante. The praxis continues, this stoicism however will not.
©morosingvice_ -
Meet me on the top,
where it's all vibrant,
the moon, the mind,
the stars, the thrill,
Meet me on the top,
where it's all of you,
the wine, the lyrics,
the smile of solace,
Meet me on the top,
be with me, come,
join the jollity, join,
this mind of mine.
©morosingvice_ -
_hadeantusche
24w
की साया भी साथ नहीं है शफ़क़ के हिज्र में फ़ासिक़,
क्यों ताबीर हराम करते थे नदामतें फ़ाश करने की
©morosingvice_ -
_hadeantusche
25w
I wonder if the writer within me will smile on greeting death, with our existence reeking of repugnant repercussions. I wonder if i will adore the fright that's yet to come. If only i could know, if only i could try. No wonder why, no reason to be. I wonder if i could dwell in it, the wonderland.
©morosingvice_
-
anush18
12w
Read Moreeven when the heart dies, hope continues to exist. hope was invented for humans, for us to deal with our constant pain, for us to know that overpowering anxiety will make you die, but you're more powerful than that. Hope respects you, you hope for the moments that aren't right, you hope that one day you will meet that someone you've always wished to meet, you hope that one day this void won't be there, you hope that you will meet your grandmother in heaven, you hope that one day you will meet your long lost friend, you hope that you will achieve what you want to.
When loneliness creates its evil shadows in your brain, you look for hope, the only friend you think of, the only abstract feeling that can support you to thrive even in the blues. when everything leaves, blues stay, But even then hope is there.
I don't agree that hope was invented because we are a mental time machine.
It was invented for us to stay in peace.
©anush18
//We are always getting away from the present moment. Our mental existence, which are immaterial and have no dimensions, are passing along the Time-Dimension with a uniform velocity from the cradle to the grave.//
H.G. Wells, The Time Machine
@writersnetwork #ceesrepostsHope respects you.
©anush18 -
__ayesha
13w
Read MoreSometimes you feel like an unheard symphony, like a feiullemort deprived autumn metaphor, like a scorched dandelion midst the pages of your unread stories and sometimes you feel like you're drowning somewhere between August's repentance and December's callousness. And at the end of ever July, you feel like the sun shined so fiercely on you that the springs is only a glaucous of poetry.
You chose the darkness that even your night couldn't withstand but then again you worship the poets for gulping up your azure skies. You use your scars as banisters to reach the depth of ink and you use your blood to scintillate the sunsets. And of fidelity, seas and springs, you are a s(in)ombre melody dancing on your own, on the tender tips of happiness.
_________________________________________Untitled
Clutching the ground
she fly upside down
flustered her love was,
she bloomed underneath springs.
Poetry heeled is her sky,
falls so profound
moon whispers her soul
flustered was her quill so,
is her espoir the night?
Plaiting her hair with
sunset's spine she sleeps
through sunrise. Flustered the
morning was, her silence ringed
my absence.
Ink her, she is a poetry,
void her pain is
flustered I was as she sniffs,
it is not sour, my shoulder?
still she december her breaths.
-- Ayesha || Saad -
My father once told me that I am clumsy, that I am born to break things and people.
Can you tell him that I am trying my best not to, and in the process it's me who is breaking apart?
My mother once told me that she couldn't save herself. But she will definitely save me.
Can you tell her that I don't want to be saved if it means fixing my flaws? That will kill me anyway.
My brother once told me that he wants to run away so far that he will forget his way back home.
Can you tell him that home is not a place but people? You can't run away from the beat of your own heart.
My teacher once told me that I will become a great person someday, that I have the brains to shine upon the world.
Can you tell her that I will choose being good over being great anyday? That I don't want to shine if it means my heart goes dark.
My best friend once told me that it is all going to be okay, that he will stay until it is not.
Can you tell him that it is not okay at all to leave when things get difficult? That a broken promise turns into a scar, it hurts whenever you touch it. -
And darling,
My poetries would not be
Enough to express what
I feel for you!
©unspokenpen1927 -
heartsease
14w
Read MorePeople, places and movies, they've always taught me how love is like the sun in summers, raging and passionate but my love, my love was gentle like the soft zephyr of winters. My love, it was delicate, it was all about falling like my whole sky falling in his oceanic eyes or like the drops of rain tapping roofs to beat the rhythm of 90s mixtapes. I've loved him like a soul with bruises and wrinkles love memories and I'll love him till I won't be able to etch him, anymore, in my poetries.
~PurvaAnd if the thousand suns revolve
around me round and round,
it'll be only YOU that lights me up
and burns me down.
~Purva
//Love from distance// -
until/unless
poems are incomplete. a part of me i used to hide because i never wanted to face a situation where i no victim but a liberal liar. it's a place, we know we don't belong yet i choose to stay. i stay within unsaid.
whenever i run away, i like to continue this. the run. maybe i'm tired today. maybe i don't know if i ever will reach to the end but till then i've learned to move from person to person.
i'm tired, this tiredness seem to be like a void. every person i've met used to lodge their stench in this apartment. that day i saw you, two benches beside mine, i think you were trying hard to hide your sorrow. i think we were hiding our flaw like feeling/s.
"do you know its answer?"
"uhm, will you repeat?
i didn't hear it properly"
probably, it was true. i don't listen the things properly. maybe it was me who seemed to be more flawed. i was the one who always wanted to be listened but is it any crime to think like this?
you stood up as if you have always known its answer. i saw you picking up the chalk, lying on the floor which might have get unnoticed until or unless i met you
a screeching sound of chalk which you made by drawing a silence on the blackboard, i looked towards you and said
"it's annoying, a complete noise"
"perhaps, people are the same. perhaps, we are the same" you added, "you know, every person could be like this chalk. we make noise, isn't our voice supposed to be this? i guess, there's nothing wrong to have the desire of being heard. we are enough of complaining this, anyway"
you went back to your seat.
i followed you.
it was hilarious, how we didn't talk the whole semester but from nowhere we started talking that day. except your name and hair colour i knew nothing about you
but there was a lot i wanted to ask
to be honest, most of the time i used to have so much to say and you had enough patience to listen
i guess that what makes you and i so different from others. maybe we could have been friends earlier as well however by that it might have lost its touch
i looked towards you.
"H-heyy"
"you have drawn silence now?"
it was confusing. if silence could be painted, what colours will you choose?
will it be red, blue, black or white
i turned back, you were busy talking with your friends. i never thought of approaching you, then.
we excelled at this art of keeping our emotions in a cage.
i went back to my place while watching you from far,
continuing your silence.
THE END -
heartsease
24w
We've been loading ourselves
with grief, more or less.
Maybe because painkillers dig roots
deeper than the plagued happiness.
©heartsease -
heartsease
25w
Read More
I've always lived my life as a journey since childhood heading from the burrow of sun to crossing paths with thousands of people everyday, every minute, each second. There's a mosaic in my brain built of imprints, of all those faces whom I remember vaguely, I forgot the other half. Time has already stopped dwelling at my place, it's just these breaths digging up dreams of blowing to unknown places before getting marked by a full stop.
And in between changing compartments, there are stories unheard and undone, unrevealed and unexpected. That there are scars left on your heart which you can only carry to graves and not get rid of them anywhere else. That hoarding a wrong train might have consequences, it can either bring the warmth lurking betwixt naked field of peonies or the cold which heats up your bones and wreath storms over your skin. /That there's freedom when you don't have to hide anything./
When I look back at life, it looks like skies not always clear blue but mostly shattered and grey, maybe it is different edge of the same ether for different people. Some days I'm like those heartbroken stars craving for the croons of moon and some days I'm the moon itself interlacing my broken pieces on oxygenated handlooms.
~Purva
#lifeLife, you've plucked my breaths
and bloomed them in poetries' veins,
but poetry can't affirm my hope
in tomorrows, it can only keep watering
me in todays.
©heartsease -
heartsease
25w
Read More
#photo
@miraquill you stalking me, that's not fair.
@writersnetwork been waiting for you from so long. Thank you so much for brightening my day :)I'm the creater of a moment in
a single blink and the parabola
mounting over your cheekbones,
I'm the womb preserving fossils
of memories for lifetime,
nostalgia pounds within me and
seeps into your soul and bones.
I walk through your rave eyes
it gets filled with grief and pain,
I'm the breathing fragment of
your already existed stories, at
times maybe in flames.
I weave hope to your heart and
brew paths for your longings,
I'm the vintage polaroid with
myriad emotions yet filmed in
black and white.
~says, a photograph
©heartsease|| Purva -
Have you heard about
cigarette breaks?
That's how people treat
relationships these days....
