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  • antarraal 9h

    अक्सर बचपन के दोस्तों के बीच
    ज़िंदगी आ जाती है,
    कभी फर्ज़ बनकर तो कभी प्यार बनकर

    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 17h

    #kwansaba #wod
    On the eve of India's 73rd Republic Day, here is a piece dedicated to rights and choices. Celebrate them without losing your humanity. Happy reading.

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    The world a play ground where dreams
    walkby nimbly to weigh iron in the
    players, for games live on equal rules,
    to be playes losing power not choices,
    for they are shadows of rights, cannot
    be forsaken ever, the world may spoil
    the fun but rights are life forever.


    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 1d

    #mirror #wod Thank you @writersnetwork for the kind repost.

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    When I look into the mirror, I see
    a pool of crystal clear water
    that offers thirsty souls
    sips of eternal life.

    When I look into the mirror, I see
    giant waves rising up a storm
    to wash away all remnants
    of broken dreams and shattered faiths.

    When I look into the mirror, I see
    a wild, laughing waterfall
    that rushes out to greet
    the miracles of love and life.

    And when the mirror cracked
    splashes of warm red blood
    was scattered, in the rush to love a lot, perhaps the heart worked overtime.


    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 4d

    #joy #wod

    Whatever we do for most of us it is almost impossible to give back to our parents for what they have done for us. Happy reading.

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    Those small drops of joys
    fall on me everyday,
    why should I wait
    for an avalanche of euphoria
    to be on the seventh heaven.

    The shy sunlight peeping out of
    strict bossy clouds,
    the hot n happening tea
    flowing down my throat like a truant child,
    yellow roses waving at me from
    the balcony,
    Ma massaging my frizzy greying tresses
    with hot coconut oil,
    Dad trying his hand at cooking chicken
    and burning it successfully,
    oh their fight and the mad laughter, perhaps that is love.
    And joy is taking them out for lunch
    at an restaurant, they dreamt of but never went,
    and covering the table with food, laughter and pure satisfaction of turning the table for once.


    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 5d

    Your shadow has covered my past
    with guilt, yet
    the fire of remorse leaves me unscathed,
    perhaps I still have some darkness
    to lend out before I turn into ashes.

    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 1w

    My canvas portrays the war of words
    made vibrant with powerful strokes
    of brushes of similes, metaphors, and
    alliterations dipped in the palette of life.

    My painting is not about him or her,
    its about us, where rough lines searches
    for smooth endings,
    but sometimes the storm within, vents its ire
    on the hapless art work,
    leaving nothing but a dull reflection of
    what could have been.

    My painting is still in works
    for now my blood will be the ink
    and the brush, my inimitable words.


    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 1w

    #heart #wod
    The broken pieces might not make it new and fresh but the experience of living is way too precious. Happy reading!

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    I am bruised but not broken

    Bruised and unbroken
    by fate and reason
    hands of love wrongly chosen
    I still smile through cracked lips
    for there is no shame
    in losing a game.

    The scars you see are tokens
    of trust, silent cries and painful groans
    will heal with time, memories be frozen,
    should I barter to be new and pristine?

    No way darling, for the wounds are citation
    of my strength, patience and decision.
    I flaunt them as prized possession
    and embrace them for being my rubicon.

    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 1w

    #brave #wod

    It is pretty autobiographical so became little lengthy. Sometimes the enemy is not.hidden or across the border, it's right there under a halo. Always remember, giving up is not an option. Happy reading.

    Thank you @writersnetwork for the love and @miraquill for the EC. Grateful ��.

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    To be brave is to be beautiful

    When the darkness of reality
    was still away from the horizon,
    eyes had more dreams, heart sang,
    and the spirit was home to vision,
    there was no ifs and buts,
    just bubbling enthusiasm
    and wild, naked guts.

    Life turned its radar
    to present a vile serpant
    hidden under the cover of
    a dream merchant.
    Smooth words dripped in honey,
    assurance of roses on my path,
    pocket overflowing with money,
    and always a glory bath.

    With a face that gave nothing,
    eyes polite and warm,
    a fight started with everything
    I could muster to create a storm.

    Roses turned to thorns,
    light turned dim,
    the patting hand was a devil's horn
    'coz crushed was his demonic whim.

    The wind changed slowly
    off he went with the current,
    a new dawn rose bravely
    with strength brewing fervently.

    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 1w

    #song #wod
    The song Arziyan from the movie Dilli 6 is not just music to my ears but to my soul, for every time I hear it, it makes me realise how we should stay true to ourselves for our own sanity, for the bigger blessings.

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    I will pen my own fate

    I stay true to my world
    with no malice for one and all
    but its too much for them to bear;
    I stay true to my faith
    with equal respect for their beliefs
    yet those eyes dont believe;
    I stay true to my love
    with honesty ringing in my breath
    yet the clink of coins
    sometimes turn more musical.
    My pen is the prayer
    I bow to everyday,
    for here or there
    its the only way
    to live, to love and to die
    for the fire within, consumes me
    not a moment pass without egging me
    not to stop the ink of passion
    from shaping chapters of freedom
    and compassion,
    till I reach the golden gate
    I will pen my own fate.


    ©antarraal

  • antarraal 1w

    Grave of memories

    I have been standing since the last 70 years
    around a small garden of Neem, Pipal and Coconut with Roses, Jasmines, Frangipani and Marigold playing hide and seek with each other. The balconies and boundary walls are covered with the glamour of Bougainville and Madhumalti. There was a time when my mornings started with the chirping of sparrows, closely followed by giggling children being yelled by their mothers.

    I was built by a rich businessman sharing the pride and whim of a newly independent country. A mid sized house with a big, warm heart, I was full of love, laughter, honesty, friendship, tears and life in every nook and shelf.

    The children who played in my lap, grew up into dreamers and achievers and then flew away to conquer new horizons.

    I stayed back, alone. With memories for company, and hope of seeing the kids again with kids of their own. Paints peeled off, doors and windows were slowly devoured by termites, weeds and creepers peeping out of walls.

    And then, last week they came back. My heart was bursting with joy to see those faces that were my heartbeats. With salt 'n' pepper on heads, and wrinkles around the eyes, their touch brought tears of togetherness back.

    But they sold me. For I am just an abandoned old property, not worthy enough to return. On my grave they will build a tall, proud structure to prove their growth from soil to sky.

    ©antarraal