Night sky glistening with the moonlight; Like strings of pearls stars radiates with their magical light, She in her room shuffling through her old records; Picking up the one and let it pull the chords, Smell of Jasmine from her garden engulfs her mind; She hugging herself starts listening to the song, Like the burning candle at her side; Her face starts shining in the dim light With every notes of the song, She starts feeling all the deep emotions in the depth of her heart, She took a pen and starts framing the words; Like the caterpillar beautiful words evoked takes the shape of a fairy from the other world; With every stroke of her magical wand She leaves the stardust of the pixie love on the Earth Giving all the love the mother divine RightNow Deserves.....
I like the town on rainy nights Misty moon ,dazzling lights Reflecting like a disco ball On skyscrapers Making a bokeh of all Like that graffiti on the wall
When the drops befall Like the chords of Beethoven Convicting all the crimes Of heaven Leaving us enchanted with every chord Healing us all with the Divine call With every beholding sight I like the town on rainy nights....
Detaching myself from the world Isolating my thoughts from mere bleakness Moving away from the despondent mindset Concocting hope, nurturing my soul uplifting myself Finding clarity and a sense of calmness Don't let the world deter me from my path Making peaceful resolution with my shadow self It's time to let me bring some love for myself So I can connect finally with thyself..........#mirakee#concoct#writersnetwork@mirakee@writersnetwork
As the Sun harks down to thy Abode of heaven Universe shutting thy door Unfolded its black curtain Like a devil peeking through the window Skeleton of her past haunts her She ignores it She shuts it down By dumping it in the dustbin at the corner She pulls her Blanket of comfort She closes her eyes To lull her mind to sleep Yet like a snake it crawls Making its way to her bed It hisses making a hole in her blanket By spitting the venom Leaving her soul tormented She runs Through the wild Yet she can't escape The shadows of her past As the sun can't escape The resolution of earth To follow him around Until the eternity She runs and runs Out of breath lies down On the thorns of her Thoughts Looking around at the overlooking moon She founds solace in her immortal nectar She let go of the chase Confronting her fears of her daunting phase Leading the battle Finally She tames her inner demon....
Drifting away from the chaotic mind She finally founds solace in her heart Her heart that's been captivated By her soul The soul that radiates only Love and light With pure innocence like a child She conjoint with her inner wild Making a deeper connection with Every being of the world She nurtured and stitched with The thread of Gold And that's how her heart riveted to eternal Soul#Drift#mirakee#writersnetwork@mirakee@writersnetwork
We pulled towards each other Like the opposite poles of the magnet He being North Pole And I the south one Like electrons of magnet Our soul are oriented in similar way But life happens And we choose different ways Like opposite poles we are Pulled by the cords Raising our vibrations high We are meant to be aligned Like Venus in the sky Our love shine brightly with link intertwined All we have to do is to give it a try.....
Living on the stars Walking on the moon Stardust love Light years apart Hearts intertwine Longing for the earth To make him mine Moving through the realm Years after years With every drop of tears Letting go of pain & our fears When we met You just stare You don't remember me Nor you care Helplessly I called your name Spark of feelings stirred in your heart But you can't comprehend so we fall apart Living through the pain I shut myself Making a Labyrinth hole in my core Asking myself how you can ignore?? Looking at the sky I smile We will meet after awhile......
You are my love song Strings for my chords Syllables to my words Tears on my diaries Roses pressed in old books Your smile Leaves an inkling on my heart Invoked me with feelings I never knew I can be a part Your eyes spells pain In different sense Staring at me like a burning sage alluring me with it's incense Innocent like a child ,aura divine Turning my conscience In to love unbind You Sets my soul on fire Longing to satiate My unfulfilled desires....
He plants me with care putting me in a position the sun can pat me so with it I can grow happily he talks to and waters me giving me what I need to grow everyday he's been there as I grew from the ground from a seed
I bloom so wonderfully he said he was proud of me I could hear it in his voice yet I look around and see other flowers just like me I was confused by this revelation how could he be all of our caretaker yet I watch him do what he does for me with them helping them bloom for him
Sometimes we think the ones that are there for us are meant to be the one. But not everyone is the one. Sometimes they are just there to help us to grow to be the person we need to be. So allow the nourishment and realize the true gardener behind the temporary caretaker "GOD"
(Summer) I walked alone, under the blistering sun. Dehydrated, agonized and scarred; The heat shattered me, levigated me to dust.
(Fall) Blended with the loam, scattered all around, I was sheltered; under the fallen foilage. I was nourished and fostered, by the yellow-orange shades of bliss.
(Winter) The milky crystals started falling, wrapping earth with flakes of purity. Frozen and soldified, I descended to the pool of dormant, waiting for the pupa to break.
(Spring) Blessed with life, I germinated to the joyous world, stretching the viridescent arms. Graced by sunlight, and beatified with water, I blossomed, marveling eyes of all. And he called me, "the purple tale of love."
I'm a poet as a wayfarer looking for thousands of sunsets to knead my Ars Poetica For this I visited a fair where street vendors wore business suits and were selling poetic expressions and similes in cents,
Ahh, if they would have known what they are selling in mere cents is for what I'm ready to give my life
To there , I sold my grey rhymed hair , my quill of beige vowels and verbs, my waxed mustache which is the verse of five metrical feet an iambic pentameter,
I sold what they were selling and I bought many muses in the suburbs of poetic city .
/I chortled as I hopped on the stairs of scintillating metaphors my right hand caught the crescent of moon and left hand grabbed the starry night/
There's a magnolia plant at the farthest corner of my balcony. Every sunset , I see her gaping at the horizon basking in the kaleidoscope. And on days like this when I'm running low on hope I wish to switch places , if only she would.
Two autumns later when I sit to write, the pages of my journal still smell like home. Although this time I don't see despair mixed with monotony, I see agony fading to solace. Maybe if I really try I can embrace it someday, maybe today?
The last time I sat to write, my poetries screamed 'meagre' , so I read them to the clouds. They said that they would bring me 'hope'. I haven't really written anything ever since, the doodles in the last page of my notebook are testimonies to my heart. My name between flowers, hope between petals. But the petals are wilting, am I not enough?
For the nth time I steal a glance at the magnolias. They say there're one of the most short lived flowers. But mine are rebels. When I look at them I don't see death, I see an epitome of optimism. Well, the clouds didn't bring me hope but magnolias sure did. So this time I think I'll recite my poems to them.
I was a toddler yawning in the warmth of poetries, taking clumsy steps to the literature copula and trying to grasp the galaxy of metaphors with tiny hands of knowledge. Steadily I started building my abode in the writer's paradise and from plucking out stars from the metaphor galaxy to merging my meteors of metaphors in it, I started walking.
I stood there in the dark yet bright street and admired my new abode. Suddenly I crashed with another writer. My twinkling eyes now rested on this girl who had a charismatic glow of metaphors on her cheeks and a wrist tinkling with the sound of high vocabularies. She smiled at me and handed some tokens of elements of literature in my hands. With the token, I was left with a doubt whether I would ever be able to become like her. Few days flipped by and I walked my hungry feet which wanted to devour the streets yet left undiscovered to them.
I met hypocrites which made me ask am I hypocrite too. Their writings hissed in my ears "writers are hypocrites because they write things they can never become". I met owners of dark abysses which made me crave self-destruction. I met angels stitching magic to halos. I met jovial eyes hiding red scratches on their wrist. I passed by cosy cottages radiating warmth rising from the fireplace where numerous poetries were burnt in the name of writer's block.
Days passed by and slowly my abode started turning into a shop. Writings which were written for survival were now being hanged behind a classy window covered with a wooden border which though was painted with aesthetic edits but on the inside was being eaten by decayed morals of self-appreciation. The more the crowd gathered around the write-up, the more it was perceived to be a masterpiece. On the days when the inscribed metaphors weren't patted with enough appreciation, self-doubt used to slowly get inside my blanket and numb my feet and hands with torturous frigidness. One winter someone broke inside my house and stole lines from my favourite writeup snoring under my pillow. I didn't open the 'shop' that day. One summer someone spitted foul words on my window and I felt like burning with the burning sun. I folded my legs, occupied a space on the roof and looked at my moon. The moon contained the imagery of my journey. That day I asked questions and questioned the answers.
"It was never meant to be like this. I wrote for myself. I wrote to weave barriers to the things which depress me. Since when did I allow my source of survival to choke me. Writing is an art. We need to experience it and let it soak in every atom of ours. Just like you stumble with people who want to push you down, the writing world wouldn't be an exception. You shouldn't lay your heart bare because you think negative winds can't blow where words reside. Just because the writing world seems different from the real world doesn't mean it's different. You would find all types of people there too. You would feel negativity brewing from that cup too which has 'Be positive' written on it with the p slightly losing its colour. What it takes is you to be mentally prepared. You have to be"
Next day, poetry was sung in the happiness of the return of a wandering soul to its abode.
Ps- lately a lot has been going here at mirakee. Self-doubt, fake accounts, people who breathe just to demotivate others and so much. But don't forget why you came here, why you started writing. Don't blur your purpose in the mist of negatives. Positivity is that sweet where bees of negative would linger. Shoo them away. Clear your way. No one gets to demotivate you.
The last paragraph is an amalgamation of my and. @_still_in_mess 's message. Special thanks to her that she brought up this topic and I was able to collect words. Thank you jhaan❤
Quick bg edits. So not that up to the mark. #hopenotes
And words abandon me on the roadside, I let my toddler metaphors sit back and relax. We would sit quietly on the gutter. We won't talk. We just watch things go by. At times they are stubborn and won't budge even if I bribe them with sweets that I secretly stash in my pockets before leaving the house, I just let them be.
I know. I know. I'm not allowed to eat too much sugary stuff but I declared random cheat days when I can eat them without guilt. I guess mom knew about it but just like Johnny's papa, she pretends not to notice the missing chocolate bars from the fridge or the candy wrappers under my bed and in my pockets that I forgot to throw away when I get home. Oh, I've been taught to keep my trash and not throw them anywhere when I was 5.
If you've been reading me, you'd notice that my vocabulary is as simple as me. Basic. Transparent. They laugh out loud when we share even the corniest jokes and watch me from a corner while I mourn for my dead toenails and falling hair. And on days I wake up on the wrong side of the bed and things aren't peachy because a naughty pimple found its way to the tip of my nose, they let me be as well. Yes, they blush too when the cute guy next door smiles back at me!
There are days I dream of meeting sonnet and euphemism in a coffee shop just like in the movies. Then we'd chat about life over cups of Cappuccino and fresh croissants. Who knows they might introduce me to their cousins, Hyperbole and Alliteration? I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
For now, I'm going to let my baby metaphors and similes take their nap, sing them lullabies I learned in Kindergarten, and try to scribble down my couch potato thoughts that are making me drowsy at 2:00 in the afternoon.