Miraquill
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divokost
~Ighrek, hear me brother...
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divokost
69w
Read More~ to have fallen in love with the unknown, uncertain , unspent...yet to have engaged with the whole of it, in a distant memory from the future of our days here...
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divokost
69w
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~ Wary of love, of hopes and finds, yet another day mulled with the mulch of time.
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divokost
69w
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~ seen children running around, looking for love and life, all the misery that to live confounds, still living despite the odds.
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divokost
86w
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Day 1
“Ere words trembled,
breaths confined,
in a weary blue coffin
love now somber lies,
pronounced eternity
only a day past in sight
the last flock flew
leaving the nest aside
stones now, sediments then
affection conditioned right,
wrought by time, with time
held heart to the wronged right
Slip away, sly and slow
my assumptions, your rights,
another day, another time,
a pair of clippers, and wings to fly!”
©️divokost.
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divokost
86w
Read More
“Rosemaries it read aloud
‘fresh from the farm’,
saddled upon a Turkish mare
the green smirked and lit heavens,
lavenders brothels reminiscent
of love, love and the other names...
Mirrors full of Versailles vanity,
thyme and bodily odours benign,
the charm of twice a fate, stricken
a soul for another, a broken curve on lips
the spices fumigate the pests,
filthy broken appearances, troubled and fine...
there’s a cashmere lying in rubble,
dust it wears from the day’s pride.
the kefir tastes rather glum,
their mouths open in line
spoke from netherworld,
the taste of flesh and time.”
©️divokost.
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divokost
86w
Read More
T’was carved upon every door,
a red smear from the day of Salem,
every name hath an ancestors hand,
Cuss words fruition from the desperate
The sap outruns the lucid tears,
in a fluid cosmos, their soul dipped to toe,
Their vows tied upon a dry bed of straws
They’ve given them trials a square and fair
Run, run, run, though in circles pronounce,
Leaps and bounds, leapt and found,
by a funeral, seeing the rare merriments
comes a bleat from the bitter lambs
Tin rot, tin rotten, the humans’ silent names
forged in the pit fire, glass like souls
ghosts of ashes and brokenness
Fleeting moments, held and let go, alas! Forget!
©️divokost.
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divokost
87w
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~onto happy things which divide faster than the whole of happy men...
Divokost.
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One day all your autumns will
overcome their terrible falls!
©my_cup_of_poetry -
zohiii
70w
Read Morewith blurry sight,
you dared to glare deep into
the cracks of the
erupting mountains,
and the white-rabbit waves,
and the blinding stars;
crossed over at all
the possibilities,
when death was merely
a mistake away.
with hands such small,
you encompassed the entirety
of the universe,
inside your palms.
where does this strength,
immense enough,
come from?
whereof is it born?
this power that compels
you to believe in
happy tomorrows,
flushing with dreams;
with blurry sight,
you see the future—
ten years,
ten minutes,
ten blinks;
you gamble with time,
but time steals every round,
and whispers in your
ears with a wicked smile,
"Carpe diem!"
you know what plan
works the best?
no plan at all,
because no blueprint has
the bridges that
break apart at the edge
of forevers.
with blurry sight,
discard dreams,
behold reality.
©zohiii
Thanks @writersnetwork.
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miraquill
71w
Read MoreYou ask how many friends I have? Water and stone, bamboo and pine.
The moon rising over the eastern hill is a joyful comrade.
Besides these five companions, what other pleasure should I ask?
- Yun Seondo
The Sijo is a traditional Korean style of poetry written in just three lines. The first line presents a situation or theme of the poem , the second line either develops the theme or introduces an argument and the third line either gives a conclusion or presents a twist.
--Get creative and write a sijo.--
Tag with #sijo and share.
#wodThe Sijo
Try this exciting poetic form.
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thousand_splendid_thoughts
84w
Read MorePlant some sunflowers on the eaten out part of the edges of your heart and blow some clouds of self -appreciation on the revolting thoughts of your mind.
Stand in front of the mirror. Breathe out on its surface. Let the fog cover it. Make your favourite pattern on it.
Sit in the winter sun and let its warmth hug you. Stop the rush. It isn't necessary to find answers to all the things at one time. Let life unfold itself. Patiently lay in its lap and enjoy what you have now.
Don't always push yourself in the corners of the bed and stuff your face inside the pillow. As much as you let negative thoughts take a hold on you, the more they would control you and your actions. Indulge yourself in things. No, you aren't running away. You just aren't letting the wrong take over you.
Don't try to change yourself all at once. There are certain things and toxicities in us which need acceptance and change. Moulding is a process which takes time. It will not happen in one click of the finger. Tongue and heart will twist. Creases on mind and forehead will line up. So wait. You will get through it.
Skies, sunsets, this nature, they are unpaid therapists. Ready to listen to the unvoiced thoughts without plunging their knowledge on you. Spend time with them instead of finding solace in fake supports (even if someone is giving you support without any mean reasons still don't depend on anyone)
~supriya, a non-implementer of all the above points but wants you to religiously read and follow them.
©thousand_splendid_thoughts.
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nilmarkas
85w
Read MoreA second look at my first real poem. A second thought given. Believe it or not, written by Nil Markas [nılmarkås] 11/20
@writersnetworkThe Why of I
The dream was all distempered in Blue. The mossy, outworn carpet; the chalky walls... her virgin skin. Her hair, naturally a dirty blond, now some shade of Oxford Blue. And the gunshot wound to her maiden head -- the blood that percolated from it... undeviatingly. All so many shades of that same color, too.
The Secret [secrets?] kept within her head? Her heart? Blue also in so many ways. This poor lady, lovelier still in stillness. 'Death,' dare I say? Barefoot in a garden of glass, shattering throughout an eternity. Silken sheets wreathed about, beneath and around... a vacant shell, festooned in all Her finery. Who doomed this poor lass, if not herself? Was it mercy that struck her down? Altruism or introversion? Perhaps that's just not for us to know...
...But, 'Life exists because it must.' So then, why must life exist? If in life, we can only trust that one day, our lives surely shall desist?
©nil_markas -
pen_and_paper
86w
Drag on fireflies.
"Some ideal killings you look for are never found."
There's a spark in everyone's eyes, there's a shadow in everyone's brain, there's light in ours soul seeping driving us crazy to unhide in the darkness. There's so much hidden inside you, there's so less outside. Lesser than the Sun, bullets are meant to pass through the body, not the soul.
©pen_and_paper -
thewordplayer
86w
Read MoreI want to write a poem.
A poem, where these
nights aren't so cold,
where the lullabies
are not overwhelmed
by those battle cries
inside my head.
A poem where my
dreams aren't yet dead.
I want to write a poem.
A poem, where I won't
be loved only when
I am a dead leaf,
where my mistakes would
be forgiven and not frowned
upon in disbelief.
A poem where my share of love
won't smell like grief.
I want to write a poem.
A poem, where me and you
aren't so unyoked,
where despite all the
difference, we stand together
no matter how steep
is the schuss.
A poem, where even
the mighty time cannot evade us.
I want to write a poem.
A poem, where I can fall asleep
without being needed to fight,
where I am not battered
by the voices in head
which yell at me and
haunt me every single night.
I want to write a poem,
a poem, where no matter what,
I never fail to write..
-
bluebird
86w
Read MoreIt'll be safe to say that I was dancing in my living room while writing this after I hit my head against some shelf and bled out, feeling healed and happy after so long.
And getting over some people. Yeah that too.
All I want to do is have fun with my writing, just like I used to. So in case you're disappointed, please just let it be. It's okay.
#podbaby, we're out of hair dye
I've been using the strawberry scented soaps,
From the stock you bought in that discount sale,
And my skin still happens to be dented up from the glycerine,
Just the way they appear on the rotting brand name
On the upper west side of the soap, as it slips out of my hands,
When I try to give "letting go" a fair thought;
Onto the drain, till by the end of the month
Its been grated enough to be stuck upon,
A fresh one, dry and sharp, flaking over it's edges,
A name I can't pronounce, etched over it's upper west side,
And that's when I look at someone in the steam clogged mirror,
And the taps you used to leave your shampoo imprints upon,
That I still don't bother to wipe off
Or maybe I don't want to;
So I let him know,
"Baby, I've been smelling like strawberries,
For about six months since you left me now,
Give and take a shower or four,
Wrapping my pillows in your towels
To pretend you're still around"
So tell me,
Why can't I just let you go?
Every walk outside lends me a boho plant pot for our bedroom,
Getting used to calling it mine, since you replaced our cactus,
It seems like I miss mistaking it for the alarm clock afterall.
The candles over our kitchen counter have melted down to puddles,
That won't go away despite having them scraped with my license ID;
So I light them up every night,
And luckily this time around I decided not to shave
Just so my hair is long enough,
For me to pretend that I'm eating the spaghetti you made,
As it hooks onto my fork and I choke on it.
All my friends expected me for beer pong last week,
At the bar you first rejected me,
So I told them how I'm already over you,
And would rather spend my evening at home
Listening to the song on the radio, the one we made love to,
When right in the middle of the chorus you broke up with me.
All of that convincing to prove that it's me on my driving license,
And yet they ask me,
Why can't I just let it go?
There's Poppy's dog bowl under our sink,
And I can't help but wonder how you must be managing,
When she bites on your toes, just because
You forgot Poppy's dog bowl under our sink,
That she must be waiting for.
Won't you come?
Took a day off,
I sit by the window and shove away the curtains,
Just the way you loved, when it made it hard for me,
To focus on my laptop screen;
I'll be reading my journal in which you drew my caricatures
And left your lipstick mark over my photograph,
That slips off when I glide my hand over it,
And reveals a ring that I bought out of my grandpa's pension ,
For the right day, do you remember?
Oh honey, how beautiful you were that night,
Right after the toilet had clogged, when you threw in my ring;
That night you said "no" and we slept without protection.
A car or twenty four pass through the window view,
And I didn't happen to care about those 3 VW Bugs,
Blue and Pinks, but none Yellow;
So I begin biting my nails, just because,
I've left all your things as they used to be,
Including your ring, that I promise I've cleaned,
And Poppy's dog bowl from under our sink
That she must be waiting for.
Won't you come?
And ask me,
Why can't I just let her go?
At the barber's, men stare and ask me if I've been doing okay,
I can't say how they make such an assumption
When I've been keeping up to my appearances,
With women calling me every night, for a dinner;
Unfortunately I have to deny, given that beer pong I promised,
Is still due.
So I sink into my sofa till my neighbour calls on landline,
Every night, for a dinner
Since she's concerned about no visits paid to the grocery story,
It's a new trend, these long hair and this thick beard,
And your organic onion hair oil has been responsible;
Yet I must say, baby, we're out of hair dye,
But then it doesn't matter, given my age,
And how we're soon to settle.
Just worried if I've waited long enough to call you,
Doesn't seem like you could've forgotten me, within eight months;
Exactly the way I've been sitting with your stuff, all alone,
Drinking water from the taps that you left your shampoo imprints upon,
That I still don't bother to wipe off,
Or maybe I don't want to.
Despite looking at all of those pictures on your social media,
Where I wonder if that man who puts his arm around your waist
Is your brother,
Who may ask me,
Why can't I just let you go?
My drawer seems to be stuck, and I seem to use my strength,
For the first time in so long,
And I find, a rotting cactus, close to my alarm clock,
With a fly decaying right by it, on your pocket mirror,
Just the way they appear on the rotting brand name
Of your memories;
So close is my razor, and the urge to look younger,
Despite all the time wasted, eating the neighbour's pie,
And the bathroom basin overflows, with it's clogged drains
When I cut my hair short and look the way, you might remember me,
If you recall my name,
Just as the officers recognised me on my ID proof
As I drove around, making sure I didn't bump into a VW Bug,
Thinking it was you,
So I stopped around, and saw a stray, picked her up and drove away,
Hoping that Poppy had moved on too,
And that your toes shall heal faster than my brittle nails.
The beer seems to make me better at dart,
And the boys gift me plants on my birthdays,
Even a cactus, that I keep on your side of the bed,
Lately I've been waking up early, it's better for my eyes,
When the curtains are shoved away, but the sun doesn't bother me
As I work on the screen, eating spaghetti
And sharing it with my neighbour.
My journal is full of all the thoughts I spent,
Wishing for you, and wanting to swallow,
All of your strawberry scented soaps,
Because baby, I've been smelling like strawberries
Since you left me now,
And honestly, it's not the first time in a while,
That I've not quite felt like myself.
And that's when I look at someone in the steam clogged mirror,
And the taps you used to leave your shampoo imprints upon,
That I can't help but wipe clean every time I shower.
So I let him know,
Baby, it's time to let go.
©bluebird -
veloc1ty_
86w
Read MoreUhmmmm, the length might be a little intimidating, but I trust in you to overcome your fears :)
@writersnetwork
Ty for the kind repost :") ❤��
#allthewnrepostsOn nights like these, when peace is available only in the company of solitude, I sit in my balcony all by myself, detaching myself from the outside world as well as the world that lives inside my home. Separated by a loyal door that guards my silence well, I feel safe and sound here inside my iron cladded fortress of serenity, at a height where bugs don't reach. And by bugs, I mean the noise that comes from my home.
But my fortress is very much vulnerable to the noise the outside world holds, or rather roars. Coz I live near a busy railway station, in a city which intersects two major parts of the state. The annoying trains just don't ever leave me alone in peace for a minute. But tonight I try to keep my ego aside and search for a friend in them. I try to count the time taken by a local train between its appearance and disappearance. And to my surprise, it's only 8 seconds for 12 coaches to pass before my eyes. Normally it would seem it like an eternity of suffering, but today when I don't want it to, it moves away fast, just like a good time.
The reason I don't want it to leave is coz this 12-coached rail carries lives, and the stories these lives hold. All of them, far from my reach, ebbing away from me on a moving piece of metal that makes a lot of noise. On nights like these, I wish to sit beside them and hear them out. I'd wanna listen to each of them cry their hearts out or bask in the joy their lives have given them. But to no avail, I just sit here watching them leave before eyes. These people and their stories, hanging by the bar, one slip of a grip away from becoming a story in the next day's news, in a small column under a large advertisement which no one bothers to read. All of them, are but a slave to monotony. Even you and me.
But there's some good in monotony. Even though it bores them to death, it's a way to feed their stomachs. The route they take to work everyday, is often unchanged and the reason they complete the orbit, keeps their families alive, in the sense they don't have to bear the pain of their absense or even worry about not getting fed.
My dad, just like one of them, takes the same route to work. I see him leave home with that same tired face everyday and return with a more tired one. After being outside for the entire day, he reaches home at night, finally back to their kids and wife. But upon entering through the door, he doesn't go for the glass of cold water that I offer with a smile, instead for our cat that runs towards him hearing the bell. He picks her up and holds her in his arms, and a smile instantly sprouts on his face. A relieving, calm and lively smile for a female cat whom god compensated him with for not giving him any daughter. With his adopted daughter beside him, the day he started with a tiring face ends with a calm one.
The monotony I live, is not as bad as him. I'm a different kind of slave to it. I rest on my balcony for the most part of the day, binding together words that are far from pretty, in places that don't seem odd to an untrained eye. But some easily look through my scattered thoughts and grin over my incompetence of not sticking to the subject. Coz the start often gets derailed midway, and the story gets lost before reaching home.
And on some days, the words just don't appear to me easily. The track remains empty and pale and the bigger portion of the blame goes to the kind of music I listen to. I intake music in excess amount, more than it's necessary, like the addict I am. The atmosphere surrounding my ears is always impregnated with likes of Kendrick, Eminem, and also the mumble stuff they both despise so religiously. But all those songs have one thing in common, although there's a seemingly big difference in subject matter, all are up-beat in nature and keep me away from feeling anything other than joy. They dry my emotional well, soak the entire pain out of me, and fill it up to the brim with chill and good vibes. And what good is a writer without the element of pain and melancholy?
So on nights I wish to write, I search for those same old 10 sad songs that make me go on a sad trip without fail. But before I begin my journey of pain, I have to dig them out from my playlist of 1800 other songs that induce me with dopamine. It takes a good ten minutes to find them and to line them up in a queue that'll hopefully be the cause of an emotional rollercoaster between my eyes and cheeks.
On nights like these, when the writer in me demands pain, I get drunk on these songs that the sober me won't listen to on an average day and come up with thoughts that the sober me can't process well.
As I begin to immerse in these songs, the train of emotions arrives, I sit back in my seat and let it take me to a place where there's no land, just oceans of water stretching till my eyes could see. Without knowing how to properly swim through this melancholy, I start drowning. These songs amplify the few little problems I have into massives ones that rain anxiety over me. It really pulls me in like an afternoon sleep after a person spends the entire night staying up. And this make believe sadness, although strong for a cheerful fellow like me, is less intoxicating than the lives some people live.
Now even though I don't have the faintest idea about the kind of slave you are to monotony, but one thing I do know of is the time you devote to mirakee is a lot. I see you here, on my feed without fail, sharing the same type of love, heartbreak and pain everyday. You read the same hurt and feed on the same lies too but I hope this breaks that chain. I hope you you've experienced something new with this piece.
Coz unlike me, you actually got to read the story you wanted to read. It didn't just pass before your eyes like those people and their stories passed before mine. And I know you'll value that and keep it in your heart, wherever you'll go. For days the track remains vacant and there's no train in sight, you'll be sitting by the platform reminiscing the journey I took you on tonight in these last 12 paras you just read.
©veloc1ty_
PS: the colour of the bg resembles with the colour paint the local trains of my city are coated with. -
thehemantkashyap
86w
Homesick
Here, I tell a tale
more ancient than the woods that I
left so foolishly behind; at least I
knew the way home among
those trees; the oaks were
all earmarked, the cedars
were all laden with flowers
of spring and the rosewoods carried
the aroma of home.
Years and years later, here I am
in an ocean, bereft
aboard a raft, adrift
I had carried some twigs with me
just to be sure of the way back
and a rope from the hut in
the backyard.
I used my souvenirs to build my
deliverance, a deliverance that I never had.
Adrift, I found myself in this
expanse of poison
With only the sun burning skin
off my back and the land that
only seems a few feet ahead of me.
Oh what a cruelty; a watery desert
with no hope of reprieve
On nights like these I look up to find
some shred of familiarity; I realize
that the nostalgia
had been poisoned
with an assortment of
those foreign stars that I
have nothing to speak of
Aliens danced upon the skies as I
watched my own descent
into the abyss.
I found no shore for
a hundred eternities, for
a hundred more I suffered
the fate of a marooned mariner
the only crime I was guilty of was a
thirst of adventure. Little did I
know I would be grieving as if
my town had been
burned to the ashes
by some invader of
the cruelest kind and
my people slaughtered for sport.
I wondered if the streets
remembered me still, or was I
already forgotten
as if I was
buried, six feet deep
in the warm embrace of
the earth; alas
I was destined for a watery grave.
©thehemantkashyap
