embracewabisabi

Eternity is encapsulated in this very moment. ❤️

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  • embracewabisabi 59w

    PS : Tried to write down my insincere and inconsistent thoughts.

    @mirakee @writersnetwork

    @allbymyself

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    An Imprecise Metaphor

    My mere words might not do you enough justice,
    my words might not, but the rhapsody I stole from
    the glances of subtlety might.

    Is it a rhapsody if it's not proper?
    Is it?! I don't know! I don't know!!!
    I don't..I do not seem to know of anything lately,
    I do not seem to be aware of anybody around me,
    I i ai.ai..I do not seem to belong to any bevy.

    Hush! Hush! Hush!
    Someone shouted.

    "Who was that?",
    I asked but no one answered..
    Pulling on my hair; breaking the tip of my pen in process, I asked and was greeted with silence again.

    "Look around and see for yourself; listen carefully.
    You might feel so insignificant, so small
    in this world of sterile thoughts but, look again and this time with your eyes closed.
    Look at her, so majestic, so powerful.
    Indeed, the grime has made its home there but
    you can still feel the comfort and familiarity amidst."

    Again, my ears perked up to the voice but it felt soothing then. So, I let it, whoever the voice belonged to, do the magic and calm myself down.

    I opened my eyes and looked around the pristine yet ferocious range of mountains brimmed with sweet and forbidden temptation of flight.
    I could feel the oxymorons flowing through the valleys and metaphors blooming in vicinity. The irony seems to stand still like the rock on which idioms and phrases reside alike moss.

    In the moment of pure consciousness; comfortable numbness, I dared myself to find a desire.
    A desire, unbeknownst to everyone, to myself.
    The excitement bursting inside my body started diffusing rapidly to align with the beginning of maybe a new era.

    There might not be enough reason to desire the desire but enough to settle down meekly in a corner with a shelf full of stories of the valleys.

    Is it possible? Is it within the rule book of the ton to let me be, to not bound me with their norms and just letting me be me and desire my own penned desire?
    I could hear the laughter of fools, who think serendipity is conquerable and colours are miserable, echoing around on that question.

    Counting down the seconds from desperate arrival to patient departure of anxiety, I peeped my eye open to see the beauty around me in smokes of sexism.

    My panic might have subsided when I felt the push from behind and when I turned around to hold the one by collar, I met a persistent shadow lingering behind like an obsession and so, I let myself be embraced into the arms of nothingness, for a moment.

    Shaking it off, I walked near the edge with twisted feet, an embodied vitality and no reinforcements to question if there is going to be a judgement call made against my nature of rebelliousness.

    Screaming silence and bursting temper of smoke announced the impending arrival of the jury, the Universe, who has summoned the presence of the guilty but am I guilty? Yes, I have burnt the roots of the ton, killed the breeders of evil and much more but that was my one desire and I was granted one.
    Am I guilty to indulge in my desire or what people think as my weakness, a fight for myself?

    Am I?

    ©embracewabisabi

  • embracewabisabi 87w

    dotting the i's and crossing the t's

    It's been a long time since I have made any efforts to write a letter to myself or a poem about my beloved or a free verse for the season's arrival.

    When my alliance with words broke apart, I stayed put in my position while dotting the i's and crossing the t's to return to the cavern of literature. Clinging to a speck of hope that I'll write this; whatever it is, to you, or whomsoever sees this first, in just a few words and here it goes.

    I'll pick up a pen and a paper and then, I'll write down your name on it in beautiful cursive handwriting. Then, I'll take you through the wisdom of words, explaining how difficult it is to find the brevity in the soul of wit.
    Meanwhile, in my reveries, I have made acquaintances with the season's arrival. Winter arrived mild and decent that year. Still, it seeped into my bones as deep as the warmth of a forever hope of spring.

    When a bird pecked on my window; it pulled me out of my reverie of seasonal intimacies and that is when I saw the chaos running past me but only after giving me the glimpse of that cynical smile.

    An endless political stagnation, growing perennial distrust for media, an ephemeral toxic closure of the gone, conscious blindness towards black and white, feeling proud for being pitiful than being pragmatic, believing in committing a gruesome crime to lessen the gravity of the other crime that had been committed, an ongoing horde of artificial charm, an introduction of a course in schools for mass manufacturing of professional prevaricators, plantation of weeds on the boundaries rather than seeds, a persistent irrelevant irreverence towards someone whom you think is not of your level...

    Umm, apologies..the tip of my pen just had a mental breakdown and I have to scrape myself off the old habit of writing long vented paragraphs.
    So, when I said I'll take you to the lane of wisdom, I forgot to introduce you to the ladies in charge there, Ms Patience and Mrs Acceptance. They both are loyal to their jobs and acknowledge the journeys of the people who come to embark upon the wisdom street. They have also signed an NDA to gain the trust of the astrays stumbling on their contained block and guide them throughout. I don't have the pass to go inside because I had my rows with it already in the past, so, you have to go on your own on this venture. I guess that's all about it. Remember, not to hover over grey always, sometimes colours are distracting, they have the tendency to colour you in their shade and you can't let that happen because it will make you desperate for more and more, and that's not the antidote you desire. Nonetheless, it's your journey...

    Anyways, my intention to write this letter was to inform you that the sky has now taken the shade of orange and it's burning due to the almost non-existence of souls all around. The breeze of redemption has passed and the howling gales are coming along with battering rams to destroy what's remaining.

    I heard the news that commotion has now reached its peak and is getting ready for a full-blown dive to the very depth with the intention of drowning and splashing everyone around with guilt.

    Covering my face makes me feel claustrophobic but still, I have it covered while writing this letter because I feel maybe you'll feel safe that I tried. I hope you are doing okay and try not to focus on the chaos. Wait for the winters, maybe they'll come this time again all mild and decent, and like a considerate lover.

  • embracewabisabi 107w

    I made my rules
    Love is just for fools
    I don't do love anymore...
    ~I don't do love anymore
    (Song by Medha Sahi and Mikey McCleary)


    @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    A shade darker

    When my hands slipped beneath the fabric of your work-ridden wrinkled shirt the other night, it felt like I had unlocked a secret from that royal box of hidden exploits and escapades; I had pushed deep inside my closet. So, when my fingers traced your back and reached to the crooked skin meeting the dimples on your shoulder blades, I knew you'd become my plague, a gruesome gruelling sensitive exploit in that royal box.

    Knowing I'd be treading water, I took the ropes in my hand and plunged in, and locked my mouth with yours. The feelings inside of me, this twisted agony of desire and emotions, only you could tame it. So, when my subconscious leafed through another secret in that box; it discovered the old you, new him, and them.

    Them had disowned me when they discovered my randomness is nothing but the rare moment they never wished for. Then came Him, no-no, not the new him; just him.
    His hands used to explore my body like my pen used to sink around metaphors and oxymorons, and alliteration and similies. His eyes beckoned me not to go anywhere else, to only see through him, and I did. I did and I fell into the pits of all his pain leaving him and myself vulnerable to the insurance of breaks in the wall. My heart weighed too heavy because with his every single thrust into my body, it reminded me too much of you. It reminded me of old you. I hadn't any compunction to my desire but the thumping heart had other plans, like always.

    Old you, who used to be my favourite escapade, yet ended up on my list of exploits. Why? Why did every inch of you and I had shattered us apart? Sometimes, I had a laugh at this tragedy of us and sometimes, I had ended up emptying the bottles of alcohol in a bar. I reeked of those shushed words, unanswered questions, fractured faith and your scarring touch.

    Do you remember, old you, how we met? I guess not... as much as I hated being born in this digital age, I loved how it had connected your pixels to mine. Sometimes, I wonder if this wouldn't have been the case, would you and I have met in any other coordinates? Nonetheless, the connection from screens went to hands in a few months, and from hands to my lips and my body in no time. It became the kind of pleasure that had me standing on my tiptoes, arching my spine and wrapping my arms around yours but, that pleasure, that young love got too old too soon.

    I had a starred message on my phone that said, "I'll only stop loving if I ever fall out of it". But I never did, my love, and yet here I am; alone with the new him; new him that I made him to be after he got the burns from the old you.

    The new him was not so different from him or from the old you, he became just a little more hostile or should I say, the new him had learned how to get away from a committed unloving affair.

    New him had stayed with me, had comforted me but he had never said I love you like you used to and neither did I.

    ©embracewabisabi

  • embracewabisabi 110w

    Unstitch the Psyche

    My father used to
    start his day with a tea in bed and
    eat misogyny for his breakfast
    and my mother,
    she used to feed us the norms of patriarchy.
    Me? I was the hesitant confession
    of their lost little moments
    that had been harshened by
    the shadows of a dying grace.
    I was sold to the vows around
    the sacred fire that had lost their worth
    when you said,
    "your you's and my you's don't match".
    When this sweet
    love turned into a poisonous fire,
    I got under its sharp sparks and got burnt from
    the branding of your dominance.
    Not that I didn't fight back, I did, but,
    you were stronger. You became stronger.
    What was it? Who conspired against me?
    Was it the tea leaves in your morning tea
    poured by me or your bag that marched
    unabashedly through the front door?
    Was it the colourful tiles on the
    page of instagram or my deviation from
    the pursuit of your happiness?
    I never got to know. I had lost the count
    of number of times I had tried to
    match your you's and my I's.
    For you, I was the sin that even
    the filthiest of sinners couldn't surpass.
    I was a trophy to your wad of cash and the pretentiousness of your perfect tie.
    I was the lost case of selfhood and I was
    the abandoned rhythm and rhyme of your
    daily life outside our door.
    My anxiousness and my thirst
    of depression warned me to not paddle
    on the scale of 10 but I did,
    and with that; I lost the bet to objectification.
    It was me who was blamed when you
    murdered the intimacy of red and
    gave birth to the hostile blues and blacks.
    When my tempted illusions
    couldn't satisfy your vigorous desires,
    you switched the blame to my crooked fears.
    Still, that tailored suit of yours
    stayed wrinkle-free and the warmth
    of my layers was taken away
    and put on fire.
    With scars on my body;
    when I crossed our doorstep and
    knocked on the precious siesta of my father
    with the cramped up debts in one hand and
    a bag full of baggage on the other shoulder,
    he spared me no cents and threw me out.
    My mother bound by the norms of patriarchy
    looked me in the eye and said,
    "Maybe these scars will tell you
    to never abandon the fate of your being,
    of your identity as a woman in this world".
    Hearing those words
    coming out of a woman, my mother at that,
    all hell broke loose and,
    I promised myself that I'll play with the fire
    and would save few too many cents
    to put on the smile of overcoming fears
    and dedicated self-esteem.
    I promised myself that I will show my scars with pride; as my battle scars.
    I promised to rent an apartment
    in my beautiful soul with or
    without the awkward silences.
    I promised myself that I'll leave
    the tormented psyche to be and
    will grow the seeds of my candid existence
    in the art of broken but beautiful life.
    I'll fight for and against the better,
    for the number of strikes is not fussy
    when it comes to selfhood.
    It is and will always be about
    taking steps forward, away from
    the materialistic world and into the
    captivating world of salvation of ownself.
    ©embracewabisabi

  • embracewabisabi 121w

    These stories don't stay buried anymore.
    I threw it away over a dozen times.
    But it always found its way back to the foot of my bed, a little bit riper each time.
    -Maggie/The Morning Show

    @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    Routine Pattern!

    Subtly and slyly;
    you slipped into the bed.
    The half-broken promise in your breathing
    had made its appearance in the pursuit
    of my desperate cries.

    There was no air left in the room,
    just our muffled gasps; escaping nowhere,
    infused with the mellow song, our song,
    playing on the infinite loop.
    When your hand grazed mine,
    it ignited a wave of goosebumps
    that rippled across my skin,
    spreading throughout every extremity.

    I tossed and turned,
    and found you lying wide awake
    looking at the ceiling and crying.
    Thinking the same as me:
    As to when did we stop belonging
    to you and me;
    when did the "us" become
    "you's" and "I's";
    when did we start forgetting
    pieces of one another, and
    When... when did you and I
    fall apart?

    Google had told me ways to
    make amends, my best friends had
    spooned me and tried to make me
    realize your worth, my mother asked
    me to never call quits because
    society would eat me alive, my neighbours
    called me a witch, the roads started filling
    with dirty rumours and our walls were
    screaming silence all the way through.

    But, when had love ever heeded
    to anything. The on and off switch
    of my body had been working on
    cheap sustainable tactics;
    showing me my self-worth

    Yesterday, the pale yellow came knocking
    on my door. Although,
    she wasn't somebody
    I wanted to meet then still,
    I made acquaintances; nicely.
    She seemed oddly curious
    about the stillness in my grey eyes.
    Her wisdom was crystal clear, to dig deep into
    this vehement gaping stillness of mine.

    Bullets filled with quintessential
    incompleteness whizzed through
    my heart in a call far too close for my comfort.
    They had charmed the aorta with their
    bewitching dotted lines and blank spaces
    choking me to the reality of the situation.
    Terrified, with hands holding on to my neck,
    I woke up and saw you lying aside me.
    In lieu of your indistinct shadow; was now you,
    sleeping peacefully like nothing ever happened,
    like you and I never happened.

    ©embracewabisabi

  • embracewabisabi 157w

    Crossroads

    I'm at the crossroads
    where everyone once has been
    or will be.
    Saying goodbye to the people
    who you love is not the hardest thing,
    I realised. Not seeing them
    every other day would be
    the hardest of all.
    Not hearing
    their annoying voices
    from morning to night.
    Not knocking at their doors
    at 3 in the morning to just have
    their company to eat or
    not waking them up for classes and then
    sleeping in their bed and be lazy together.
    Not staying up all night, struggling between
    studying for exams and gossiping.
    Not having random pampering days
    and senseless fights.
    Not being stubborn to one another
    or just mocking one another.
    Not fighting to others because they bitched
    about your friends or just
    not being there in their ups and downs. I
    All of this isn't coming back. How crazy is it,
    for four years I kept cursing this place for its
    mundane yellows and blues but,
    never thanked it for the eternal shades
    it has given me to colour my life
    with the bests of best.
    I'm jealous of the people already
    who are going to be in their lives,
    who will share with them their
    monotonous routines, who will
    hold them in their worst.
    I've shared my pizzas with them,
    my choices, my beliefs and I've
    shared a part of me. Shared?
    I've given it up for them and will do it
    again, as many times as it takes to
    have them by my side.
    It's only 24 hours before
    I'm writing this. I can't imagine
    my life after these 24 hours, after
    I leave this place for good or for better.
    I'm at the crossroads
    where everyone once has been
    or will be, just to say the same -
    I will miss you and
    I will always love you.

    (A student of B.Tech, Batch 2015-19)

  • embracewabisabi 158w

    On an impromptu expedition
    in my pursuit of tranquillity,
    whilst holding on to nothing
    I met you.

    The memories of that day 
    are still engraved in my mind and
    making peace with my smile
    just like you did with my heart.

    Music was the next thing 
    you bewitched me with,
    after I saw your joy 
    lurking in the curves of my lips.

    On the night of the music concert,
    I told you a part of me and so did you.
    We talked about us, and only us
    under the dim city lights.

    The next flavour of our meeting
    were alcohol and cigarettes in a pub.
    I got inebriated to mend my broken heart
    but, I already found it in the gaps of your hands.

    After that day I desired your sight
    so, I put off my spectacles of the past
    and looked for my present
    in you, with you.

    When another bolt of lightning hit my roof
    I reached out for your palms
    solely to be embraced by you, in your arms
    and that is when I let a part of myself set free.

    In the midnight, when the city was glistening with moonlight,
    we turned the terrace of my home into a dance floor.
    and drunk danced to the rhythm of “Time in a Bottle”
    till we got intoxicated in each other’s senses.

    Days passed in a blur
    and we bumped onto the path 
    of faulty and flawless
    longings and love.

    It was time to rekindle;
    Rekindle the intimacy that went for a long walk
    but had come back
    to ignite the fire of love inside us.

    ©embracewabisabi

    #EWSFAV

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    Rekindled Souls

  • embracewabisabi 158w

    728 days of captivity

    I always forget to write about
    you. I don't know.
    It's just a defence mechanism
    to escape through the pain that comes
    from seeing you walking away.

    I wonder if I'll ever stop
    loving you, your beautiful soul.
    If I'll ever love the concept of
    falling in love, again.
    Serenity too has run away.

    I know you've outgrown
    the mundane share of our lives
    and believe in the adventuresome part
    of it more than the sweet monotony
    of our 728 days of captivity.

    Can I have you for
    one last time, in my arms?
    I'll hold on to you, and
    never let you go, maybe or
    maybe I'll let you go.

    The loving outreach of mine
    to you is so tempting. It
    makes me believe in myself,
    in my power of love. But, is it
    enough for you to stay?

    I know you've seen the worst and
    you've seen it in me. I am your
    worst nightmare and your
    beautiful dream, one
    you can't escape from.

    I always forget to write about
    you. I don't know.
    It's just a defence mechanism
    to escape through the pain that comes
    from seeing you not in love with me.

    ©embracewabisabi

  • embracewabisabi 158w

    Just Like That

    Dear Solace,

    I have seen you lingering around
    alone and happy. You seem
    so content within yourself, always.
    How do you do it? You see,
    I envy you. I envy that
    I go through all of it and
    you come and steal my thunder.
    You become the priority and
    I become a speckle of dust.
    Why is it? I've tried
    to give them all; all the tastes
    of our existence. I've made them know
    love. I've given them their bests.
    But, the moment I leave them to
    satisfy others desires, they ask for you
    and blame me for the lack of air.
    They want to trap me in a cage and
    not let go. Trap me like, I'm some
    danger to their being or as if I'm some slave.
    Can't you see, how much I've worked
    to bring them here? How much
    I've sacrificed to be by there side, always,
    and still, I'm the one who left them
    in pain. See, the word has gotten around
    that I'm the bad cop here and you,
    a good cop. But,
    they don't see for who you are.
    A thief. They don't look you in the eyes
    and see what I see.
    A selfish immortal vital force;
    looking for something to reside in,
    to soothe away its loneliness and not
    the aloneness, we so easily presume.
    I'm writing this 59th letter in good faith that
    you'll read me some day and realise that
    I hope for you to find your hiraeth soon
    and have it to yourself to nurture and rule.
    Just bless me with your home, so,
    I can have a share of you when needed.
    Just like that.

    Yours lovingly,
    Joy
    (aka happiness)

    ©embracewabisabi

  • embracewabisabi 159w

    My bill of faith
    is in its later stage,
    stuck in the machine
    of time and betrayal.
    They go hand in hand,
    don't they?
    Time and betrayal?
    You count on time
    to do the healing and
    time, well, it makes
    a move against
    your desired timeline
    and give betrayal a chance
    to climb up and creeps up on you.
    The pain it leaves
    stumble upon the path of life
    every now and then
    to make its presence noted.
    My ragged clothes have tried
    to cover the scars
    inflicted on this journey.
    I've been high on oblivion
    since the two messed up one another.
    My obsession with love and my
    addiction to love has bailed up on me.
    The intricate difference taught me
    the meaning of intense suffering.
    Duly noted pain never
    leaves my vicinity. It
    messes with my shy friend,
    happiness, and troubles the season
    of cataclysms, and provoke them
    to retaliate against its unwanted presence.
    The war to take the pain away from my happiness
    won by none. The pain suffered the loss of
    loneliness, anger and pessimism, and
    happiness suffered the loss of
    aloneness, serenity, and optimism.
    The fear of losing more to this war
    made them re-think their
    ideologies of existence.
    In the moment of pondering,
    the sound of a machine and
    the smell of a fresh ink filled the room.
    The bill of faith has charged
    pain and happiness with
    an equal amount of time and betrayal.
    No one won the war,
    because both are strong-headed
    to not be together but, both are weak
    to live without one another.
    ©embracewabisabi

    @mirakee @writersnetwork
    #EWSFAV

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    Bill of Faith