193 posts
  • muskaanbhatt_ 33w

    Firstly thanks all for supporting, encouraging and liking my writing and approaching and motivating for more and more, thanks for being a part of my journey of writing, and especially thanks @miraquill for giving me 100 followers in just a single day (24hours) as I am here just from the past 1 month, on my old previous account(which I am not able to login through FB because of some login issues, but soon will retrieve that,when I was new to this platform I got 100 followers in 10 days but this time 100 followers in just a day, this means that you guys are liking my stuff, so thanks all.

    So here goes my story:
    This is true I used to write randomly in my childhood, used to think in my mind but neither shared with anyone nor wrote that down but with the passage of time I left this hobby, then few years back I got my intrest in this again,with the help of him❤i use to talk like in a poetic way, he noticed that forced me to write as I was all the time busy with my schedule I didn't managed to write but few months back he again insisted and forced me for writing stuff and in the same days I saw on social media everyone sharing their talent then I thought why i wasted my childhood talent and still I am wasting so then I motivated myself and started to write and share on different social platforms then lot of people liked my writing, approached me to write more and more, I got different offers about writing books, collaborations and poetry and much more but this is an another question I never responded to anyone��as I am not a social person and I am totally not having any friends because I am not interested in childish things,because making friends breaking friendships it suits in childhood not in adulthood, okay leaving it so discussing about my writing currently I am working on my books "������ �������������� �������� ������������", �������� ������������ ������������������������",and the other one is "���������������� ���� ������������", soon they will be published on Amazon Kindle in paperbacks and in ebook modes and I am publishing that also with Notion press publications and also with fresh code books, I must say I am not a professional not even a passionate writer , I am just an amateur,on daily basis while thinking about life automatically lines stories and poems comes into my heart and mind just in 1 minute of thinking and then I immediately jott that down, I didn't think for hours for writing something like other writers do��, and also want to say I am not a good reader I mean I don't read books even I don't like,not even a poetry reader or book lover neither I am fan of any well known famous writers or poets or authors nor impressed my anyone's writing and not copying other's stuff, I am just giving flame to the hobby of my writing by writing down the originality which happens with me and others in day to day life, and not interested in fiction and fake world stories which is having no value and which is of no use in real life.
    And I believe real meaning full writing comes from heart, comes from those things which happens with us in reality, good writing means explaining the real truth, good writing doesn't come from reading books or being in love with books of others, it comes from inside of us not from copying other's stuff.

    #writers #poets #poetry #shayiri #love.

    Original post on my previous account @muskaanbhatt and retyped and reposted on my new account @muskaanbhatt_ with some changes

    Thanks @writersnetwork for the ❤

    #pod #wod #attic #miraquill #writers #pod #wod #love @miraquill @writersnetwork @miraquill_assistant

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    Koi shoukh na tha mujhe likhne ka
    Par usne likhne pai majbour kia
    Bol kai tum mai kuch khoubi hai
    Usne mere andar kai lekhakh ko jaga dia

  • muskaanbhatt_ 34w

    As a science student, I have to apply my science knowledge in my writings��

    P.s: I am enjoying my new id more than the old one��

    #pod #wod #attic #miraquill #writers #science #love @miraquill @writersnetwork @miraquill_assistant

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    I LOVE YOU♥‿♥

    People say, I love you to the moon and the back,seems so asinine to me, I mean moon is not so far from earth, so they mean I love you a little.

    But I should say, I love you to the Sagittarius Dwarf Elliptical Galaxy and the back, I mean this galaxy is so far from our Milky Way galaxy, so I mean I love you so exceedingly.

  • muskaanbhatt 34w

    Not working

    Why isn't this shitty app working
    It's becoming boring day by day

  • muskaanbhatt 34w

    Not the traditional myth but a modern one��
    #pod #wod #myth #writers #attic #ceesreposts @writersnetwork @miraquill

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    Look the sun is again going down to create the beauty of horizon
    Exactly in the evening everyday how sun meets the surface and seems like dies in

    That orange illumination is glowing from all over the sky
    It's not the sun full of light but it's twilight which is left after saying the goodbye

    Everything appears so shadowy,showing it's lovers an another part of elegance
    Revealing it's glamour even after the sun-sets and removing from the observer's heart the stink of arrogance

  • furqanahmed 48w

    If my poetry was dark, the world was darker.
    If my poetry was cheerful,
    the world is still dark.


  • furqanahmed 48w

    What comes into my heart is a promise so that I can liberate your heart.


  • divshetty04 48w

    In The Attic

    Bored of my daily routine
    I walked secretly in the attic of my house,
    While exploring a new world there
    Found an old, dusty, untouched box kept by mother,
    My heart rushed to open it
    & what I found were old treasured memories,
    My class 2nd notebook with poems in it
    My favourite two little clouds poem, I still remember,
    My sister's & my doll though not a barbie those days
    But played with them a lot,
    Some clay toys we both had received
    As our birthday gifts from relatives,
    Mother's old accessories with a set of earrings & necklaces
    Those which were gifted to her on her wedding day,
    Father's wallet where he had kept
    Mother's photograph in it,
    Our family album with vintage photographs
    Where some of the photos were missing,
    A green pebble my grandmother had found on the shore
    Kept as a secret, wishes come true pebble,
    An old diary written by grandfather
    With stories of his younger days,
    All these made me nostalgic
    & I closed the box carrying memories in my heart,
    Left the attic & hugged mother tightly
    For all the things she had cherished in the attic.

  • monsteralive 48w

    Box in Attic

    I came across a big box
    Brown in colour covered in dust
    Opened it there was some things in it
    Things that people have forgot about
    There was a couple of old photos and toys
    Photos of the happy past lying in dust forgotten
    Toys which once was everything to me now just memories
    Some drawings i made as a child was there
    A picture of father when we used to be close
    I wonder what happened in all those years and where it went wrong in disguise
    A bat and a ball was in it too which i never played but i remember how much i cried to get them
    It feels all my childhood has now come into a box and i closed it again.

  • furqanahmed 49w

    Words Are Louder

    I will draw an abstract art of you, and I will glisten every part of your soul but the tongue; I will keep it black.


  • preetkanwal 49w

    #attic #mirakee
    Thanks for the like ❤️@writersnetwork

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    I locked the attic of my heart and lost
    the key in river of time.Swimming in the
    sea of life when cyclones broke the ceiling of heart, I found wreckage of past reminiscences floating beyond my reach.


  • emenaha_poetry 49w

    In this closet, I hide my feelings beneath the wooden boxes
    I lay 'em down wrapped
    With dusty glossary faded memories
    Filled with pieces of once an elastic heart.

    In this closet, when it's gloomy
    I feel my way back to the delusions of you
    Swinging in my mood like a magical wand
    You cast your spells I miss my steps.

    In this closet, my secret place
    I collide with the cobwebs; suicide rope.
    For my thoughts grew taller
    And littered with suicide notes.


  • serrated_ink 49w

    ATTIC: Forlorn Truth..
    It was three in the morning, I woke up to the sound of pouring rain.. The cozy weather was making me nostalgic.. Suddenly, my thoughts were scattered by a rolling sound, it was coming from the roof.. My body got numb but mind went into the curiosity land..

    My shivering foot stand on the last stair at the ickled wooden door of the attic, that rolling sound gradually grew, while i was leading towards the old garret..

    I entered into that loft, if was covered with the cobwebs and the white bedlinens overlayed on all the old boxes, almirahs and also on that broken sofa.. While my eyes were saccading fast, it stopped at the tiny tree house which was once my favourite place to hide in..

    I saw, someone sitting into my old tree house.. Fear ran into my veins but it feels like I was so known to her.. My steps were not in my control it went towards her and I sat near her, she smiled at me and continued to color her drawings..

    She was me from my pre-teens, happy in her own world.. She has everything, that I wished, I have now.. Those old drawing books, crayons, a small kitchen set and most importantly the jolly vibes..

    While I was busy in my nostalgic thoughts, I felt she was staring at me as if she wanted to ask something.. I could read in her eyes that urge of growing up fast, into a young women, her expressions says it all..

    But little did she knew, its tough here, to live up in my present age.. Its lonely here with a bricked body, crumbled heart and a different mindset.. You realize the reality of the world, the line between sanity and insanity, the boundaries of rights and wrongs.. That excitement of growing up early feels like lame thoughts.. All you want is go back in time and hide again in your old tiny wodden tree house..

    Suddenly, my thoughts interrupted with the same rolling sound which brought me up here, and my surrounding again turned into the cobwebbed attic.. It was cold, and to I turned pale, I looked back to know what's rolling.. Screamed into fear, I saw a rodent running over the broken sofa.. Hurried, I went to my bed..

    But now I think,
    I saw this coming when I was a child..
    I still feel all the good vibes of my childhood.. I live in nostalgia..

    But today I witnessed that life has its own path which we all have to walk on.. And the mantra of living is to love what you have, work hard for what you desire and be grateful of what you already had..

    When I was a child
    Wanted to grow real soon..
    When m grown young
    I want to feel my pre-teen toons..

    #attic #wod #pod #lalawrites #childhood #nostalgic #readwriteunite #writersnetwork #writersbay #mirakee #miraquill #renaissance #young #life

    Pic credit to the rightful owner..♥
    ��editz: me..��


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    ATTIC: Forlorn Truth..

    When I was a child
    Wanted to grow real soon..
    When m grown young
    I want to feel my pre-teen toons..


  • justhumor 49w

    Hola! , me llamo Recuerdo.
    Todo el tiempo te estaré inquietando, me sumergiré en tu cerebro y tocaré tu corazón . Te haré llorar, reír, enojar, y muchas veces arrepentirte. Mi peor enemigo se llama " si hubiera ", porque si hubieras, yo no existiría. Me visto de tus más grandes errores y de los momentos más felices de tu vida. Me alimento de todas esas noches donde tu llanto es saciable, donde vuelve a apoderarse de ti mi enemigo. Habito en tu presente pero nací en tu pasado. No me malinterpretes que no estoy en ti para perjudicarte, sino para que puedas aprender de mí, para que superes a alguien o algo, para robarte sonrisas cuando estés triste. No podrás deshacerte de mí aunque lo intentes, soy algo en ti y vivo ahí justo, en lo que eres. Me meto por tu mente y a veces salgo por tus ojos, con mi mejor amiga lágrima.

  • joybirdpoetry 49w

    The memory garden

    Her mind wanders through
    a tangled garden of nostalgia
    reminiscences that snag
    on thorns of forgetfulness
    the sweet scent of jonquils
    playing forget-me-not games
    with her memories
    that peek out from their hiding spaces
    only to gently float away
    like a dandelion on the breeze

    two white swans on the lake
    remind her of a couple
    she thinks she used to know
    gliding past
    their reflections skim along
    the rippled surface
    they are mated for life

    intuition tells her
    she has seen them here before
    but their names carved deep
    into the bark of the willow
    escape her
    the cornflower blue
    of her watery eyes
    searching for clues
    that might lead her
    to the memories locked away
    in the attic of her mind
    the longing to remember
    a primitive ache
    curling around the tendrils
    of her disremembered heart


    #attic #pod #mirakee #writersbay #writersnetwork Reposting an old one.

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    The memory garden

    the cornflower blue
    of her watery eyes
    searching for clues
    that might lead her
    to the memories locked away
    in the attic of her mind
    the longing to remember
    a primitive ache
    curling around the tendrils
    of her disremembered heart


  • sweedle 49w

    Your letters bundle up in every nook and corner of this attic. They smell like frozen lilacs and melancholy each time I open the door to this forgotten place. People say time makes it easier to move on but I've saved every second of you in this entrapment, one flip of a page and you're alive again in front of me. I never had to let you go, you stayed right where you belonged.

    © Sweedle

  • gl1111 49w

    I opened the attic
    Pff I opened the box
    The lost bonds
    The memories of a time
    When we were naive
    and innocent
    No hidden purposes
    No malignant agendas
    We were we
    No glittery coat
    With a stench covered with perfume
    Why do u choose to stab
    Then blame it on me
    What do u lie
    Where do u hide
    Are we on opposite edges?
    Starting the fire
    Hoping it burns
    Ugh!! I hate it
    But I can sense ur hand in it
    The box
    The one thing that's same
    We took different paths
    Now we collide
    You're incognizant
    Of the corruption that u instilled
    Deep rotting blackness
    Strengthened with ur repeated coaxing

  • gloomyblossom 49w

    let's fall in love
    until we meet again
    in the attic of skies


  • ak_anjali_daydreamzz 49w

    #temp I want hugs and kissies to sleep and to wake up

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    Diphylleia Grayi

    Lost hope slumbering in the attic of my heart

    Awake and embrace
    my frozen body
    I'm so blue and cold,
    I'm so grey and old
    Kiss my frozen lips and
    breathe new life into me
    Can't you see me withering away

    All broken and teary, a wet skeleton flower


  • aphroditenow 49w


    The door creaked open and I peeped into the amiable darkness of the room. As I stepped inside, the familiar musty smell hit me. I unlatched the only window and the light flooded in enlivening all that have been long abandoned. These are pile of dysfunctional things which will not serve any purpose any more. But I can feel a strange warmth in this used-to-be useful things. So I am a regular visitor to the attic and an enthusiastic collector of antics that the attic often hides. Rummaging through the dust and cobwebs, I have successfully collected a few old tattered books, the wristwatch that had accompanied my father throughout his college days, a brooch and a single anklet for my mother couldn't guess where the other half could be, a curious metallic pot which used to be, as I was later told, a betel-leaf container.
    Today I stumbled upon a wooden box, a little larger than casket, with intricate designs carved on it in golden strips. The box had an old yellowish paper folded neatly. A letter. I gave in to my temptation and promptly carried out that offensive task: I began reading it without knowing who this actually belonged to. The salutation was strange, stranger was the sender. In an inept script it went on:

    Dear Spring,
    I am in utter haste. Thick fog of uncertainty drapes us and I can't get my head around this haze. Still I am writing. Perhaps this is the last time you are hearing from me. Or should I say, the last time you are getting letter from this postal address? For our time has ultimately arrived to leave this land. Now that you live in a city, you must have heard our men are fighting for their rights on their own land. What they call it? Liberation? I am not sure. I couldn't fathom entirely what they said but I had anticipated the advancement of a sinister storm from the way they talked. In last few week, a fear, a dread, a horror and all the complex emotions I don't know the names of but they could get us lumps in our throats, have encroached on our vicinity. Last few days have been worst nightmare.
    We are finally torn apart. Now what remains is skeleton of broken homes soaked in fresh blood. Hope, even its shadow, fears to loom over the space. We have lost our land ironically, to gain power on it. We have lost all that we are to take care of and be in the care of. We have lost every bit of our selves for they have already been rooted here and will continue to linger long after we are gone. We have lost homes and all the nameless relations that homes make us nurture without questening how, when or where we had started. Soon we will seek refuge I don't know where. May be your city. We will lose us in the vast anonymity. All of us will lose petnames but not in the effortless way you had lost yours when you got married.
    Do you remember Tota, my parrot? I wanted to take it with me but father says camp is not an easy place. Do you remember the saplings we had planted together in our backyard? All of them have grown and will soon bear fruits. It breaks my heart to part with them. But I know several partings and depurtures are to follow. This knowledge doubts my own being for now I try to strip off all the tender feelings I possess. I want to grow numb, indifferent to all pains.
    Spring, I am running out of time. I can't bring myself to write all that has hovered over my mind. Within an hour, it will be a new dawn and we will be running for our lives. But this much price we are bound to pay for liberation. Aren't we?
    Spring, may you flourish! I am taking my faith and your memory with me.

    Who is Spring? Who is Flower? I don't want to know. I kept on wondering how this tiny box has guarded a long-lost friendship and a silenced cry for home through these years...

  • _ameeshii_ 49w

    One fine day,
    I will meet you there
    In the Attic of that
    Abandoned house,
    Where no human goes,
    But immortals like us
    Fell in love and dreamt
    Of an eternity together.
    Some stories are not
    Restricted by life or death,
    Love is beyond everything
    And can live for forever.
    You and I
    Will meet in that
    Abandoned attic,
    Where we have planted our dreams
    And watered them with love.