50 posts
  • coded_text 14w

    In society, what's my role, I don't really know but in my every poem, my only advice would be to love yourself. People might take it as to be motivation for narcissm but there's a deep difference between egoism and self-love. I write to raise the voice for the souls in people which was dying screaming for love and was ignored to find someone to call 'the one'.
    Yes, the only thing that needs the most of the love is buried deep within us, so hey! I write to make you look within yourselves. That's how you gonna learn about the holy word 'love', it's not a feeling of affection, it's just a feeling of understanding. You thought you never knew while this nature kept singing that to you but it's okay, I will write those coded texts again and decode it for you. For I guess my role is to make you love yourself.

  • ak_anjali_daydreamzz 15w

    All Rights Reserved
    21 March 2022 5.45 pm

    #mundane #cees_query

    Read More

    Mundane mist and Mudita dews

    Mundane waves ride all life - a sunrise and a skyline shore
    A weeping cloud, a twilight, and a rainbow drunk on petrichor
    An hourglass on the countertop, ticking needles and stardust
    A pot of perspectives boiling on flames of introspection
    A ladle of conscience stirring the bubbles of frenzied fables
    A laundry basket spilling labyrinth of love, lust and loathe
    I walk down the valley, earworm effleuraging an elysium
    My feet tracing feldgrau greys, leaving fuchsia reds in its wake

    Relieving thirst over the foggy rim of coffee cup, I ponder
    On vivid cloaks I wear, a student of endlessness of solitude
    A teacher adept at spelling out melancholy by syllables
    A scrivener of scrabbles untold, sniffing sorrow-dust with a straw
    I don't remember taking a diversion to the path of prosodies, yet
    Reliving trouvaille, I pour serein smiles over sunset soaked hearts

    Among bronze-washed bods with rust-clotted retinas that await copperclad caskets
    Some goldsleeves bloom with dream-crysted iris who seek verdant meadows to witherwash

    To pen plots and sew slots is my blood instincts as it is to blink at prickly breezes blow
    To catch mournful inkblotches with a papyrus plate and mould morphemes along
    To metaphor frames whilst meandering marmoreal mounts and murr-ma-ing mysteries
    Are all shades I adorn, a scripturient luring solace to surround souls, self as well as else's

    I would rather soak saudade in soigné sonnets than to
    Schlimmbesserung sceneries, reiterating to enliven euphoria

    ©ak_anjali_daydreamzz || racing routine and rolling roles


  • milliondreamsarekeepingmeawake 15w

    19th March 2022

    Thank you so much ma'am for this amazing challenge ��.
    Lines within // are my roles in the society as a writer. Ahah pardon me ��

    Read More

    I poke the aloof walls of my faced, the warm tears/scars of grudge leaks from eyes emptying my heart. I unsnarl the inextricably intertwined veins of past and prod them with my quill to absorb the reminiscence of love. My poetic soul gets drunk on the lethiferous blood and lethal love. I enscribe the lingering untold tales on the papyrus unfolding the scenes of enchanting prologue and dolent epilogue along with the metaphors of virtues and sins.

    /I am a killer/healer. I feed the heartaches on the pieces of my peace and echo you're not alone with the millions and millions of infants of love whose innocent pale skin is marked with the purple blotches of betrayal. /

    I let my nelipot thoughts stravage in the illecebrous wild forest . I try to fill the abyss of my philocalist soul with the beaut of eesome nature. I evasdrop the coronach of coruscant stars and laments of love lorn moon. I place the chaste kisses on the forehead of sun burning in the hellfire of criticism and forlornless.

    /I am an admirer/sucker of pain who soaks the miseries dancing on the rhythm of stranger's melancholic melodies and conceal the cosmos with the clouds like a nephophile sowing seeds of comforting verses on the edges of rainbows. /

    I gulp down the opulent sweet lies hiding deiform truth inside my womb. The beguiling promises conceal their naked soul with the curtains of enchanting verses .

    /I am a revealer/nurturer who enisle and puke unclad lies ,nurturing marcid truths in the realm of poetries. I am a micawber who paves the path to paradise lined with the conifers chanting "please stay alive" in the midst of hell./

  • reneewolfcrowdenunez 15w

    #cees_query #writers @writersnetwork @miraquill #TrudgingTowardsTheTruth

    My role as a writer
    Is to become
    One with the universe..

    With this pen
    I am granted
    A voice and rebirth
    To my fighting spirit..

    Asking the wind
    To join with the earth
    And cover
    Exposed roots
    Whispering ink
    To relieve any suffering..

    To give way
    To self -recovery..

    Generous with my empathy
    Full of self-discovery
    Going back to loving
    Outside of myself
    ©renee wolf-crow de nunez

    Read More

    MY ROLE AS A WRITER plus an
    (Excerpt from my poem "Breeze softly whisper")


  • dishang8614 15w

    #cees_query #writer
    @writersnetwork @miraquill
    Thank you Carolyn for this wonderful challenge you hosted

    A writer's role

    Once a writer said, "Be cautious if you're fragile pink"
    When society is lack of sleep but still manage to be a mockingbird, to pretend to be carefree but the truth is they are really a soft hardened jealous clouds.

    Here comes a writer, to shape the world, to heal and inspire one's life and so as writing a thousand thoughts of love, dreams, pain and uncertainty.
    Isn't about fame or legacy if why do writer's write
    It's their heart to voice out and bond to every reader describing how vulnerable the world if we take a wrong step to the path we used to see.
    Never underestimate the role of a writer, for their knowledge and wisdom were planted in our vast mind for us to absorb.
    More than that, a writer's role is to stand ultimately and scattered daylight to your morbid blue sky.

    Read More

    Forgive me, if my honesty is killing you
    For I'm just a writer whose heart feasting honey and pain on a bird's nest

  • mahtobpensdown 15w

    When life takes a dramatic turn
    Each individual wants light from the sun!
    That's where writer's step in;
    Add magical elements, glam and grin
    Writer paints vidvidly the emotions
    About all happy times, grief and war guns
    He portrays the happenings of the society
    Show's life's unexpected twists and beauty
    His pen exhibits the pleasure and pain
    Without him, life would be
    certainly mundane!

    #cees_query #mundane #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork #poetry #poets #thoughts #life

    @miraquill @writersnetwork

    Read More


    When life takes a dramatic turn
    Each individual wants light from the sun!
    That's where writers step in;
    Add magical elements, glam and grin
    Writers' paint vidvidly the emotions
    About all happy times, grief and war guns
    He portrays the happenings of the society
    Show's life's unexpected twists and beauty
    His pen exhibits the pleasure and pain
    Without him, life would be
    certainly mundane!

  • mirakso 15w

    As A Writer

    As a writer,
    I want to bring a smile
    On the sad face
    Which was disguised in happiness,
    I want to observe
    Other's perspective
    Rather than forcing mine.

    As a writer,
    I want my words
    To turn into the answers
    Of the questions that were lost
    In the darkness of fear and guilt.
    I want to guide the ones
    Stuck on the point of divergence.

    As a writer,
    I want to be a friend,
    Who listens
    To the one's who are left alone.
    I want my words to be the voice,
    Of the one's who kept
    Their feelings buried inside.
    I want to enlighten
    A broken soul.

    As a writer,
    I want to be a reason
    Behind a positive change,
    I want my words to be a motive
    Behind someone's perseverance.

  • pallavi4 15w


    My pen bleeds indigo ink
    Blending emotions I often hide
    Breathing life into broken bulbs
    Emoting all I feel inside

    In the magical metaphors of my verse
    Is a land understood by very few
    Of unbridled pain and luscious love
    I try and bend realities both old and new

    Alliterations adorn my garden of Eden
    Like a bunch of butterflies in a lurch
    Poetic posies garnish my need
    Of being a part of an endless search

    Of lives lived and places and people
    Who are a part of my everyday
    Some of imaginary images formed
    From ideas from much too far away

    Some phrases inspire ideas
    However insipid the circumstance may be
    Some rhythmic rhymes incite
    Revolutions for being free

    The flow of my wandering words hide
    The sweetness of larks singing a duet
    I unveil a wondrous world that can
    Only be uncovered by a poet

    Therefore I am ….

    An observer who views the world at large
    An assimilator who incorporates people or events
    An opinionator who expresses one’s or others views
    An emoter who can report emotional vents

    A creator who creates a world of his own
    An author who originates a script
    A crafter of real or made up events
    A wordsmith who knows how to use words to the hilt


  • aivsairandhri 15w

    Iam a mottled flower's petal,
    A broken wind chime,
    The White translucent
    decaying roots
    of your favourite plant,
    An unfurled golden leaf,
    An old page of a dusty book,
    A droplet sleeping
    in the nodes of a leaf,
    You see me everyday
    But its not likely that you
    Recognize me everyday,
    And that's my power.

    I could pour my mind
    To a parched paper
    Become a thought
    Inside the grooves of your brain
    When I write ; I yield
    Such an unfathomable talent
    Of being a God of unsaid words.
    You may pity me everyday
    But its not likely that you
    Recognize me everyday,
    And that's my power.
    ©A!v Sairandhri

    #miraquill #writersnetwork @miraquill @writersnetwork

    Read More

    When I write ; I yield
    Such an unfathomable talent
    Of being a God of unsaid words.

  • _hirayamanawari_ 15w


    "I don't like this world," The little girl said, frowning.

    "Why?" I asked.

    "Because it's all gray, harsh... and just sad."

    I smiled and look at what she sees. She's not wrong.

    "Well, we can always make it better."

    She looked at me with those big wide eyes. It was full of color and life. My eyes once had those same vibrant.

    "But how?"

    "We can always paint it. You know, add colors!"

    "You can't paint a world!" She pouted. "Plus... I don't know how to paint."

    Holding her tiny hands, I squeezed it. "Of course, you can. I'll teach you."

    I took out a pen and a paper; she looks at it curiously like it was some kind of magic wand.

    "We paint with this." I showed her the pen.

    On a piece of paper, I told her to write down what colors she would like for the world we're about to paint.

    "A bright pink sky and yellow clouds." I watch as she wrote down those words.

    "Nothing happens." She frowned after writing. I told her to close her eyes and count to ten.

    And when she did, she stood up with her mouth wide open. "Woah."

    Chuckling, I reach down for the paper. "See? Now it's more colorful."

    The sky in front of us was now a color of pastel pink, and swirls of yellow clouds that looked like soft cotton candies filled it.

    "How did it happen?" She asked curiously.

    "We painted it! Using our brushes." I pointed at the pen.

    "And our paint," I added, pointing to the words she wrote down.

    Smiling to her, we watch the pink skies and yellow clouds together. Gone was the dullness of reality of the world.

    "A writer's purpose is to paint the world with their special brushes and paints to make difference," I told her.

    I lean in closer to her ears and whispered, "To make magic."


  • carrie09 15w

    I know not the reason why,
    On the susurration of the wind
    I had a dream to write
    like the amaranthine muse,
    Now and then I wish
    to sing like a raven
    flapping my wings
    on top of a bough of an oak
    But the voices I try to pull out,
    kept throttle in my throat.
    I wish to play with glorious
    metaphors,but their syllables
    stuck within the oblivion Of
    my.amnesia,then I write whatever,
    to speak out my heart with meraki.

  • nocturnal_enigma 15w

    * 21.3.2022; 3.43 A.M (Malaysia)

    Hole Role Mole Pole Sole Whole

    The 'You' is you, fellow writers ✍️ and readers!

    Going down the rabbit hole = Confusing or illogical situation

    Setting pole = Its a long thing used to move boat

    Mole = a large solid structure on a shore serving as a pier, breakwater, or causeway.

    #cees_query @writersnetwork @miraquill #conceptprompt #writers @luvnotes_challenge_host

    * Old version of last line:

    I want to hide like a mole.

    * Older version of the last lines were:

    Pen is like a setting pole.
    Paper is like water. Writings are like boats.

    * It sound ridiculous, so I changed it.

    * My metaphors in my poem:

    Using a setting pole = Using a pen

    I punt my boat = I write my writings

    On the water = On the paper

    Read More

    -ole ~

    As a writer, I wonder what is my role?
    Feel like I'm going down the rabbit hole.
    Cannot fill your void to make you feel whole.
    Sorry, readers. For your time that I stole.
    Well, I really don't know what's my sole...
    purpose in writing. Using a setting pole,
    I punt my boat, on the water, near a mole.

    © Nuruliffa Emirah
    @ nocturnal_enigma

  • kefi_kat 15w

    (A piece due to lack of time
    Not what I had in mind..
    Feels like I'm re-writing my old pieces :|
    Guess I don't have the luxury to research & ink
    Like I used to, but soon though.. 🖤
    Hope this is a reasonable excuse? :[ )

    Let me know if I did this challenge justice 🐧💛
    & if the font is legible 🐥🖤

    #cees_query #wod #pod
    @miraquill @writersnetwork


    Apotheosis: glorification, idolization, immortal
    Abstracter: Summarizer, ponderer, reflecter
    Anent: relating to
    Aficionado: admirer,enthusiast, expert,lover
    Quintessence: core, essence
    Iris: iridescent/ rainbow (the Greek word for iris)
    Aurora:Northern lights
    Fables: fictious
    Parables: factual morals
    Neo: new
    Obdurate: tender feelings
    Balter: dance around cheerfully
    Saorise: freedom
    Scansion: the rhythm, beats

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    She, The Writer.

    She, The writer
    Apotheosis of myriad roles
    Ethereal heart of an old soul
    Abstracter among the cosmos
    An aficionado of life
    The quintessence of an ascending iris phoenix
    Transcending within the vortex of chaos & emotions
    Veiled beneath the abyss of the auroral horizon
    Knitting constellations of fables & parables
    Painting society, a neo history
    With her pallette of creative & perceptive expressions
    Defining the modern pride & prejudice
    Highlighting it's hues with grace & poise
    A reflection of the past,
    A gaze into the future
    Discovering wondrous wisdoms of,
    Enchanted fantasies & Mantle of mysteries.
    Who orchestrates epiphanic ballads in symphonic obdurate
    Where her words balter in saoirse to it's scansion
    She, The writer
    Is a prism of life.

  • prakashinin 15w

    A writer experiences things differently from the common people in general . Here I
    go with
    a woman writer only for convenience.Many a times she cannot withhold her overwhelming emotions. Immediately she pour out her mind in her
    Journal to get rid of the suffocation. Her mind can always distinguish between the right
    and wrong. She always sticks to the truth. Injustice, prejudices being given to the undeserved ones,racial discriminations prevailing in the society all disturb her night
    Sleep. She not only dreams for a changed world with out any vices but also make use of her quill to fight against . She reminds
    them where they are going wrong and some times
    It could be a warning . Sometimes she realises her own past mistakes and how
    much she is regretting about that. Her mind
    is as soft as a flower that she is a true worshipper of beauty.Nature and all its creations attracts her.Yes she believes
    in that , that beauty comes from within.So
    her poems or stories some times resemble as paintings or sculptures. East or west south or north the world adore writers.
    She has to undergo so many
    sufferings through out her journey as
    a writer.Even her life is threatened because of her raised voice against the hypocrisies and other anti social elements.She is the one
    who is upholding her head high against all odds.So the people who realise her always give a beautiful face of their highest imaginations to her in their hearts.

  • mysteriousde 15w

    #mirakee #ceesrepost @miraquill @writersnetwork #writer #challenge
    #cees_query #wod

    Sorry for late.. :(
    IDK it makes sense or not..

    Writer is the "pace maker" of dead society...

    Writing is beyond the words..
    It is not only connects the hearts of readers and writers but always left an epochal sign on the people..

    Like the fascinating science of Aryabhatta
    And those conceptual explanations of Mendel

    How did you get everything...
    From the writings...isn't it..?

    Though the society is changing
    AI is emerging but nothing can replace the one thing that is writers and the old habits of writings..

    //A writer can make, break and heal the society
    and have the power to mould the society//

    So being a writer is the toughest and most remarkable duty of society..

    /Books contain millions of dreams inside the pages..
    And every turn is the pioneer of next step../

    And that's how a writer becomes the first brick of the country..

    //One day we all will die
    but what will be left behind..are stories.
    That'll incarnate you..
    And if it happened to be a good story
    it would always be read..//

    Like the autobiography of Sir "A.P.J. Abdul Kalam"
    Always taught me never-ever give up..

    Read More

    A doctor dies for patients,
    A soldier dies at borders
    I found someone who dies in
    the papers..

  • nirvanabharga0 15w

    Idk, whether it 'd fit in the challenge or not, yet tried.

    Happy reading ❤

    ** Antediluvian Linguaphile : primitive language & word lover

    Thank you for the ♡ @writersnetwork
    Thank you for the ♡ & kind repost @luvnotes_challenge_host

    #cees_query #challenge #writers @luvnotes_challenge_host
    #wod #pod @miraquill @writersnetwork #miraquill #writersnetwork #dark #truth #thank_you #edited #temp

    Read More

    The Antediluvian Linguaphile

    I'm a scattered soul humbly
    voyaging through the intergalactic void
    that exists between the ethereal and existential me,
    carrying the bundle of all the pieces of my splintered self
    swaddled in gauze of hope, searching for stillness.
    Far and wide along the odyssey to my center,as life, I'm witnessing innumerable big bangs betwixt my respires at every gulp of 'now' which I'm striving to encapsulate in the hues of nascent poesies.

    Writing is a bucolic citadel,
    where my soul sojourn to breathe-in
    the serenity of its own quintessence
    in solidarity with the vehement vigour of life.

    Being a penman,
    I'm surprisingly living
    the imperceptible perceptions of
    my own proliferating cognizance
    through the myriad hues of
    lachrymose solicitude having
    empathetic vibes through the sublime
    constellations of curvey contours effervescence.

    As a scrivener to my encepalon's etymology,
    now, I feel very honoured to drip every blob of blood
    as a metaphor in the blooming blank verse poesies burgeoning through the necropolis of ordeal déjà vu;
    obliquely empowering every twig of life
    to spring through the autumn augury.


    For me writing is a Shangri-la where my soul attune to the biorhythms of the creation's tenets, begetting oeuvres. And my role as a writer(I believe so) is to let life to live through the syllabary silhouettes of quilled subliminal ad infinitum. For every emanating ardent fervor of soul is thriving to bide through life as potential as us.


  • himanshi_sharma 15w

    #pod #wod #cees_query #mirakee #writersnetwork #notice @writersnetwork @luvnotes_challenge_host

    Thanks @miraquill for EC ������

    Have you ever noticed the
    convulsed orange
    inch of the moon perching on the silver
    minute of the evening.

    Nature gives me a magical power inherent
    to weave in mind the lattice of light
    and shadow.
    To feel the shroud of surreal stillness
    as fields lying miraculously in violent silence.

    Fill with microscopic withering
    I learn what life teaches me ��
    I read her silly poems diligently and slowly
    writing myself Prolifically.

    Bursting with words,
    her rapture of a dream, I've shared sky's fantasy.
    I follow the unvisited signs
    and end up getting lost in the depth of dense tranquillity.

    As I walk on this path of life,
    not to live without fault but to thrive
    in its decadence.
    My footsteps crumple upon dry amber leaves
    to make the melody
    for my enchanted journey unfinished within.

    // Being a writer makes me feel alive,
    makes me feel like we all are travelling through
    a long road where all the
    people are minutely dead yet every white streak
    of healed tissues felt like a badge of honour
    Cause we L I V E D a
    L O V E D life.
    A life worth noticing,
    A life worth telling the stories about. //


    Read More

    // Being a writer makes me feel alive,
    makes me feel like we all are travelling through
    a long road where all the
    people are minutely dead yet every white streak
    of healed tissues felt like a badge of honor
    Cause we L I V E D a
    L O V E D life .
    A life worth noticing,
    A life worth telling the stories about. //


  • thelonesurvivor 15w

    Tried but don't know how is it
    @luvnotes_challenge_host @miraquill @writersnetwork

    Thank you @writersnetwork for EC ��❤️☺️

    Read More

    Role of a Writer

    We don't plan to be a writer
    We never think that we can write something that will affect people
    We just write to express what we feel, what we experience
    Sometimes our experiences motivate others
    And sometimes they saw their story in a writer's work

    There is not a particular role a writer plays
    They do many things with their work
    They motivate people with their thoughts
    They give them hope to stand still and not give up
    They let people experience through their imaginary world
    And let people live in that world of imagination
    Where everybody loves to be

    Writers write to express through their words
    And people fall in love with those words
    They empathize with them
    They can feel the pain the writer had gone through while writing those sad lines
    They can feel the excitement the writer had while writing that long-awaited union of two souls.

    So there is not a particular role, a writer plays.
    A writer motivates and helps many just through their words.


  • lalitha_l2 15w

    I'm your soul,
    When you are out of control,
    When the goal of your role,
    Stolen by the unwhole!!

    I'm there to hold,
    And not leave until many stories told,
    To have the recap of you, gold,
    Just to console, you are not old!!

    I'm the secret shadow,
    In the spaces of narrow,
    Just to allow your arrows,
    In direction of your rainbows!!

    It's never the below of the zero,
    To overflow your sorrows in wet pillows,
    And to overthrow your bravado,
    In the slow low flows!!

    I'm there here to boost the roles,
    Not only me, and me any many amigos,
    To take the turn of our wish motto,
    And to accomplish peak flow of many light shows!!

  • sproutedseeds 15w


    I have less friends in person
    but my pen has more while inking
    on the paper. It gets friendly to words
    some new,some common, some very sophisticated,
    some less known.

    My word friends want me to open up.
    To become extrovert is difficult for me.
    I feel comfortable in their company.
    I speak to them about my ideas on the
    paper. I place them carefully with simplicity.

    When I try to express myself with the support of my word friends I find myself to be
    optimistic in my approach which is hidden
    in actual life.

    Through the role of a writer, I am able to see other side of myself though not in action being an introvert, but through words
    a better understanding of who, what, why, how
    I am as an individual through introspection.