4582 posts
  • islamabad 11h


    clearing my drafts, Pick em up

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    The rainy clouds and blurry truths;
    no more hide the lies of your presence.
    Tomorrow,it could be a memory too,
    Today it's just a yesterday's asset.

  • islamabad 18h

    There are the days;
    when you look around all corners of the room,
    and don't find yourself,
    You tell a truth although a lightest lie
    could brace the story.
    Your soul stay still in a crowd
    and the jangle of town don't rhym with your rhythm.
    The high town buildings and the roaming city fame,
    seem swiped away of your sight.
    You know when and how it rained
    that washed away the mute sillence of your life.
    But there,you don't know when you loved some souls as love actually mattered.
    The places and hearts you chose to live, feels no more safe rather you chose the abandoned roads and skin torn hands.
    You see your colors getting faint so get to know that some souls are made to fade alive.
    The flavours your baren lips squelch for, are not the souvenir of peel of money or cold words.
    Sometimes you are afraid of wild damages you could do and see them coming forth, beyond forth ,in a present.
    You know everything yet everything is unknown.
    You do it, We do it all.
    In real, for real.
    Unknowingly daily


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  • sleepingsoul 1d


    Slowly and slowly bit by bit I am learning to introspect my soul, I am guessing to survive alone, to lean and forward my egos and adopt my inner child again, to convert myself into a spectrum full of clarity and binding upon my thoughts only.

  • islamabad 1d

    strange is a term promise,
    like a rain on a sunlit day.
    Someone named it emotionally
    cause one couldn't find a term
    that hurt,calm , slay,
    feel,annoy all at the same time.
    Maybe promise is just
    a candy pop that vanishes on touch of ecstatic tongue
    amnesiac soul that folds under the skin of sighs
    or a wilted leave that desires for a long life.
    Promises too have faces,
    unveiled and moulded
    by the hands that believe in fallacy of tomorrow.
    Bring me a charm, cause everytime promises just strike my ears rather than soul.
    Why always we utter promises that are dead and deprived of the breathes,
    one fumes helplessly while giving them a birth.
    I think promises too weep faded nights a little longer, not only the eyes who listened them.
    I think promise is another creature,
    that is sad on its birth.
    I think promises too don't want life only to die like all of us.



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    If promise lasts longer ($ighs)


  • madinah_writes 1w

    The world is wide. It isn't just makes you lonely. It makes you lost.

  • nocturnal_enigma 1w

    * 23.11.2021; 4.01 A.M (Malaysia)

    go ~

    I saw green leaves and more than a mango.
    Still green colour. Not yellow. Had to go...
    back inside. Well, I even left my big ego...
    outside. Would like to eat a lot! Mani mogo.

    © Nuruliffa Emirah
    @ nocturnal_enigma

    * Mani mogo (Korean) = Eat a lot/Let's eat

    * �� I like to eat prawn/shrimp ����

    * My Korean-English name (I made-up) is:
    No-eul Iva Emily

    #writingcontest #contest #creativearena

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    go ~

    I saw green leaves and more than a mango.
    Still green colour. Not yellow. Had to go...
    back inside. Well, I even left my big ego...
    outside. Would like to eat a lot! Mani mogo.

    © Nuruliffa Emirah
    @ nocturnal_enigma

  • muskaanbhatt_ 1w

    So, I wrote this one for today's @miraquill's writing contest.
    I tried to write, although it was not a worthy topic to write on, seemed so kiddish while observing and writing, and as always miraquill gives meaningless stupid topics instead of positive ones, grow up bro.
    I seriously got to know about these other features(arena) of this app today, and so this is my first time writing for any contest of this app, hope you all like including the founders.

    #pod #wod #contest #writingcontest #creativearena
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    99 Shades of Red Colour

    While ambling through my GARDEN
    I saw dissimilar coloured flowers GROWN
    All were looking dazzling, delightful and ENDEARING
    And most of all those dark imperial shaded red roses captured my heart and gave me an ALARMING
    The red colour of those roses tried to cease me with help of its luminous PETALS
    Blown up my mind with its charm and forced me to SHUFFLE
    With those water droplets on the red petals felt like clear necre PEARLS
    Gave me an another satisfaction with its petals which were full of CURLS
    That red colour was so perfect in its own way and so FLAWLESS
    I was staring them in awe and they trapped me more with their ATTRACTIVENESS

    Besides my lawn i looked up to my ORCHARD
    To see those Venetian red shaded ripped apples i walked a bit FORWARD
    They Looked so juicy with some kind of golden glints on its COVERING
    With some reluctance i tried to pluck ONE
    But couldn't as I felt its red colour was saying not segregate me from my little SON

    I walked a bit outside the garden I saw my lover waiting THERE
    He walked upto me but his coral red shaded lips made me stunned and all i did was to STARE

    With him i went outdoor and attended a wedding CEREMONY
    I was still lost in his red lips that once again red colour beguiled my heart with such a HARMONY
    This time it was the burgundy red shade of the bride's DRESS
    Staring bride's red coloured dress in desperation and felt like I am in love with red colour and now I should CONFESS

    Then again I reminded all the things of red coloured I saw TODAY
    Literally all were heart throbbing and else what good can I SAY
    Red roses to those red apples to his red lips to that red bridal DRESS
    Every red shade stole my heart because red colour was evolved in everything with such a BLESS


  • juanogando 1w

    Baby Blue Morning

    My daughter’s favorite colour
    Is blue, a hue limitless without bounds.
    The mourning sea kisses the blushing sky
    As a lively gull expounds.
    The bluejay is rough at play
    Taunts the feline to recline
    Beneath a shrub of indigo flowerets
    Yet the stray is attentive and sanguine.
    A periwinkle scooter scoots on by
    The rider with steel blue eyes
    Seizes the morning with bursts
    Of speed, taunting his demise.
    A sapphire fantasy fills my mind
    As the slate hued dread of winter descends
    Of cerulean seas in the Caribbean
    With my Carolina blue friends.
    I am assured her mood is azure
    As I greet her with a kiss.
    I wrap her in a new turquoise scarf
    Lifting her mood with kindness.


  • husnachikwela 1w


    My start began when write,
    Some of them they shout,
    I will not see right,
    But I continue to fight.

    No one accepts my write,
    I couls unbreak my hurt,
    Continue with my own art,
    Anything I could not want.

    Letter I got my account,
    My poems where being count,
    A message was being brought,
    They have accept my thought.

    Today a book I have got,
    Hatcheg they have promote,
    My books they have bought,
    Because my cover is soft.

    Let me answer in short,
    This not my last tought,
    I will continue to write,
    Up to things be alright.

    This is not my last,
    Soon new thing will start,
    They shall be very fast,
    They shall be good infact.

  • lucy08 1w

    "Not just another Sunset"

    A thousand tangerine desires
    crowding up her subconscious space
    As she sat on a rusty park bench
    to watch the ginger-red lonely place.

    Gradient shades across the sky,
    forecasting of her radiant tomorrow
    While fiery streaks bathed her paled past,
    turning its ebony hues to a tuscan-glow.

    "Why do autumn dusks appear so faithful,
    Even though we all know
    that its the calmness before the advent
    of the cold winter's chilly show?"

    "It's not just another orange sunset, dear"
    whispered a delicate emerald plant;
    Twisting and coiling slowly, the ivy grew,
    casting a spell of its majestic enchant.

    Her heart felt warmer than usual days,
    The pale blues were no longer there,
    The ferns' shadows and the sun's crimsoned rays
    had painted her soul into a rare AMBER solitaire.


    #creativearena #colour #contest #wod #writingcontest
    EC....after quite a long time��
    Thank you @miraquill and @writersnetwork #ceesreposts

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    "Why do autumn dusks appear so faithful?"

  • happiestme 1w

    Her eyes are like the palette.
    Where different colors are mixing
    To create a whole landscape.
    Her soul is dyed with the colors of her thoughts.
    She is a open book, yet closed.
    If you can read the colors
    You understand the picture
    #miraquill #pod #creativearena #writingcontest #wod


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    Her colors

    Her soul is dyed with the colors
    Of her thoughts

  • kradle 1w

    Green's Stagnat Life

    You see... The sun is the table lamp.
    Only on for a little while.
    Your told, "night night" and "sleep tight",
    And you might wake up in a little while.

    Think of the sky as your canvas of thoughts.
    We look up and see the Heavens with tiny bit of hope, that we are not alone.
    Not that, we want see an alien race devour our brain,
    or a reflection of us starring our way.
    Just... A little more meaning to every wake.
    Not a "Hello, good bye" and be on your way.

    Trust, when that bright yellowy-orange ball, shines white light, and spits fire like a rapper amist fog lights.
    I sit down and think if the painter of the sky, every thought the contrast would be so right.
    When the night fades, it's just as beautiful as day.
    The AC turned down for a cool hydrate.

    In secret, I really just love trees, yah the ones with green leaves.
    Scattered like sand in a desert, plenty and perfect.
    Digusied as the roots of life.
    The bearers, the keepers of order and time.

    If I had to say what color I like,
    It would be like asking if I like day or night.
    Let's just say when ground meets sky,
    Wonders are created as sunset and sunrise.

  • prags_09 1w


    I went out for a run
    Early in the morning, tightly made a bun
    Absorbing the winter glittering sun
    It was all fun
    I wore a jacket coloured in red
    Wandering around the empty roads before having bread
    I saw red coloured benches
    Felt relieved like I found someone in trenches
    After covering some miles
    As the season smiles
    I saw a red coloured post box
    Who post letters these days, such a paradox
    I saw a newly married woman in the same crimson shade
    The new couple looked heavenly made
    While I was coming back
    I saw children wearing red coloured sweaters and coats
    I was remembering my school days,the dream floats
    It is the day of red
    I am saying all these from a quote, having read

  • miraquill 1w

    Writing exercise

    #writingcontest #contest #creativearena

    Head to Creative Arena to participate in this writing contest and win a trophy!

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    Writing exercise

    --Write an observational poem or prose--

    For today's challenge choose a colour. Go for a fifteen-minute walk or look around and notice wherever you see that colour (take notes if you like). When you get back, write about the things you saw. You can write a poem or prose.

  • the_late_night_tales 1w

    "Pain and Pleasure"

    Often, in the middle of the night,
    Pain knocks on my door
    I don't open the door
    But he creeps in anyway
    I don't know how he reaches to me
    I never told him who I am
    Or where I live
    I always try to ignore
    But he sits next to my bed and stares at me
    And stays with me for long

    So many evenings,
    I've invited pleasure over
    to my house
    I've always kept my doors open for him
    We would have so much fun together
    And it would make me a little sad
    When he would have to go
    But he's always in hurry
    He always have to go away from me

    Now I suspect sometimes
    Pleasure is pain in disguise
    I failed to recognize him early
    And now he knows me so well
    And he knows how to reach me
    Oh God! He knows all my weaknesses

    Now I have a plan to get rid of him
    If I stop seeking pleasure
    And inviting him over to my house
    Maybe pain would stop coming too

    #pod #writersnetwork #creativearena #writingcontest

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    Read the Caption to Read the Full Poem

    Stop seeking pleasure. Otherwise, pain will find you. Pain is pleasure in disguise.


  • the_late_night_tales 2w

    Hide and Seek

    I will hide behind the drap of light, said darkness


  • blue_pheonix 2w

    I have been visiting this place since I was like 4. Grateful to the art gallery they did not touch the one thing I admire/adore/look out for in my life since my early childhood.
    They say, a work of art is called Work uptil the artist is breathing and pumping blood, but it turns into a Piece when the oxygen stops running inside and the blood stops fooling around the whole body. However, for a work to be called a Masterpiece, has no such boundaries of life and death. My very own mother made me understand art for like forever. I don't known if it was genetic or some kind of super power in me but I always used to look out for things she used to hide in her works...oh sorry...I mean pieces. Yes, she is dead now. I don't think they were very vague or complicated, she always drew pretty much clearly. What she wanted, how she felt about wanting it, and how it shouldn't feel wanting it....three majors of her pieces. It aches my heart to call her work pieces...since I have known the fact of calling an art work a PIECE is also from like forever.
    Anyways, today is the day I must get ahold of myself and let her art grip around me as tightly as they can, like they have always been since today is the day that person died who taught me how to think and feel. Also, today is the day the person who taught me how to hate and feel that absolute anger in me is releasing from jail. Yeah, the one who killed my mother. Who could that be? My father of course. Artistic family you see! He was the greatest sculpture artist of his time. Never understood his works though...they were all mused for someone, for something I wasn't able to understand at that particularly small age. Now that I can, I don't want to. The image has changed completely. So far I know, as he says even now, he mused my mother...but she died on his hands...by his hands...right in front of me....just for me. She sacrificed herself for me. I don't know what to do with that certainly painful and awfully biting information my mind recieved when I was three days due 5.
    Today he is coming back and I can't see that rage in him that I had seen 20 years ago when I accidentally broke his work (something like a naked mannequin) for the same art gallery I'm standing right now. I was dead that day only, just biological..my mother took the act and bled instead of me. I want to see that rage in him again. The work I'm standing in front of is the Masterpiece, which can be declared one irrespective of the boundaries of life and death. A sculpture made by my dad 23 years ago of me. When I was barely 3. He mused me this one single time and it became the absolute amazing art work one has ever seen and it's my ultimate favourite, it has always been since my childhood. But, things have changed again. Today is the day, when things will change altogether and I will be free from this art work forever. Today is the day when I'll see that rage in his eyes again and today is the day when I'll gladly and lonely recieve my long due death imposed to my mother because of her stupid motherhood. Today is the day he will be seeing me after 20 years right where he loves himself and Me the most...in the art gallery where he has kept the loveliest part of me safe....today is the day I'll break the bars and shackles of this gallery and come out free. Today is the day.

    @miraquill #writingcontest #creativearena

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    (Read caption please)

  • miraquill 2w

    Story writing

    #writingcontest #contest #creativearena

    Head to Creative Arena to participate in this writing contest and win a trophy!

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    Story writing

    Plot is the foundation of a story. It is the way an author creates and organizes a chain of events in a narrative. In short, plot is the basic framework of a story.

    --Today, frame a story based on the given plot.--

    Your main character is a man in his early twenties, who can be quite compassionate. The story begins in an art gallery. Someone is leaving prison after 20 years. It's a story about sacrifice. Your character takes control of the situation.

  • the_late_night_tales 2w

    All our teachings tell us to fight and win. But for how long? Challenges never end in our lives. We deal with one and the next is already coming our way. We need to master the art of how to deal with them without losing our peace.

    #pod #writersnetwork #creativearena #writingcontest

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    The Wounded Birds

    A wounded bird
    Lying on the floor
    And a heavy heart
    Beating slowly in my chest
    Both knocked down
    By storms

    Ah! It's hard to fly
    With broken wings
    And it's even harder
    With broken dreams

    I sit next to the bird
    We wait together
    To our wings to heal
    And to the wind to calm

    This time would be different
    Now we understand the wind better
    This time we won't fight it
    We will rather play with it.

  • nocturnal_enigma 3w

    * 10.11.2021; 1.25 A.M (Malaysia)

    * 5th in #NuEmLists

    #WritingContest #Contest #CreativeArena

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    5 things I never done & want to do ~

    1. Scuba-diving

    Tried snorkeling and sea-walking. Saw baby-sharks while snorkeling. Saw clown-fishes in a sea-anemone while sea-walking. Want to dive in deep ocean to see bigger sea-creatures such as: whales, dolphins, turtles, jellyfishes, sharks, rays, octopuses etc.

    2. Rock Climbing

    Climb at a Climbing Gym. Neither at the hill nor mountain. To do this, my hands must have a very strong grip, or else, I will fall down.

    3. Jumping on a trampoline

    I want to try jumping as high as I can, land back on trampoline, jump again, then, landing on the ground, with my feet.

    4. Riding a hot air balloon

    Can look at the sky and clouds closer. Plus, looking far below me. But, first, I have to overcome my fear of height, though.

    5. Shooting with a gun

    I want to shoot with a gun at a Shooting Range. Before this, I only shot with my Dad's air-gun, gun at the games archade, VR zombies-shooting game at The Rift and gun at Fun Fair.

    © Nuruliffa Emirah
    @ nocturnal_enigma