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
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.
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. ❤
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 . .
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
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.
grace_craigI don't know why I keep entering these contests. They never pick a winner. I've entered 3 contest that had 2 other entries against me but they didn't pick a winner for any of them. It's been forever since they last announced a winner. Pretty sure the last one was the love song one from 22 weeks ago which they gave the win to someone who didn't even follow the rules. I just feel like it's a waste of talent to have us write something for a contest when they won't pick a winner. If they announce a winner for this one I might enter the next one but I'm done entering just to have it be a waste of time.
hyekim@grace_craig yeah true unnie I too didn't see But maybe they'll this time But I dunno why I am saying I am never able to complete story challenges *hehe*
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.