4431 posts
  • sproutedseeds 4h


    Dear Diary,
    Today was an ordinary day but I do not know while walking through that crowded street, out of nowhere, I felt this sudden rush of happiness inside me. It was strange I could smell the scent of something delicious being
    cooked in a nearby house and I got attracted like a magnet with the aroma of the happiness tempered with joy, laughter and chirping kids.

    I couldn't hold back myself as this was what I was yearning for to taste all these years after loosing my family in the devastating flood.

    This aroma is the essence of a happy family
    An asset of life.
    © sprouted seeds

  • venus93 10h


    Dear diary,

    Today was an ordinary day but I do not know why while walking through that crowded street, out of nowhere i felt this sudden rush of happiness inside me it was strange. I could smell the scent of something delicious being cooked in a nearby house and it took me back to my childhood and to my grandma's kitchen, where she used to cook all sorts of delicacies for us grandchildren when we visited her during vacations.

    We would watch TV in the hall or play in the courtyard , all the while leaving a part of our senses back there in the kitchen , taking in the inviting aromas wafting in. When others seemed to be too engrossed in a movie or a boardgame or a catch me if you can, I would surreptitiously slip inside the kitchen, sweet talk to grandma and get a taste of what's being cooked before everyone else did. While I eagerly dived into the piping hot dish , she would lovingly admonish me to take care not to burn my fingers or my mouth. That love and care used to make the already heavenly dish taste even better. How I miss her ! If only I could turn back time ..

    Who knew a casual walk through a crowded street would end up as a wonderful trip down memory lane !

  • radnika 12h

    Dear Diary

    Dear Diary,

    Today was an ordinary day

    But I do not know why

    While walking through that crowded street

    Out of nowhere

    I felt a sudden rush of happiness inside me.

    It was strange

    I could smell the scent of something delicious

    Being cooked in a nearby house

    And a savoury memory brought a smile

    To the heart and the lips.

    Round as a full moon, golden as the sun

    Puranpolis doled out by the score

    For hungry kids drenched to the core

    Rushing in and out of houses

    In a multicolored hue, celebrating Holi.

    The entire street smelling heavenly

    Caressing the taste buds and

    In every household a treat made ready

    For the young and old alike

    Revealing in the festival of colours.

    The vermilion and the kesari

    The pink, yellow and blue

    Myriad colours to match the mood

    A celebration of the hues of life

    Sweet and savoury as the delicious food.

    Oh! The happiness it springs in me

    The innocence and sweetness 

    The delight of those carefree times

    The taste of the puranpoli drenched in ghee

    Like the embrace of a cool breeze

    On a hot summer's day.


  • priya__gupta__ 12h

    Dear Diary
    Today was an ordinary day, but I don't know why while walking through that crowded street, out of nowhere. I felt this sudden rush of happiness inside me. It was strange. I could smell the scent of something delicious being cooked in nearby house and then I went and saw a child who was playing around her mother while she is cooking....
    And sudden I remember the day when I was a kid and also my mom used to cook some delicious food for me and I were playing around her....
    After seeing that child and her mother memories started hurting me....

    @miraquill @writersnetwork @readwriteunite

    Read More

    The tastes of childhood,
    Live with us through life.

    Mother's child
    Remembers well,
    The sounds, the tastes,
    The smells.

    The early morning rise,
    Is soothed.
    A fun filled day,

    It links us
    To each others world,
    A reference for all time.
    A time to be remembered,
    When Mother cooked sublime!

    Embroidered picture on the wall,
    The words stitched,
    Evermore recall, "This is my house!
    And I do as I dammed well please!"

  • smartsam 12h

    My Dear Diary!

    Hi my beloved diary!
    Im back to you & I'm sure
    you too are smiling!

    I think our friendship
    is best because
    It's without quarrel, arguments
    & no trouble at all!

    You take in whatever
    I note in your pageful heart!

    I think you are not just
    a diary to me
    But much more than that!

    You are my old friend.
    You know all my stories,
    past, future plans,
    secrets & memories!

    The best thing I love
    about you & I'm happy
    that you never ever
    gossip to others about
    me & my secrets!

    Tell you true my dear
    Diary friend!
    In this cold hearted world -
    You. Yes you alone are my loyal pal!
    My true friend always
    without any grudge at all!

    When I tell you all or simply write in your open heartful pages - Oh! Diary I feel so relieving,
    calm & ease!

    In fact my closest friend
    I feel so better & tranquil
    besides I see myself more clearly!

    So no doubt I wonder
    how much should I thank you for this loyal friendship
    my dear diary!

    Dear Diary you are my
    ECG of my heart!
    Yes my secret best friend
    I love you
    My beloved Diary!


  • skiper 12h


    हे डे
    स्वागत है तुम्हारा आज फिर से नई शुरुआत के लिए
    कल का दर्द तो सुना ही होगा तुमने मेरा तुमसे क्या छिपाना
    एक तुम ही तो हो जहां बिना डरे बिना सोचे मैं कुछ भी कह देती हु
    कुछ भी बोल देती हु कुछ भी पूछ लेती हु
    कल उसने मुझसे अपना हक ले लिया
    तो आज की पन्ने पे मैं लिखूंगी की
    किसी पे इतना हक मत जताना कभी
    की वो आपसे उसपे हक करने का
    सारा हक ही छीन ले और आप अकेले
    रह जाओ किसी पे उतना ही हक जताना
    जब तक उसे परेशानी न हो नही तो
    वो थक जाएगा और आप अकेले

  • miraquill 13h

    Complete the diary entry.

    #writingcontest #contest #creativearena

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

    Read More

    Complete the diary entry.

    A diary entry is a personal record of an individual to store his/ her emotions, thoughts or feelings.
    --For this challenge complete the following diary entry starting with---

    Dear Diary,
    Today was an ordinary day, but I do not know why while walking through that crowded street , out of nowhere I felt this sudden rush of happiness inside me. It was strange. I could smell the scent of something delicious being cooked in a nearby house and....

  • medusas_child 1d

    Writer's Block

    I haven't posted in awhile
    Because I have no reason to write
    When I've lost my smile!

  • winter_moon 1d

    Hi 🍁♥️
    First of all, 😬 I apologize for being sluggish and a soul left without words...

    2. 🌻 I thank you all, for still adoring me 😍 and boosting me for all the things I've been writing.

    3. @Miraquill + all of my favourite writers and readers, 🍁🌻 it's my 3rd year using Miraquill, (although I've always been lazy to post stuff) and those years have given me the ability to still be the best of me. 🍁🌻♥️ Thank you again. 🌻♥️

    @rameez @tasneem53 @countablyinfinite @asmakhan @accionpoetica @thoughtfull_writer @falak_k @fahidhameed @twinkling_girl @iam_rose @poetrynowar @writersnetwork @_aasia @mirakee_reposter @zubair_ @fazilahfayaz @mirzajasia @tabsp_ @aleesa @sheikhaehsann @litrazor @amsterdam @i_repost @sheikh_huzaifa @saima__ @sayyaf

    @Miraquill (Mirakee) is my 2nd love 😍 The first being the one that gave me painful words, or maybe made me feel blank 😬

    (here is something that I tried to write: again 🍁🌻)

    #writingcontest #contest #creativearena #miraquil #writersnetwork
    #start #wod


    Endings are not always as peaceful as sunsets,
    And your gaze that curls down:
    Amongst my nightfalls.

    The morn prayers are always a gift,
    and your lips sprinkling a smile:
    amongst my dawn’s blessings.

    The last sprinkles of alcohol are not always pain-relieving,
    And you, supporting my bitter words :
    Amongst the last drops of alcohol.

    Graveyards always blossom as gardens,
    And me, fenced-in your heart (a cemetery):
    Amongst the dead who survives.


    Comment down your views on my writing skills 👉👈 And keep showing your love ♥️🍁

    Read More

    Endings are not always as peaceful as sunsets...

    Graveyards always blossom as gardens,
    And me, fenced-in your heart (a cemetery):
    Amongst the dead who survives.


  • lylbeeez 2d

    Completed the story...

    It had been years since she had seen her father, after her parents separated, Alison's father was shut out by her mother, & Alison was so young she didn't quite understand anything at all. Growing up Alison had came up with her own reasons why her parents originally separated, and why her father just disappeared. She had so many questions for her father, since her mother always kept her in the dark. "Finally, well, here it goes", Alison said quietly after taking a deep breath and knocking on her father's door.

  • winter_moon 3d

    (Maybe I’ve lost all words: and that’s the saddest part about me)

    Some readers would read a line and scroll, some might be wondering about the life I've had.

    July 23, 2021
    11:26 am
    Dear past,
    The attic was like the bewitched place full of messes, where the dried up vegetables laid in the hue of poverty. The aroma of tomatoes and onions seemed to be burnt out in the flame of miserable sunshine.

    A few innocent pursuits had been coloured by me and my sister, where we had a glamorous mother, and an enormous cottage, dad would be a joyous man, and we would devour life like a glass of wine.

    The watercolours seemed pale, jaundiced. And the life appeared diseased, but we would laugh, no matter what.

    The garden wasn't a garden indeed, it seemed to be a necropolis of unborn bouquets. The teacher would scold me for being the only child who wouldn't bring her flowers.
    I would tell her, the buds would die in her hair, but not that the blossom had never been born in our home.

    I would rather tend to be a guilty child than an unhappy one.

    We were taught to smile at everyone and laugh at everything. Because it was better to be seen as careless than being watched for kindness.

    We wanted to be helped with respect and not for prayers. We wanted to be loved for love and not for being poor.

    The rusty sludge room taught us lessons, to appear cheerful and appreciative, always.

    Who peeks at the worms in the dirt of soil, when the flowers chuckle and dance?


    Comment down your views on my writing skills 👉👈

    #writingcontest #contest #creativearena #miraquil #writersnetwork

    @rameez @tasneem53 @countablyinfinite @asmakhan @accionpoetica @thoughtfull_writer @falak_k @fahidhameed @twinkling_girl @iam_rose @poetrynowar @writersnetwork @_aasia @mirakee_reposter @zubair_ @fazilahfayaz @mirzajasia @tabsp_ @aleesa @sheikhaehsann @litrazor @amsterdam @i_repost @sheikh_huzaifa @saima__ @sayyaf

    Read More

    July 23, 2021

    Dear past,

    Who peeks at the worms in the dirt of soil, when the flowers chuckle and dance?


  • majesty_ 4d

    Dark soul

    Here he stands
    Alone but not when
    Where does he go
    Into the hearts of men
    Fear it's hunger
    He laughs in delight
    For he was just a stranger
    Now he's your best friend at night

  • majesty_ 4d

    The U.r.g.e

    The urge
    Is that what its called
    The urge to follow
    The urge to trust
    The urge to wallow
    The urge to discuss
    The urge to be good
    It's in God's hands
    But my urge to speak out
    Is What's pulling me towards revenge
    Knocked out of character
    Look what I made myself do
    the urge to get even
    Bright like morning dew
    That's why I'm leaving
    And that's on you
    The urge to get angry
    It was high on my list
    But was only there a memory
    Now festering within this dead heart of mine
    Breaking the rules, I thought I could cheat
    They say revenge is best served cold
    My revenge is so cold you'll register it as heat

  • indiraminu 4d


    The most popular matter,
    Talked on by almost all today;
    The truth and goodness of an individual,
    Borne in people’s minds;
    In a circumstance,
    Dominated by social media!
    The controversy of standards,
    Falsely determining ‘beauty’,
    Some may say-
    “They aren’t any such standards!”
    But deep inside,
    They feel that,
    They aren’t filling,
    Those so called ‘standards’!
    The beauty of standards;
    Boosts one’s confidence;
    While throwing some others,
    Into depression!
    We are acquainted that,
    We exist in all complexions;
    But everyone react that:
    To be fair is only acceptable!
    We do know that,
    The existence of shapes and sizes;
    For what we pay a lot,
    Burning hundreds of calories;
    Just to maintain that tall, skinny look!
    Maybe sometimes an unachievable task,
    On account of the hormones or genetics;
    As a result,
    We sink into our sea of melancholy;
    It is because:
    We all love skeletons!
    We do exist with different features,
    But adore the way others look;
    We enhance our features,
    Just to match such grades;
    It’s nothing, but our love,
    For attractive jawline, cheek bones,
    Brows and lashes, with smokey eyes!
    We feel that,
    We need not impress someone,
    Indeed we fail in impressing ourselves, Lacking self-love;
    Above all!
    It isn’t permanent;
    So what makes us to strive for it?
    They’re just faulty thoughts;
    Making the mankind faulty!
    No matter how hard we look,
    Beauty, is infact,
    What makes us feel the strength;
    The strength to accept our flaws,
    Leaving a reminder that,
    With increase in imperfections,
    Beauty too intensifes!


  • indiraminu 4d


    What's colourful?
    The one filled with colours!
    Is it your soul or your mind?
    Or your life?
    If it's your soul, tryna be a rainbow,
    Never let someone draw their arrows past it,
    Let it find some colourful peace solely by all means!
    If it's your mind, tryna make some camouflage art of thoughts,
    Just stop it, better before it surpasses a chameleon,
    Help it attain some stability!
    If it's your life, tryna be a blend,
    Letting in the brighter shades of colours,
    Also be brave enough to face the darker ones!⚡


  • indiraminu 4d

    Pure smile

    We need not fake a smile,
    When we're actually happy!
    Be it a merry maker or some sort of introvert!
    Everyone of us, can put on a pure smile;
    Doing the things we enjoy,
    Not letting regrets stick onto our paths!


  • winter_moon 4d

    Mornings bring endless battlefields
    And Evenings bring the ache of the scrapes,
    What is lost to a man who had lost all his shields,
    And what shall he win when he doesn't have a dream,
    Dreams: poet writes in the hues of black,
    But he is neither a poet nor a man of vision,
    He is a homeless soul, with no place to lack,
    He is strong and too weak to be someone...


  • angeljohn 5d

    Annà Teresa.

    From his grace, in its richness;
    we have received you, our treasure
    and you filled us all, with your dreamy-aura;
    hoisting our lively belief, in our Lady-Maria..

    For refined Springtide, you reflect
    by implementing your pure-whitened smile,
    rewarded as an angelic-boon
    by the most-pure Regina,
    to our blooming rose, Annà ..

    Star of the sea, our Mother Mary
    cordially pray, do we-
    "Please embellish and beautify;
    our treasure, without a measure..
    As she, our Teresa is our Elisa,
    who adds solidity to the verse-
    "God is an unbreakable promise..!"

  • angeljohn 1w

    Jingle Pickle..

    Jingle your tone, to mingle with lone..
    Twinkle, a smile and sprinkle thoughts juvenile..
    Jungle is the world, thus lives struggle hard..
    Pickle, a good memory, kindle them happily..
    Jingle fine to be twinkle shine
    in this jungle sein and
    create flavorful pickle, with memory thine!

  • elli_mcfarlane 1w


    Alison rushed to the garden early morning to pluck roses and lilies. Thereafter she went straight to her father's home.

    It had been years that her parents separated. She lived with her mother and knew little of her departed father. Merely two years old, her father's silhouette blending into the fateful night her only memory.

    Losing control, sorrow overwhelming, her father didn't survive the drive that night. Wracked with guilt her mother pinned, refusing to part with their summer home, his home.

    Reaching the door, boarded shut, cobwebs as tangled as her mind, suddenly Alison stopped. Every year this ritual, to place roses and lilies at his door, rushing trying to avoid emotion.

    Then a hand from behind on her shoulder, she knew it was her mother, without turning she knew she was crying, she did every anniversary.

    Reaching up placing my hand over hers, laying my posey with the other. It was just a fight that night that cemented their eternal separation.

    Feeling her hand shaking, guilt and shame overwhelming, turning to her I quietly prayed. Hoping this year she'd be different, somehow in less pain. One look at her eyes conforming she would never be the same.