#fallingc

24 posts
  • nocturnal_enigma 15w

    * 9.10.2021; 3.46 A.M (Malaysia)

    * For: My #crush #AHBA

    #foreverc #fallingc @writersbay

    * #Katauta #wod @miraquill

    * Katauta. Japanese form of poetry.
    Side poem. Half poem.
    Emotional, intutitive verse. Not logical.
    As an address to a lover.
    Total of 17 or 19 syllables.
    5, 7, 5 or 5,7, 7 syllable count.

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    -ver ~

    Believe my words; Be...
    a believer; As they're words...
    of affirmations.

    I've become braver...
    as I'm falling in love for...
    you. I'm giving my love for...

    you, plus some gifts. I'm...
    a giver. Please accept them.
    Instead of return.

    I have lovesickness;
    Like a fever; I am a...
    lovesick-girl; Want to meet you...

    in real life; Only...
    met you in sweet-dreams, sweet-heart.
    Forever in my...

    heart; You broke my heart,
    though; You are not my lover.
    Wanna you be my husband.

    I wonder, whether,
    you ever really like me?
    Or is it just me?

    Never say goodbye.
    Don't leave me. Let me be the...
    leaver; I want to die first.

    My love for you won't...
    waver; My quest for your love;
    Can't get over you!

    © Nuruliffa Emirah
    @ nocturnal_enigma

  • ak_anjali_daydreamzz 15w

    #start #foreverc #fallingc #cloudsc #apologizec #smokec
    #brokennessc #almostc #octoberc #timetoleavemylove
    @milliondreamsarekeepingmeawake I ended same line !
    #ak_prose

    All Rights Reserved
    7 Oct 2021 11 am

    (Beatrice means - she who makes happy )

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    Beatrice to Beethoven

    I love night walks, I've always loved the streets stretching long and wide before me, luring me to measure the distance between my love and my destiny, which stays hidden amidst white lights, pink frames and pied piper's songs. Even tonight I'm walking, with half a mind to stop, just return back home and the other half urging to walk until I surpass this scenery. The one which will be engraved on my mind in bold tints of hues - a buried symphony of rain(tear)drops.



    Loud zephyr surged through birches lining the asphalt. Lonely footpaths are piling heaps of dried dreams, that once had palmistry of a prospering future. Just like the rosy lines on my pale palm, they are fading and blurring. Leaving mere marks that resemble scars of being alive. Maybe they'd never disappear. Maybe they'd stay forever on me. Reminding me that I once had umpteenth possibilities, all of which got flooded by unrestricted emotions.

    The ache in my heart is tracing branches of thunderstorms lighting the darkening night sky in flashes. It all started from a single drop, that leisurely rolled off my forearm, slowly. Falling, falling and then hitting hard on the concrete crossroad. Welkin left no raindrop orphaned. More of those tragic pearls fell like an ornament of the heaving clouds. 

    Fogged streetlights adorned divinity as if a halo, blessing otherwise pitch black way. With every step I took, I let some tear drops cuddle the enlarging puddles on my way. Some steps deliberately stomped on fallen leaves, unwilling to lock away my distress. 'It must be October', my hazy mind tried to reason, why my pathway is paint-dipped in crimson-maroons and amber-bronzes. Just like my red-rimmed eyes and scar-studded thighs. 

    A heart that once poured love like marvelling monsoons have now closed off with raging smoke, a clouded mind.
    It's almost impossible to believe that he's unaware of the ways he's transformed 'from beaut to beast'. His hands tremble so hard if he can't refill poison pools in the glass bottles. Mirrors showed him neither reality nor fantasy. Music is no more his high, notations are mind maps to hell, a trepidating trap. 

    Echoes have left him aeons ago, whispers can't reach him even within hairline distance. Trumpets and drumroll veiled silence, piano poignantly ponders, violins wail intermittently. Euphony unreachable, cacophony undeterred. All that left was a mirage of eutony, not even approachable. And caresses have withered as soon as winter bound him in frore, lending me blossoming whiplashes.

    I stayed by him like a shadow that has taken an oath of solemnity. But there's only so much I can do when none of my attempts could disclose his despair. He was hell-bent on pushing me away. Would promises wither if their voices travel back to their origin ? Would love disappear if the hearts unwind their own beats ? Would forever fall down to never-again if brokenness gravitied the fall ? Who is to apologize to whom, if both are hurt and keep hurting each other ?

    This wretched rain has drenched me depressed yet my heart is shielding a drought rooted in loss. This scenery is fated to fade in forlorn.
    And every foggy breath I exhale is chanting a farewell to my once-wished-eternal-spring -
    " It's time to erase this scenery.
    It's time to leave, my love..." 

    / I couldn't be a Beatrice to his Beethoven
    For I'm Betrothed to Brokenness /

    ©ak_anjali_daydreamzz

  • wilmaneels1 15w

    It felt like she was the only one falling
    Tripping over her emotions
    She felt isolated, like she was doing this on her own
    But that was okay too
    You sometimes need to be by yourself
    Just to recoup
    Learn to be comfortable in that space
    Try and be okay with your own company
    Your contentment will be found in that

    It wont be easy at first, but with time it wont feel so strange and so cold
    ©wilmaneels1
    ©04102021

  • fizahfiz_ 15w

    Grass

    You're like a patch of grass,
    Slowly growing in my heart,
    Unimpressive yet undeniable,
    Your existence is a cursed,
    You mixed up my feelings,
    Until I can't resist you,
    You made me feel like a rainbow,
    I fell in love with you,
    You ignited my light,
    Compatible with yours and bright,
    Falling for you is the final truth,
    Now, I'm drowning in the field of love.


    ©fizahfiz_

  • bellemoon99 15w

    #fallingc #writersbay

    Why do we fall in love?
    Like it's something from destiny
    A stumble of fate pushing us over

    Do we really fall in love ?
    Carelessly dropping on someone's life?
    Smiling just as someone can catch us?

    Then who catches if both fall?
    Filled with bruises and aching members
    This isn't how I thought it would be

    Truth is, I'm not falling in love with you.
    I'm building love.
    I'm learning love.
    I'm guarding love.
    Many things, but not falling.

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    Falling in love

    ©bellemoon99

  • _barbie__ 15w

    Falling for you is something I wanna do again and again
    ©_barbie__

  • silhouette_of_a_poet 15w

    Falling

    A primal fear molds
    The clay mannequins
    Like waves shape the shore
    Instilling resilience
    Or letting it embrace
    Its ancient form
    Enveloping realms
    Of mind and body
    Of space and time
    Rounded droplets and
    Ones caught in a swirl of emotions
    Tell the same story

    ©edward_3355

  • the_wonderin_soul2 15w

    Silence my most compatible
    relying nowadays .


    I don't speak yet I speak
    by my actions.


    Dear self
    You were never considerable
    Yet might be
    But I'm happy
    That you never had loosen the grip
    And being a scintilla
    Will probably be "prominent" one day


    Its just a bad
    Aspect of life
    For soon passing away
    So keep breathing And be compassionate

    Similarly

    Sometimes
    The bad is
    "The Chapter"
    Not a whole plot
    Articulated in the same way


    Stop
    Describing yourself
    Cz,
    You'll known
    And judge
    By the way
    They think of you

    Correspondingly

    Remember
    It's the intellect
    Forbade you of responding
    Nonsense


    You might be different
    But not outdated
    Stop devaluing yourself

    Also


    Be with the people
    Appreciate
    "The being of you"
    Or
    The being you


    Take in
    consideration
    That misunderstanding
    Something
    And then not making efforts
    For clarifying it takes you
    Towards the way
    Leading judgments

    As you know ,

    One sided perception
    And assumption towards
    Provoking negativity can clearly
    Cause destruction in one's life


    Dear life
    You're nothing
    But a concept of lie , laughter
    And tears


    Something I know
    Is that
    We all suffer of
    imperfections

    But so do we know

    Flawless is when
    You be
    Confident
    Beautiful
    Accepting
    And perfect with being
    A little imperfect
    Yet never go out of yourself
    Loving zone


    Have you ever
    "V I B E "
    The world ..!
    Believe me
    It seems so
    Beautiful

    Feels like

    Spring reviving
    F A L L I N G
    Autumn leaves

    The birds chirping
    The sun blazing
    The sky patching
    The rain embracing
    The rising petrichor
    And the lapping up of the shores
    Retrieving
    Negativity
    Through each corner of your soul


    #fallingc

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    Randoms/Insights (4)

    To smiling people
    I know
    Behind every smiling face
    There's a hidden tale
    Which no one tends to say
    And no one tends to find
    ©the_wonderin_soul2

  • pallavi4 15w

    Luminescent

    It was warm and wonderful
    The day I swallowed the sun whole
    To absorb its light and energy
    Were my lurid goals
    It grew in the pit of my stomach
    Till it burst into silver showers
    Providing the lonely moon company
    A slew of scattered silver stars
    I would have liked to keep him close
    But he chose to remain triumphant
    However he didn’t let my efforts go in vain
    Or let me be rendered redundant
    I now traverse the ebony skies
    Feeling less melancholic and old
    Hugging each luminescent falling star
    Before they are gone and turn oh so cold

    @pallavi4

    4th of October, 2021

    Pic credit: Pinterest, picture credited to its rightful owner

    Thank you so much for the repost @writersnetwork !

    #wod #end #fallingc #writersbay @writersbay #luminescent #personification #personification_poems @writersnetwork #miraquill #MirakeeWorld #writersnetwork #poetry #pod #writerscommunity @miraquill #pallavi_wnreposts

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    .

  • anamika17 15w

    Falling of a bridge, dreadful,
    Falling from own standard, awful.
    Falling ( shooting) stars, wonderful,
    Falling down from own eyes, shameful.
    Falling of an apple, lawful.
    Falling of a legend, disrespectful.
    Falling from great heights, hurtful.
    Falling to keep promises, pitiful.
    Falling of a stream, graceful,
    Falling from ideology, disgraceful.
    Falling is not always, beautiful,
    Falling does happen, remorseful.
    ©anamika17

  • sproutedseeds 15w

    #wod#end#miraquill#writersnetwork
    #fallingc#writersbay

    I tried writing a Tanka poem with syllables
    5_7_5_7_7

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    WATERFALL..(tanka)

    Graceful, wild with joy
    FALLING down without a frown
    being flexible
    just keeps flowing through the rocks
    looks crystal clear and so cold.

    ©sproutedseeds
    04.10.21

  • antarraal 15w

    The falling oculus or
    the failing us


    The windows to the
    deepest secrets of the soul
    shine with love and joy,
    twinkle with hope and dreams,
    burn with rage and hate,
    dissolve with pain and doubt,
    but still stay open and welcoming
    to new desire and dreams.

    And then the cloud of indifference hovers in blocking the sunny warmth,
    curtains are torn away,
    shutters are pulled down
    locked with derision,
    fed with poison of acidic slander,
    slowly consuming them with icy vehemence,
    falling, failing, freezing their own honour
    and turning them, so cold.


    ©antarraal

  • d_singh 15w

    Falling

    I am pacing in the rain
    To see you in sunlight
    I am driving through the wind
    Just to enjoy your mere sight
    I am diving in the waves
    To be washed ashore beside you

    I am falling in love with just the thought of you.
    ©d_singh

  • writersbay 15w

    Word of the day: Falling

    Tag and share with #fallingc

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    I was falling. Falling through time and space and stars and sky and everything in between. I fell for days and weeks and what felt like lifetime across lifetimes. I fell until I forgot I was falling.

    — Jess Rothenberg

  • thorvi_mule 20w

    Never fall for a person who won't be there to pull you up!
    ©thorvi_mule

  • queen_butterfly 23w

    #imor(4) #fallingc

    Thank you for the read WN��

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    I'm celebrating my downfall today. In the laboratory of the lost. Where grief doesn't make me want to explode like a ravishing supernova and fear actually turns out to be a summer miracle when it doesn't make me break a sweat. Where all perception is buried somewhere far from here, somewhere deep into the oblivion, out of reach, so nobody can comprehend me anymore. Where silence isn't just cherished by the dead and life isn't just limited to a set of prying eyes/ I'm dancing with my demons tonight, in the purgatory of the depraved. Where when the lights go out, my insides don't want to curl up into themselves and I don't feel like running anymore. Where smoking isn't a synonym for self-sabotage and my lungs don't get the urge to cry out of nowhere. Where smiles only hide pretty secrets and not devastating ones, where paranoia is just a carnation in full bloom instead of a Venus flytrap.

    And when I'm done celebrating during the day and dancing in the night, I'll be no more; I'll be gone but only from this universe. You'll find me someday, not soon but I'll be there. In the territory of the forgotten. Where I'll have dingy graveyard sleepovers and laugh with the dead on those who're missing out. Where I'd finally fit without even wanting to. Where even the corpses are happy, and so are their loved ones. Where when I'm finally gone, I wouldn't ache to come back. Where I wouldn't ache at all.

    ©queen_butterfly

  • queen_butterfly 23w

    #imor(3) #sometimes #fallingc

    Thank you for the read @/writersnetwork ❤️

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    The air still feels warm & I wake up to sunshine & silhouettes of clouds. I think it rained last night. I think I might start writing journal entries again, mostly so I can find them in a decade in a box in the attic. I think I'd like to reminisce. This might start to sound a little bit like a journal entry.

    There is a little white scar on my knees from a few summers ago & it is shaped like the moon & that is the first thing I notice about it. Summer feels awfully long & I wait for autumn & until it comes, I write little anecdotes on pages from almost a decade ago & read ocean vuong & wonder how words can be so heartbreakingly beautiful, but they are.

    Sometimes, I forget how to start conversations / how to take conversations from casual hellos to what terrifies you?

    "Stoned at the nail salon" sounds like a song I'd play at sunset (with all the music I loved at fifteen). Spring is so far away. I might sink into daydreams & into the little things we fall in love with

    & into the silences.

    It always comes back to the little things. It always comes back to love.

    ©queen_butterfly

  • queen_butterfly 23w

    #imor(2) #fallingc #anaphora

    //Mom, can I be honest?//

    Thank you for the read WN❤️

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    Mom, I'm fifteen and I've never seen the world dreaming. I'm starting to think that I am the only person seeing in technicolour. And there's blood. So much blood. And no one stops the bleeding. Everyone walks by the corpse with their eyes to the sky praying for the rain to wash it away.

    Mom, I am a nihilist and I don't care about the sky falling. It's all relative anyway. Who cares? Who cares? "I love you" becomes heavy and I give it to the nearest passerby. And you know the rest. You read it in my diary. The one you burned because you can't love in technicolour.

    Mom, I'll soon be sixteen and I'm dying. Dying? Crying? Flying? Nobody listens anyway. And I know why the sky is falling. I feel it too. The loneliness of the Floating Cloud. I'm searching for my metamorphosis. The day the darkness breaks open like a grapefruit and the sun awakes somewhere within my bones. Does this mean I'm not a nihilist?

    Mom, can I be honest? I don't know what I believe in. I don't know because praying feels useless, 'cause it feels like God isn't listening and not praying feels like sin. And saying I'm a nihilist is better than acknowledging all the things planted beneath my skin.

    Mom, can I be honest? I think I'm the corpse. I think it's me bleeding out on the sidewalk.

    ©queen_butterfly

  • unsung_seagull 39w

    Suddenly everything turns dark. Sounds fade away. You drift into a tunnel. A dungeon of unending narrow walls. Life seems to have suspended.

    Storm of questions. Mismatched answers. For a moment a streak of light appears, then nothingness. A voice shrieks in head and suddenly throat clenching vaccum.

    Then the ground from under your foot slips. What was in head gets a shape. The mindful experience turns physical. Topsy turvey, you just cascade down. Then a sudden jerk. A halt.

    A faint sound from somewhere hits your ears. You open your eyes. What a relief. You wish that was just a dream.

    But was it?
    ..

    #creafic @writersnetwork @writersbay #wod #pod #structure #fallingc

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    Topsy Turvy

    ©unsung_seagull

  • simran2315 62w

    /Brainstormed: memories; you/


    I have those urns of time,
    often sliding from the side of my belly. And I keep bracing 'em up.
    Down they slide and Up, I yank 'em again.

    I have my knees squeezed to my chest,
    I'm waiting, alone,
    for the whirling vodka bottle to halt,
    losing the count of times its mouth
    hadn't pointed at me.
    A thankful fool.

    I have waves of ink rippled on the stray leaves,
    and those 50 verses, graphited amidst those waves,
    and the diamonds laying low in that graphite,
    and the recollections flickering from those diamonds.
    To a friend.
    A very dear friend, perhaps.

    I have my elbows perched upon the guardrails,
    and the night sky doesn't fiddle with our memories,
    nor the mist of the eve reads me our scrapbooks.
    It's when the moonlight clouds my existing blueprint,
    and the raindrops burdens upon so arduously,
    flooding me,
    that I breaststroke upwards to the sky, drowning myself,
    to the bedrocks at the same time,
    and for a flash, I hallucinate of you,
    you, leaning forth to me
    you, extending me your hand.
    I am a terrible mate.

    Isn't there nothing you want to tell me...

    (The dodgeball, the sweaty hands,
    empty refills and lost erasers,
    preserved pencil shavings,
    and ripped pockets choked on creased wrappers.
    And that compass I keepsake in my rucksack,
    And the perfect spirals from those pointed compasses.)

    I have my fingers, playing an upside note,
    and we're toasting another glass,
    in a multiverse.
    I am anxious to confront you today
    without our memories patrolling me.
    And if we ever play the telephone roulette again,
    wouldn't we be running out of things
    we could say to ourselves?
    Astrophysicists are geniuses.

    I have my feet soaked by the coast,
    and we are crouching
    on the nooks of a no man's land,
    (You might even possess a fishing rod)
    No one is at fault, no one is to condemn.
    I am but lathered in a bizarre grief
    of not parking my fingers
    in the intersections of that half-written book.
    I hate losing my bookmarks. (and you know that)

    I have my breaths being spewed into balloons
    We had a bunch of helium balloons, do you reckon?
    Its strings now a part of my skin.
    I know you also have 'em tucked
    still somewhere in your tunic belt.

    Isn't there nothing you want to tell me...

    (The defrosting flowers, the melting smiles,
    the seventh summer and smudged tunics.
    The chalk dust on those smudged tunics,
    and the wind blowing that chalk dust apart.
    The whispers of change in that wind,
    and the urge to come back in those whispers.
    The urge to come back, Arrggghhh but the priorities!
    but the preferences,
    but the growing up,
    but the life- happening.
    The life, the new roads,
    and the fitted black dress,
    the crossed legs- sipping the red wine, and thumb-fighting with some new hands.
    New hands, trimmed and white,
    holding cameras, saving polaroids.
    New hands.
    Did I forget to drop in your inbox with my rusty fingers? )

    I don't remember you so often.
    it's rare.
    it's rare as an eclipse.
    You whack me from nowhere amidst a pillow fight,
    ruffling feathers now slumber on the floor,
    we flocked, didn't we?

    It's rare as an eclipse,
    I jump off from the hamster wheel
    and gawk,
    to the oblivion, I have puffed out.
    That scent of recalling in the oblivion
    and my mind intoxicated to that scent.
    Those reels playing in my mind,
    your flashing gums in those reels,
    your tossed up spectacles over those flashing gums,
    and your eyes morse coding behind those spectacles.
    My terror of failing to decipher your morse codes,
    Us, making memories over that terror.
    Us, living life, over that terror.
    us laughing (laughed)


    I have slipped the earthenware on the ground.
    the gravels dispersing around from those broken urns,
    the speckles of our memories soaked into that gravel.
    That longing of reminiscence in those speckles,
    and those verses cooing in that longing...
    coveting to be heard, craving to be danced upon.
    can you hear 'em, old sport?

    Is there still nothing you wanna tell me...?

    -Simran

    #picturec @writersnetwork @writersbay @mirakee @readwriteunite #fallingc

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    Brainstormed: Memories; You

    .