#identity

979 posts
  • luci_dark16 3w

    Hi! This is a story that I am writing. So I wished to share it people who appreciate creativity and writing. Please do read and drop in your insights. I will upload the chapters weekly. #novel, #identity, #boylove, #fantasy, #fiction

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    Prologue: Astraea and Panoplia

    The windows shattered on the great impact of the magical words that were being hummed under the twilight, in the chambers of the eclipsed night. The moment was near when he was to be coronated with the invincible powers. He was draped in a red velvet tuxedo that bedazzled omnipotently that could devour every iris that would linger on him. His brunette’s were beautifully brushed on the sides, punching him with an elegant finish. His face mirrored his tender age, a blossoming eighteen, but his eyes had seen a lot to attain that pensive aura of adulthood. He was to be felicitated with the glory that only few were able to realize in their lives as a Circe. But this happiness was reluctantly devoured by a shadow of melancholy glazed with guilt. He felt that as if his world was crumbling as a gust of wind was howling on the ridge in which he thought he was taking asylum, but then suddenly a bout of tripedations engulfed him, sucking him in a delirium that the wind would pull him into pitch emptiness. He was paying a heavy price to climb this ladder to success and to be the best of the best. He never thought that this would be this difficult. He had always wished to be the chosen one and now the bouquet had flung right into his arms, but he was reluctant to accept it. WHY? WHY? Why his heart was aching so much ? WHY ? His head has been prompting the same words like an infallible affirmations since a fortnight, after he learnt that he has been chosen to be the Guardian of the Gates of Humanity. A privilege which only few are felicitated with, only few who exhibit the will to serve at any cost, paying any price. He had been preparing himself for this moment since a year. Moreover, he had made all the arrangements from the very beginning. He had strategized and planned every step of this road that would lead him to his  dream. And now he was so close to it, but why this unsettling feeling of the earth being cracked open and an amorphous and mysterious force from the gallows were exerting exorbitant energy to suck him in, to be engulfed into the underworld.

     

    Maya saw the streaks of hesitation in his eyes as the moment of the procession ticked near. The church hall dazzled with tremendous lights that it sparkled like a burning star  in the darkness of the night, even though it was the dawn of twilight, nothing could shatter its might. It was set alight with a thousand candles, moreover the mystifying borrowed aura of the falling  sun too crept in through the windows to fight the darkness of the old room. The hall was vast, antiquated but still standing with its ruins. The broad pillars still showed a youthful strength to beat the contemporary architecture, though the plaster were crumbling to peel off at  numerous places, but the artwork etched on the wall were immaculate, withstanding the wheels of time. His granny, mother, four aunts etched a circle on the white and cold tiles, with six corners marked on it. At the center of the circle was etched a celestial star surrounded by candles, filling the distance between the outer circle and the inner star. He was to sit on the star as the ritual prophesied. But before  the commencement of crucial elements of the procession one imminent task had to be attempted. A sudden surge of tornado struck him which froze him for a second as this was the moment for which his heart has been fearing and now it was over his head. 

    They all gathered in the dungeon below the hall. It's chamber was infected with pitch darkness with the air reeking of the stench of dampness. The tendrils of  darkness danced with tresses of the cold wind. The irony being his heart was frost bitten which assimilated itself with the cold swirls that doused all the breath of warmth. He felt nothing less than a conniving and ruthless cold heated fox, who was to inflict a grave misery on someone who had cherished him unconditionally. 

    Every step forward felt so heavy as if  a colossal anchor weighing in tons was pulling him back. His feet were reluctant to reach the rosewood door, which has savoured its youth even after the dawn of ages as there was not a speckle of rotten edges biting over its still smooth and infallible surface. His granny unlocked the latch to proceed in an hierarchy, as a coven was disciplined on a rigid ranking. His granny being the premiere of the coven inaugurated every procession and everybody followed soot. His mother and aunty and the other coven sisters embraced the repugnant stench of death as they walked themselves into the arms of a superfluous room. There was again pitch darkness that welcomed them, which was diffused with the alightening of an oil lantern by sister Mechaelie. The light rumbled out from the lantern to bounce over the only speck of life in the forlorn room. It glimmered so passionately over his beautifully carved and slender figure that laid decapitated on one corner of the room. Even at the moment of oblivion, his skin glowed with supernova vibrance and as Astraea prodded near to Panoplia, he could'nt winnow himself out of all those sweet flavored memories. And the worst was that at this pedestal of prcocious death that he was to inflict upon him he could'nt save himself from licking a glance at his rose red lips, which has been his cruise to an infinite pleasure.  

    "Wake him up and lets proceed with the harvesting", His granny's intimidating voice echoed loud and clear in the chambers of this forlorn dungeons, "And welcome a new member to the Circe Clan".

    Every sister hailed in total exuberance as their merry laughter hit every atom of the walls and started reverberating a symphony. But he still was sinking into the vortex of bewilderment  which was nearing the coast of exacerbation as he could'nt choose between the imperative and fantasy. Was giving up on Panoplia right to grab a seat amongst the Circes? Was a life with Panoplia just  a fantasy?
    ©luci_dark16

  • luci_dark16 3w

    A whirlwind that never abates

    The wind howls through the silence of the night,
    A night that breathes with the steathly stride of the ferocious pride,
    I am left adrift with a nomadic strife to carry my own fight,
    I was born a lion but lost the claim as my will dried, 
    As I am peregrinating the acres of night to locate a prey onto my sight,
    I have undulated through dismay to embrace my maneless existence, never to hide.


    This harrowing night is immersed in its lonely song,
    The rustling of the grasses as the lion pride mount out,
    It cuts through, capsizing any minute chances that were hung,
    The tumultuous days  that I have gulped screamed within, to seize to become anybody's hunt.


    I am going to endure through the several gates of abyss,
    That have prophesied to whirl  towards me masquerading what's left,
    But I will still gaze into the eye of the storm even when I bleed till dime, still sneaking a kiss,
    Denouncing the labels that they hurled, painting an identity so pronounced that surpasses anybody's sift.
    ©luci_dark16

  • jpwriter 3w

    My identity...

    When I breathe I leave particles of my DNA
    Scattered like shattered broken glass
    Picking the pieces that structure my identity
    The pieces that cluster my other entity
    Step in my shoes to see what see
    Walk many miles, then tell me who you'll be
    The deserts are scorching, the tundras are ice cold
    The days are relaxing, the nights I hide alone
    Will this path continue forever
    My hopes are for the best, only to get better


    ©jpwriter

  • lostspiritsam 4w

    Existence

    The darkness behind those bright smiles
    The unknown behind those known faces
    Those lingering questions
    In the back of my head
    How do they see me
    Or do they even see me
    Am I invisible
    Wearing a cloak that hides me
    Makes me go unnoticed
    I look around at everyone
    But there's none who looks back
    Standing at a distance of few inches
    Feels like we're galaxies away
    Like I'm looking at you
    From parallel universe
    I know you exist
    But do you know I do too..

    ©sam

  • pallavi4 11w

    Identity

    Without you what would remain of me
    I would often wonder
    I thought I would become that nimbus cloud
    Who had rain but had lost its thunder

    Picking flowers from the garland of my miseries
    I wrote poetry to make peace with myself
    And kept dusting the cobweb infested album
    That I kept of us on my bookshelf

    I’ve spent so long with your shadows now
    More in my imagination than in reality
    You still reign over my days and haunt my dreams
    Without us ever again being even a mild possibility

    Who am I now ? Who could I have been ?
    What have I become ?
    Have I been able to find myself again ?
    Am I complete even without having no one ?

    Who am I without your betrayal ?
    What can I write about other than this ?
    Have I come to embrace my grief ?
    Lace it with lies and label it bliss ?

    What if I lose this part of me forever ?
    What feelings will I pour into my words ?
    Have I managed to free myself from your shackles ?
    Or have I remained a self imposed caged bird?

    @pallavi4

    10th of November, 2021

    Pic credit: picture credited to its rightful owner
    - “Blue Garden” by Henryk Plociennik (1973)

    Thank you @miraquill for EC !

    #wod #questions #identity #love_gone_sour #love_poems #love @writersnetwork #miraquill #writersnetwork #poetry #pod #writerscommunity @miraquill #pallavi_editors_choice

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  • darared 12w

    HAECCEITY

    Haecceity
    (hek-see-uh-tee)

    n. the quality that makes sth. or sb. what they are

    From Latin haecceitas, meaning 'thisness'

    Earliest documented use: 1635






    with thanks to wordsmith.org

  • shaabie 12w

    Its been a while since I have written something.
    Here are some musings on the word 'chehere', or faces, and what it symbolises..
    चंद अशआर
    .
    .
    तडकते/तड़कना - to crack
    आगज़नी - riot, arson
    पींजते/पींजना - cleaning cotton from the seeds
    फ़ानी - नश्वर, mortal, ephemeral



    #hindi #faces #face #layer #time #success #glory #memory #identity #writersnetwork #sher #loss #fire #fury #mortal #yaminiread
    @hindiwriters

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    चेहरें

    फिसलते नाम सरकते चेहरें,
    स्मृति शीश में तडकते चेहरें।

    फकीरचंद के सुलगते चेहरें,
    आगज़नी में पिघलते चेहरें।

    अलग चमक की चाहत में
    एक ही जैसे दमकते चेहरें।

    मुद्दतों बाद बरामदे धूप पड़ी है,
    देख रस्सियों पर सूखते चेहरें।

    शाम की चाय के साथ,
    अपनी तहें पींजते चेहरें।

    तू भी फ़ानी मैं भी फ़ानी,
    क्यों फिर भेद बूझते चेहरें?

    -शाबी

  • velrus 12w

    A son, a brother, a boy,
    Is all I am.

    ©velrus

  • luci_dark16 13w

    A pride kissed love

    Our eyes met under the fluorescent moonlight,
    My skirmishes with life predates the hefty volumes of history,
    I was born sick crackling with the vigour to wage a war against an unknown night,
    Incessantly till the trails of blood dried even on the periphery.


    Though I have been down several times,
    Sustained  blistering punches, cracked jaw,
    Even the inflamed squashed lips seemed futile clanks of  an unheard wind chimes,
    But you are just like me, but still so unlike, jewelled with valiance so raw.


    You salvaged the remnants of me lost in this forest of sins,
    Resuscitating the belief that I was born perfect,
    All this time I have been fighting the wrong assailant, a self infliction of pains,
    I am perfect like the amorphously consistent clouds that sparkle with its own craft,
    I am perfect like those three legged horses that  still palpitate with passionate rains,
    I am perfect like the iridescence of twilight, somewhere halfway, in effect,
    I am perfect like vestiges that got buried in the rubble of time that swiftly flies,
    I am perfect like a deep red of blood  that flows through every anomaly pronounced as defects.


    You came like the cool ablazing sun,
    Bursting through my opaque existence,
    Touching my heart , arousing a waterfall of love that I haven't known,
    That I am capable of gorging my imprints as my gushing trails mark their presence,
    On your soul  making me in return appreciating myself  and I swore to never run,
    As we get drunk in each other's essence,
    I am the moon in love with a sun, inundated  wholly with my head blown,
    And  this night sky draped with an empowering rainbow, permeates deep as I am ready to embrace all its nuances.
    ©luci_dark16

  • loftydreams101 14w

    The Echoing Call and Response

    Motherly and fatherly verses
    Try burrowing their roots
    Through my hazy daydreams
    ~
    Echoing down
    Into a deepening chasm
    Where vipers tunnel,
    Seething in the dark
    ~
    Their old roots dive
    Twining around my inner world’s tyrants
    Weakening the pull
    Of their melancholic scream
    ~
    On twisted roads
    I find a way home
    To ancestral calls
    Of comfort and caution

    © 2021 William Wright, Jr.

  • eishasarkar 16w

    Shadow & Soul, Book 1 of The Goa Saga by Eisha Sarkar

    Saysha Singh, a beautiful, multiracial young woman from Delhi, meets Aeram Khan, a gorgeous model-actor in college and they fall madly in love with each other. Aeram is the only legal heir of the Albuquerques, a family descended from Afonso de Albuquerque, the sixteenth-century Portuguese statesman and conquistador of Goa. After a few weeks of passionate romance, Saysha gets wary of committing her life to a controlling boyfriend. She leaves him and moves to Shimla. He moves to Mumbai and becomes a very successful actor and entrepreneur.


    Three years later, when he is in Shimla for a shoot, Saysha meets him again and they rekindle their romance in secret until he goes as her date to a masquerade ball where he unexpectedly reveals his identity. Saysha becomes fodder for primetime TV news. Aeram brings her back to Delhi with the help of his gay half-brother and stunt-double, James Albuquerque. After persuading her father, an army officer, Aeram and Saysha marry in court. Aeram and James strive to protect her privacy and dignity at all cost. However, living under the shadow of her famous husband makes a dent in Saysha's self-esteem and she tries to carve her own identity.


    When Saysha finds out that James loves Aeram, she initially is shocked but gradually realises that of the two, James is the better man. She is attracted towards him in spite of his sexual orientation. Aeram gets jealous of their friendship but cannot get rid of James. In a graveyard in Goa, Saysha discovers there is more to Aeram and James's bond than what they show.



    Now available on Amazon Kindle
    ©eishasarkar

  • eishasarkar 16w

    Gone Goa Gone: Book 2 of The Goa Saga by Eisha Sarkar

    In the Age of Discovery, there were three identical crosses. Portugal’s King Manuel I had bestowed one on Vasco da Gama, who discovered the sea route to India. The second he had bestowed on Pedro Álvares Cabral, who discovered Brazil, and the third on Afonso de Albuquerque who established the Portuguese hegemony in the Indian Ocean. Over the centuries two of the crosses have disappeared. Probably they’re hidden away in some antique collectors’ vaults. The third hangs around James’s neck.


    A clause put in by an ancestor during the Inquisition in Goa prevents Aeram, a practising Muslim, from inheriting Richard Albuquerque's estates. Only his Christian son, James, can claim the title even though he was born out of wedlock. When Aeram presents Richard's will in court, Daniel Albuquerque aka Danny (Richard's cousin) contests the claim. James and Aeram battle the demons of their past to take on Danny and the very powerful Archbishop Patrick to save their estates.


    When Aeram and Saysha go to New York, they accidentally meet Igor Lebedinsky, a young intern at Aeram's agent's office. Saysha discovers that he's the son of Alexandre Lebedinsky, the mining tycoon from Moscow and brother of her deceased birth-mother.


    Saysha realizes that James is not an ordinary stuntman. Even her very rich and powerful husband is scared of him. In the forests around the Albuquerque villa on the banks of the Mandovi river, James finally shows her why the property means much more than mere inheritance.

    Now on Amazon Kindle
    ©eishasarkar

  • darared 16w

    Bobble Hat

    Don't hang me on that
    I'm not denying it
    But it doesn't say as much as you think
    It's just a hat
    Who are you - Matlock? Poirot? Holmes?
    Leakey looking at bones?
    What does it matter?
    I could be Carroll's Mad Hatter
    I could be Tintin up a mountain
    I could be looking for trains or birds
    Or paths in the snow
    I could be Elsa letting it go
    It's a shadow on a screen
    It's a cloud playing tricks
    It's light through a curtain
    It's a hat that's certain it's a hat
    I just happen to be in it
    ©darared

  • shrutisontakke 17w

    Jealousy

    In our life once we go though a point of
    #jealousy#
    With whomever it might be
    For whatever reason
    But we do experience it.
    Jealousy is good upto a limit
    As it can push you beyond your limits.
    But if it turned your attitude to
    Put someone down
    Then you might ruin your own
    Creative qualities ,
    Which was the reason of someone's jealousy.
    So control your action and think or else
    You will burn out your own
    # Identity #
    ©shrutisontakke

  • triptisingh08 19w

    #On my way #sukoon#identity
    By unknown writer

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    Muddaton baad aaj fir kuchh likh rhi hu,
    Kuchh bhi to nhi badla.....tb bhi es bhid me khudko sambhalna sikh rhi thi, ab bhi sikh rhi hu,
    Kitni baatein hai kehne ko, pr dil keh rha hai bass chhoro rehne do.....
    Lgta hai ye dil bhi khuddar ho gya hai,
    Ab andhere me bhi ghabrata nhi, mujhse jyada samajhdaar ho gya hai.....
    Bass kuchh chand shbdo me ese band krti hu,
    ye kitab fir kabhi khola jayega.....
    Fir yhi dil ki baatein hongi, isko fuslake firse bola jayega.....

    Tripti singh......✨

  • prose_nexus 23w

    If you turned up to the venue, that's fine,
    If you move above low judgements, that fly,
    If you see me with another face, that's mine,
    I never changed, I just started living life.

    ©DaMoN

  • prose_nexus 23w

    I believe a lot of people battle out with this, but in truth, the right company is yourself, before anyone else because until you learn to love yourself, you can never love others.

    Feel free to LIKE, COMMENT, REPOST, FOLLOW AND MOST OF ALL, BE SATISFIED. It does count and you do matter.

    #deepthoughts #lifequotes4u #brokenquotes #brokenheartquotes #thinker #igpoem #lovegoals #sadquotespage #hurtquotes #poetofig #bymepoetrylove #tumblredits #mypoetry #deepfeelings #lovelost #sadfeelings #lonelyquotes #sadthoughts #sadtexts #breakheart #sadquotepageshe #painfullstories #heartmindwars #love #explore #explorepage
    #mirakee #miraquill #poetry #identity #crisis #challenge #love #philosophy #god #miraquill #challenge #love

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    Loneliness

    It's tough out there in the lonely abyss.
    You're not alone around here.

    The irony of living.
    It's tiresome, friends around you
    But no one gets you.
    Try to speak out but your heart won't let you,

    And in your mental, you are craving attention,
    But a taste of it, the aftertaste has a sour tang to it.
    It bites the jaw.

    In this loneliness you abide,
    It would be understandable why suicide would have a question mark at its end,
    But do not trust it as you are not certain of what comes next.
    ©DaMoN

  • prose_nexus 23w

    Scandalous elements are what represent us.
    The change begins with us,
    But trust and believe that this world's war will be dangerous.

    Feel free to LIKE, COMMENT, REPOST, FOLLOW, AND BE SATISFIED.
    #mirakee #miraquill #poetry #identity #crisis #challenge #love #philosophy #god

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    The Backstreet Instruments

    I'm aware of the Backstreet Instruments,
    It's the Dark Queen's influence over her people,
    So subtle, it's like a passing consequence.
    Leaves you lacking confidence,
    And passing chances where the rich would often place their bets.

    The Mad Kings would use these to catch your heart, and without your volition, your soul.
    Their manifestos are empty,
    Promises that only give hope to the weary.

    Creeds portraying principles and evil deeds that no judge can judge,
    And no brush can wash.

    Beware the Backstreet Instruments,
    For it invokes poverty on the crude spirits.

    Listen but do not be tempted,
    Feel but do not be absorbed,
    Understand but do not sympathize.
    ©DaMoN

  • alastair_margerman 23w

    clarity

    we identify with, and become attached to a form, a thing, a thought; and bind our self to that with which we associate

    the emotional distance, between our self and the object of our association, is indirectly proportionate to the strength of our bond

    we are more tightly bound to family than to a stranger, and associate more readily with our thinking than the ideas of an other

    remove the emotion between our self and the object and bondage gives way to clarity
    ©alastair_margerman

  • juveenee_black 25w

    IDENTITY

    liquor spilled
    Red wine pouring out
    Beer oozing
    Champagne, cocked open
    Soda water, poorly rich
    Rose, to your taste and satisfaction
    White wine, for the pretence
    skin over skin...
    underneath the covers
    They were drunk,
    forgot about class...
    An eye prick open,
    new to life...
    Its heartbeat still shaky...
    Just a single mistake,
    costs a life.."Welcome Home"she said without a man beside her...
    ©juveenee_black