13 posts
  • waitaminute 57w

    Winters are on way mist in front of my eyes,
    Scintillating stars making figures in dark sapphire sky,
    Moon singing me melodious lullaby,
    I can't reach he lives quite high,
    Making that kiddo me cry,
    I thought he is a big ball I want to play,
    Or a rice ball of sky but far away.

    And now the adult me writes,
    If I could I would be dark night adorned with twinkles and moon carrying away a part of her,
    With every look I am peeping in her past,
    The difference between me and that kid over years has grown vast.
    Two ages different meanings.

  • waitaminute 58w

    Jubbly childhood plans,
    Purple paper planes,
    Red, blue, green every colour was there,
    My choice was clear,
    I need purple paper to make planes,
    In the cadbury gems purple was main,
    My purple plane was flying high,
    Written my name on it and smile,
    Purple dress for new function,
    Like mauve had mine mind consumption,
    I was in love with purple wrapper of dairy milk,
    Melting in mouth smooth silk,
    And now time passed I am in love with pink pen,
    I daily change my favourite colour man.

  • aarya__ 74w

    Mauve was her hair ,
    Glistening like lilac on my soul.


  • bushra_tasneem 77w

    #mauvec #endc #kalonc #writersbay #mirakee #ceesereposts

    My heartfelt thanks to @writersnetwork for their kind repost. I can't express my happiness in words....This is my second repost by them. I am truly grateful to you. Means alot. This just made my day. Looking forward to more of it. I will surely try to write even better now onwards. ❤️❤️

    @soulfulstirrings & @isma_sheikh Thank you lovely souls for mentioning WN here in my post. I am highly honoured and obliged. ❤️❤️❤️

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    In the end, what the
    world beholds is the
    finest blend of words
    and emotions called "poetry".
    But what we all fail to
    espy is the ceaseless
    efforts and thoughts
    which the poet puts
    to present himself,
    from his mind, through
    his pen, on the blank pages.
    Seeking inspiration from
    even those things and
    occurences which do not
    even make sense to many,
    he creates a masterpiece
    out of it.He does not only
    see those pale blue, black
    and mauve scars but also
    feel them and try to make
    them felt by the others as well.
    Making those mauve scars,
    his muse, he describes the
    plethora of affliction and torture,
    leaving readers' eyes teary.
    Practicing epeolatry, and making
    writing his only religion, he writes
    to enlighten the bleakish hearts
    and rusted minds of all kinds.
    Being the connoisseur of writing,
    he writes the depths and heights
    which can't be seen but only felt.
    To write, when he lifts his pen up,
    his work makes people bow down.
    When he delineates beauty, he
    makes people believe in kalon
    which is beyond any skin tone.
    He is a poet and he is blessed
    coz he can feel even a trifle of
    emotion in myriad of ways.

  • veloc1ty_ 77w


    you're a soft hue of purple
    bonding the skies pale
    reflecting shades of bliss
    on my eyes with a slender
    touch of mauve magic

    //an eyeful view of you
    is enough to make my soul bloom//

    you're a glass of rosé wine
    brimming with the luscious
    aroma of love, waiting keenly
    to begin its auspicious journey
    when it touches the tip of my lips.

    //a glass full of you
    is enough to set my soul straight//

    you're a quiet resident in my heart
    but you keep trespassing all over
    my mind, you make a home out of
    my stomach, for all the butterflies
    you're sugary sweet feeling like a
    good saccharine harvest from July.

    //a tablespoon of you
    is enough to make my soul laugh.//

  • kaetkey 77w

    In the end you will wish.
    You'll wish with your eyes closed
    hiding from the fears.
    With your mind and heart locked
    in a temporary embrace of your words
    which seek permanency.

    You'll wish for a life
    written on the pages of your book
    which barely belongs to you.
    Book made of pages that'll
    smell like lavenders as
    your smile will shine in the sky above
    and tears will wet the soil
    beneath heather grass.
    Sentences will belong to them
    but emotions will call your attention
    in violent violet whispers.

    You'll wish for an
    amethyst stone from the mines
    of huge stones of sad memories.
    Wearing it on the purple creases
    of your finger that shivers the most,
    you'll wait for it to reflect back
    all the good memories from its
    sheeny surface into your
    gleamy eyes under damp lashes.

    You'll wish for those
    few words which won't be written
    on lilac skies
    but on their lips this time.
    For you they are just enough
    to turn your pale heart,
    beat with a shade of mauve.
    Soothing and able to
    sadden your sorrows.

    You'll wish for a heartbreak
    wrapped in a plum cake
    on a warm magenta afternoon.
    For boysenberry no more
    gives you the pleasure of
    counting happy moments
    with the help of a bunch of grapes.
    You still smell the colour they left behind
    after clinging to your skin
    for four falls straight.

    You'll wish for the fragrance
    in periwinkles of your
    shadowy garden.
    Tired of trying you'll
    plant orchids in your iris.
    Your each blink will make them realize
    the beauty of your wisteria
    that withered in the presence
    of a careless gardener
    of your non existing garden.

    You'll wish for
    a wave of oaked wine
    to hit the shores of time
    and make you high on tenses
    yet washing off all the
    footsteps of bad old days
    with a tinge of maroon remnants
    of peaced past.

    It's 11:10,
    You'll wish for enough time
    to summarize the wishes
    you have in your mind.
    It's 11:11,
    You'll wish your wishes
    you have in your heart
    without a single mention
    of your own self.
    It's 11:11:54,
    You'll wish for hope
    to wish again
    on another wish.


    #mauvec all these colours are mauve friendly :p

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  • tigress_writes 77w

    You came to me as a fresh little pod.
    Gave it on a silver platter; your bright heart of red.
    I did love you as my own,
    Hugging your warmth when you were forlorn.
    I could never see when your heart turned into sheaths of mauve,
    As if plundered from every bit of yourself, thereof.
    You beseeched to me, in the name of your purple bruise.
    I snapped our rope of trust, drowned by my own blues.
    That's how we ended our cruise,
    bereft from each other,
    when we need us the most.
    ©Tigress_writes ��

    ¶14.6.20|2:20 pm (GMT+5:30)

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @writerstolli @writersbay #ceesreposts #yaminireads #June20_musings #julietscorner #mauvec #wod #friendship #losttrust #stripesof_friendship

    ~Image credits to rightful owner
    I don't know if I did a good job on using that word, but I tried��

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    When friendship bleeds mauve...

  • himanshi_sharma 77w

    #mauvec #blue #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork #yaish_ #pari_s #tanzread #aryan22 #ceesreposts #words #WOD #poetry @mirakee @writersnetwork @sereiin @timeblossom @writersbay #yaminireads

    // Is it possible to miss those words
    that runs in your veins
    Or is it about us who wants
    to turn them into poetry ? //

    My palms are covered in callouses
    from trying to repair the hearts
    that are broken yet I fail to do so.
    I chase stability as the
    farewells are catching up on me.
    The fake smiles are back and
    biting at my ankles .

    // The setting sun looks much
    more like a
    Tahitian prince dancing
    in love with the rays on the mauve sky. //

    The void in my chest is like a vessel
    filled of euphoric elation
    and love is my utopia .
    As I sit at the corner of my heart
    and watch every sunset singing
    the song of the Aegean blue sea.

    // There is nothing left in the kingdom
    of the night mare,
    as you wouldn't recognize the
    spineless version of the day dream .//

    The night in me is slowly turning away
    maybe someday I will be the day .
    I made a museum
    from the blood humans shed .
    Oh have I pour rain on the dreamy
    tales your fancy craves ?


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    // The setting sun looks much
    more like a
    Tahitian prince dancing
    in love with the rays on the
    mauve sky. //


  • paper_planes 77w

    He painted my blue sky in hue of mauve
    but the rain envied the love
    hence washed away the colours
    leaving me with the traces of his memories
    and a handful of letters
    to write lovelorn poems on his name.

  • raika_ 77w

    A vibrant flower, so full of life
    Her petals painted in a light blush of love
    She sang to the butterflies who'd visit her daily
    to kiss the sweetness or to take it away?
    Adored/envied by the grass for being violet and not green
    But one fine day she was plucked
    By a lover to be gifted to his mate
    A petal fell but the stem whispered
    It's all for love. In the name of love.
    Hence the flower sang love songs
    To the women in her new home
    Rested in between pages of books she adored
    Till one dark night when she heard a heart crack
    Shoved out the window
    Pushed away by the grass
    Crushed by heartbreaks
    Drenched in rain(or tears?)

    She lay on a lonely road
    Caressed by wind alone
    Tired of blooming
    She sang it's last song on heartache
    A withered flower, painted in despair, so p


    #shadesofhersoul part 2

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  • _an_on_ 77w

    He tinted her vestal physique
    with the hue of salacious

  • writersbay 77w

    Definition by google.
    Suggested by @veloc1ty_

    Write and share with #mauvec

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    Word of the day- mauve

    a pale purple colour.

    "a few pale streaks of mauve were all that remained of the sunset"