#mistc

54 posts
  • the_speccy_outsider 68w

    Time was running out and the noblemen weren't getting any victory, for the vengeful ones had taken over, intertwining their respective lives in order to perpetually collide, eventually. And thus the nomenclature of Heroes and Villains took place, creating a labyrinth of deceitful illusions.

    //The vile and macabre blackhole started to consume the galaxies of sanity and verity//

    Since childhood we've been constantly told that Heroes are good and Villains are evil. The one who saves everyone is a Hero and the one who creates obstacles for the Hero is the Villain. And we believed it! Put a fight, and the Hero sings the song of victory while the Villain walks the slippery path to defeat.

    //The eyes of a Villain often weep tears of a forlorn life//

    For everyone, the Hero is Blue, who confronts a Villain who is Red, for a Green Damzel in distress. A quintessential story for us to watch, read, listen and write. Inducing fear in form of a fantasy, which isn't true in reality. The ones who are outspoken, opinionated, straightforward, misunderstood, eccentric, imperfect, different are often termed as Villains. And the ones who succumb to societal norms are crowned as Heroes. Only hypocrites rule a narcissistic world.

    //I belong to a world where Heroes are considered as Villains and Villains are perceived as Heroes//

    Villains are alone like an empty room. Segregated from the zephyr of love and struck by the tornado of mist. They are the embers of a story. I miss them, if there isn't someone who's Grey yet pragmatic in a story. For one can always blame the Villains for all the mistakes one committed. How easy it is! One might never read, listen, watch or write a story that doesn't have a Villain. For who shall be held responsible for the struggles of the protagonists, putting them on the throne of success.

    But who are we to decide? Are we all perfect? Or is there really such a thing as perfection? Everyone wants to be a Hero. But it takes guts to be a Villain. To say that one is wrong. To admit no one is perfect in this imperfect world. I love Villains as they are relatable. They tell us there's still a chance to show remorse and look towards the path of redemption. To rectify the wrong deeds.

    It is a matter of perspective, I suppose. As whatever a Villain does, the same is followed by a Hero. Whether it is loving someone, fighting a plethora of dilemmas, going against the system, breaking laws and most importantly, taking a stand for yourself in order to get what you want. And the narrators often camouflage the lines between them. Providing an insight betwixt right and wrong, nugatory in nature. Not being inclusive at all. And blurring these lines is a quixotic practice, followed since generations. Yet, no conclusion is derived but the only thing one sees is a bigotry of Blame Game, and nothing else. Sadly!

    //Villains are what we call as the misfits, the wallflowers, the scapegoats, the anarchics and, the outsiders//

    ©the_speccy_outsider

    #alone #zephyr #MondayMantras #time #belong #fridayfun #fear #sings #eyes #galaxies #mistc #colourc #labyrinthc #emberc #ffossil #daadigotyourback

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    Villains

    I wish I could be
    A villain in someone else's story
    Allowing them to put all the blame
    For their misdeeds
    On me
    Relinquishing them from their sins

  • chagan_arshiya 69w

    On the mountains so high
    Mist of clouds that lie
    Cawing crows who fly
    Like black dots on blue sky
    A guy standing with coat and tie
    Tried to greet me looking shy


    ©chagan_arshiya

  • bhawna__ 69w

    I'm never afraid of the failures,
    but some voices are worth of it to pass out in another world.
    _________________
    #mistc #ebullientc
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #writersbay

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    because the space out of this mirror
    of these ebullient walls never gonna
    accept me with all the scars
    and the mist covering these realities
    saves the world out there
    or inside me.

    @feel_bee

  • harshad09 69w

    ©harshad09

  • _mathematics 69w

    Books covered with mist
    being sluggish in piles
    could restore many fortunes
    of era outset to
    create a creative world
    on discovering

    ©silly_lad

  • wilmaneels 69w

    -Mist-

    M istery surrounded them
    I n the mist is where they met
    S ome would say it was fate
    T hen again, certain things becomes clearer in the haze
    ©wilmaneels
    ©29092020

  • harshad09 69w

    a fantasy ,
    that sings for You ,
    melodies of melancholy ,
    does it try to land your lives in troubled waters ,
    or does it readily prepares a slippery road ahead ,
    or does it plan for you , to collide with some Midas touch
    all this doesn't matter really ,
    what matters most is that capacity of yours , to clear the glamorous mist , of such a fantasy , and to focus , on your way , ahead



    ©harshad09

  • _mathematics 69w

    the cosy winter
    time, the sun
    glaring towards
    her presence
    affirming hefty
    sigh reaching
    my place, after decades.

    Knocking over
    wooden door
    waiting for
    me to unlock
    to greet
    her as I want to.

    unlocking door
    an old man
    proclaims
    ' Who are you, my child? '

    holding emotions
    she asks,
    'Where is he, Baba? '
    He frowns in
    the euphoria
    of grief.

    He went
    far, child
    but used to
    say that
    one day
    you will
    come, for once.

    the thumping
    of expectations
    falls as his
    absence
    hail.

    Still the smile
    is constant as
    his absence too
    seems like he
    is beside her.

    she enters the
    home
    built in the
    shady forests of
    her birthplace
    with fine wood
    and framed walls
    of pictures holding
    her sights and
    expressions of
    every day I have
    captured till
    the last time.

    Then, the big
    garden with
    Blooming flowers
    still growing fresh
    lending his essence
    within their odour.

    the number of
    rooms and
    workplace
    of him,
    where he
    used to sit
    for long nights
    working his
    routine chore.

    Studio of art
    painting and
    sketching the
    portraits of her
    with brushes and
    pencils carrying
    his touch of
    captivating
    hands once
    clenched her
    waist when
    stubborn
    feelings
    hit him.

    At last, the room
    of secrets
    coated with
    white sheets of
    shady patterns
    over walls and
    black curtains
    suiting bright
    lights enlightening
    the room at night
    with her picture
    portraited by him
    on big white wall
    with colours matching
    her existence
    shined his life
    when encountered.

    the snaps
    captured by
    him when alive
    inscribed on
    every brick
    of the room
    to let her
    presence known
    to him even when alone.

    and the close wardrobe
    never opened
    except by him
    Keeping secrets
    letters he used to
    write for her
    every minute
    whenever absence
    ignite the agony
    Inside the heart.
    With bundles
    of fictional books
    and novels
    to conceal
    the virtue
    of his spirit
    named as her
    from the very
    start.

    #bookc #mistc @writersbay
    #pod

    the start and end of time
    belong to her of mine.

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    Secrets colored with mist
    ©silly_lad
    ©_iexist

  • suranjana__ 69w

    //In the midst of the cemented pavement
    they took a chasmic puff
    and embraced each other as their lips collide.

    Benevolently stroking each other's hand
    they were glancing for a bench
    in the corner of the estate.

    Undyed bench with slippery taste of mist
    almost made their comfy clothes damp.

    But inheriting comfort in the chest of him
    she was there beholding the asteroid gleam.

    Trying her best she made
    a love contoured cluster of asteroids
    while letting her thin fingers whirl
    in the puff of air.

    Chuckling upon his endearing jokes she
    Found an abode in his core.

    Gazing at him while he sings lullabies for her
    To give her an alluring nap by
    tapping his hands over her scalp.

    Rubbing her eyes
    She went to the chest
    that belonged to her for the dead night
    And slept feeling a notorious warmth. //

    With a jerk someone woke her up
    An old man suppose.
    The sun's bright streaks
    fell on her countenance.
    And she felt it with a gesture
    of losing her mate.
    The boy whom she discerned in her fantasy
    Was no more with her
    To secure that warmth from his broad chest
    To fabricate that half done
    love contoured constellation.

    And there she again lives in reality
    When the mist that touched her fabrics
    engulfed by her anatomy
    Got dried up.

    ©suranjana__


    #sings#mistc#fantasy#reality
    #ffossil#septembersnippet

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    If I could
    then I would
    be the endearing fantasy that knocks up
    every dead night inhabiting in the
    brain cells of mine merrily
    manifesting the collision of two epitomes,
    heart and warmth of the girl that dwells in the
    broad chest of the boy.

    // To never let my fragile core lecerate when the sun arrives with it's strikes to shatter our live recitals and leave me alone in the reality without a good-bye for him and letting me miss every bit of our instants filled with tenderness.//

  • bclark2681 69w

    Misty Eyed

    With joy on my face,
    Love in my heart and
    Mist filling my brown eyes,
    I welcome you into this
    World with a promise to
    Forever and ever be there
    For you, through every
    Amazing and battled
    Moment in precious life
    ©bclark2681

  • go_win_the_hearts 69w

    #mistc
    ����
    //An insipid rose in your Notebook...//
    ����

    The mist of suspicion
    covered thy eyes
    you saw me not
    not a soul in me
    you heard my not
    the voice of inner core
    you felt me not
    a puzzle have I been
    you touched me not
    accursed have I been
    you saved me not
    died I bleeding badly
    you helped me not
    was hung I from fan post
    you excused me not
    for the false allegations
    you just pity on me not
    like you do to your kids
    you offered me not
    an explanation to live.
    //Then why you forget me not
    a dried rose I,
    stay nostalgic in your old notebook..!! //

    ©️govind
    29/09/2020

    ◼️

    @writersbay #WN #pod

    Image credit to the rightful owner ����

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    Then why you forget me not
    a dried rose I,
    stay nostalgic in your old notebook..!!

    ©govind*[]___

  • antheia_ 69w

    #sings #mistc #tribute_to_lata_tai

    WINDSTRUCK

    The oldie melody playing on the radio..
    **"Pas aiyee ki hum nahin
    ayenge baar baar
    Bahen gale mein daal Ke
    ham ro le zaar-zaar
    Ankhoon se phir ye
    pyaar ki barsaat ho na ho
    Shayad phir Is janam mein
    mulakat Ho Na Ho"...

    As the melody queen sings the evergreen number on the old radio.. Paridhi travelled back in time in a state of trance..to a fantasy land where he was still with him. The song an old favourite of his..
    When the song ended..it broke her misty dwam & reality hit back hard.

    Three months back..
    She was a cop. Ambitious, savvy, focussed, hard working. She had the calibre as well the reputation of bringing down hardened criminals very often all by herself.

    As it was meant to be, one fine day their destinies collide & their lives intertwined.. on a rainy evening while chasing a purse snatcher and accidentally tumbling on the slippery road she mistakenly captures him resulting from a case of mistaken identity.

    He was a suave, intelligent young man. A lecturer of mathematics at a local college. When she realized her fault having apologized to him a dozen times she finally asked him out for a coffee date. Gradually their friendship blossomed.

    It was burgeoning into a floret of love.
    They used to paint the city red on some occasions...
    Some other time they found solace holding hands looking at the sky painted in abendrot hues when the fiery sun went down for repose.
    On hot summer nights they cuddled each other on the terrace watching the astral beauties dance in the ebony caelum with the balmy breeze frolicking with their chevulure.

    It was on one such night that he told her that if he were ever to die he will come back to earth as the wind..
    Soon after, tragedy befalls & he dies in a tragic car accident. Grief overcame her, grappled with dolour she tried ending her life by jumping off a high rise only to be rescued by a giant floating balloon..it was then she remembered his words..
    The wind billowing whispered '' i'm always beside you".

    ©antheia_

    *Loosely based on a 2004 South Korean romantic drama titled 'Windstruck'.
    My piece derives the title from the the drama.

    **The evergreen song is sung by the melody queen Lata Mangeshkar for the movie 'Woh Kaun Thi'.

    929~20

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  • sproutedseeds 69w

    WORLD HEART DAY

    Don't live a misty life
    clear the fog of doubts
    with regular check ups
    The meter of our body is the HEART.
    Heal the mind with positivity
    to keep our body healthy.
    ©sproutedseeds
    29.09.20

  • seirios 69w

    Collecting galaxies of broken stars
    And scattering them over the sand,
    Beside the picture made of brittle shells,
    We see ourselves falling again and again
    For the footprints which aren't yet imprinted.
    We walk barefoot on them
    Adorning a galaxy which once was home,
    Bleeding through cuts due to sharp edges,
    We wish for those two polar stars
    Collide with each other causing the stardust to
    Make the waters glitter under moonlight.

    An eye sings song of uncertainties
    While the other seeks hope betwixt the wrinkles
    On a face which hasn't smiled for moments yet days.
    Eyes are meant to lie in the name of blunder
    Eyes are meant to smile in the name of what they themselves wonder.
    We sit closing our eyes, trying to calm a thunder
    But think about the wishes made in dark
    Which got never associated with the shooting stars ever.

    We've learnt to shrug off the weight
    That the fantasy about our own world carry.
    We desire to live a life close to it
    And then blame the two ends of a single mind which were forced to meet.
    The floor on which we try to walk with cold feet,
    Is always slippery with the regrets of past.
    We count the number of deeds to be cherished
    Letting the most mundane thoughts of all
    Hover over the lives we could never nourish.

    Mist on a few eyes,
    Can make others clean the spectacles over the thoughts neat.
    Mist on a few tongues,
    Can make the silence echo louder with a wiser beat.
    Mist on us is just way
    We blur out our imperfections.
    Mist on them is just a way
    We refrain from remembering their perfections which shone in summers.

    Maybe we would never understand that
    We are droplets of mist on a plant
    From an ethereal galaxy
    That belongs to our fantasy
    On which the pretty flowers bloom
    As the night sings ballad
    When the imaginary stars collide,
    About the lives never really lived.

    –Kiara ��


    #sings #mistc #eyes #galaxies

    Thank you @writersnetwork ��

    September 29, 2020

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  • allbymyself 69w

    She has ten thousand songs
    tucked away in the corners of
    her heart where shafts of light
    can reach, a slowly creaking
    door from which she can feel
    her way out of the darkness.

    She has five thousand songs
    scattered somewhere across
    the clouds in a heterochromatic
    sky, perched on the edges of a
    dream where fantasy and reality
    must surely collide, a thatched
    cottage where hope lives and
    despair sometimes comes to visit.

    She has one thousand songs
    waiting at the edge of a slippery
    slope, while her one good eye
    stares down into the abyss and
    sees the mist rising across the
    rocks while the river water waits
    with practiced calm for the sea.

    She has five hundred songs
    that she sings, and her voice
    is a beacon for the lost, it
    is the lighthouse in a wild storm
    the touchstone of a revolution
    "the anthem of a small country."

    But there is one song that
    she encases in marble and
    only opens twice a year
    once at the spring equinox
    and in the late September sun
    it is the only song that can
    save her soul and her life
    before the apocalypse comes calling.

    - Avitaj

    #mistc
    #sings @writersnetwork

    @raika @dopamine @thegreymetaphor @accismus

    Line between " "- from a YouTube comment

    Picture credit- Reinhart Julian

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    Song For Her Life

    I let him sleep, and as he does
    My held breath fills the room with blood
    Hurts in ways I can't describe
    My heart bends and breaks so many, many times
    And is born again with each sunrise
    And is born again with each sunrise

    - 100 Years, Florence + The Machine

  • ashamurali 68w

    Ego blinds our intellect and hampers our decision making. It affects our relationships.

    @writersnetwork @mirakee @writersbay #mistc #writersnetwork #mirakee #daadigotyourback #pod

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    Low visibility?
    Mist.
    Low clarity?
    Ego.
    ©ashamurali

  • eurusgrey 69w

    //The moon whispers to me,
    the story of two forlorn atoms,
    who collided with such ferocity,
    only to be reduced to ashes.//

    I wish to sing lullabies to the parched trees, for they've been hurting since ages and with each tear they shed, a part of my soul detaches from me and fades away in the shallow mist.
    Summer and Spring were friends once, now there's a wall of winter between them; too icy and cold, no one dares to touch it, for the frostbite is lethal.


    //The sky sings to me,
    a tale of two lonely beings,
    miles apart yet shackled;
    through hearts.//

    I wish to soar the universe like the birds; those carefree vagabond souls, happy and content without an abode. I'd love to sit on a soft leaf of the mahogany tree, one that has seen seasons; fading and reappearing.
    I'd flit my wings with such elegance; even fairies could do nothing but stare.
    Yet they keep circling the same space, with the same mundane routine, just like us; chained beings.
    And then I wonder, am I a bird too?


    // The stars beg me,
    to not be used in poetries,
    for now, love is just
    another utopian fantasy.//

    I wish I could watch the planets swirling around in slow motion, as I sip my lemonade, sitting on Venus. It would be an ethereal sight; it is in my head.
    I wonder if I could probe the depth of black hole and compare it with your verses, the latter has more chances of winning.
    There lives a lonely star, amidst all the twinkling ones; Fomalhout, they call him. I'd like to give him a hug and share my symphonies with him, for I believe, only he would understand the cacophonous notes, that my soul screams, in agony.



    //The winds soothe me,
    the only ones who caress
    my tattered skin,
    and murmur a soft breeze,
    hoping to alleviate my miseries.//

    The demons inside my mind are sly and slippery, they brainwash me against myself, everyone else. And I, a naive moth, am drawn to their chicanery.
    Sometimes I wish I was a warrior, an angel, a phoenix, I wish I was worth it.
    But then I look in the mirror, and I see a star brighter than the Sun.
    I realise, I'm everything above; my own saviour.
    ©eurus

    __________________________________________________________

    #sings #mistc #writersnetwork #mirakee
    @writersnetwork

    @shashagilbert_ @zohiii I adore you people, even after the prank this one pulled. ♡

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    ...

    //The winds soothe me,
    the only ones who caress
    my tattered skin,
    and murmur a soft breeze,
    hoping to alleviate my miseries.//
    ©eurus

  • bhawna__ 69w

    I'll search the meaning of mist on internet.
    I can't see.
    Maybe, listening and reading would work.
    I lost my spectacles,
    Or my well wishers have stolen those ones.
    But the lenses are damaged.
    ©feel_bee

  • outofleague 69w

    #tight #schedules #sings #mistc
    Picture Courtesy : AbsolutVision / Unsplash

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  • rekhuu 69w

    Not all love stories make it to the altar and ours is definitely the case. When the beginning wasn't right, can the end be any better. There was always God's hand behind every rescheduled date. Alas! when you are in love even the brightest of minds turn a blind eye. Failing to notice that not just our words collide, but also our stars. Thus, treading on a slippery path towards oblivion our world turning into an utter mess of emotions. We are gasping for fantasy to save our lives as a caged bird sings the songs of freedom with a fearful trill. Hope the mist of our lost love doesn't wreck my future. .

    ©rekhuu

    #sings @mirakee @writersnetwork
    #mistc @writersbay #daadigotyourback

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    I N T E R M I S S I O N

    As our hearts collide
    our mind sings seraphic verses
    leading us on a slippery track
    through fantasy of dead lover's lives

    ©rekhuu