Miraquill
But the magic happens in discreteness,
when you choose to describe
who I was to you.
Perhaps then finally, the chambers of your heart might freeze blue.
Cause I might have been pushed off prematurely,
Or might have chosen to fall off by myself.
like a ripened leaf - yellow on the mud
With an eternal melancholy.
Or the time might have carried me with it,
leaving you with an urn of memory.
Or I might have travelled afar up north
In hopes of finding prosperity.
And when the magic happens in discreteness,
I fear I might never know.
So do tell me, when we still have time,
whether your heart is craving or not.
©rahoof
#narrativepoetry
25 posts-
rahoof 20w
7 1
I can't help but to paint you
As a women who lived a thousand lives
An age old being still youthful
Carrying with her a bag full of hearts.
©rahoof11 0
Seems like it
............................
A heart doesn't need much
To be broken or to be exalted.
It's strength lies in its simplicity.
Often being torn apart,
And getting stitched back.
Sadness lies in it's many forms
Often too cruel or at times futile.
Just like the nimble winds,
That collectively create waves in the Pacific,
or like a drop of mercury enough to paint a person's death.
Some words are enough to make the ice break beneath your feet.
Some actions are enough to push you
down to the stairwell of insanity.
But the thing that hurts the most
Is you being too blind to see
the efforts that I make, to put myself together -
To run, to walk, to speak my ways back to you.
Maybe just like me, this is yet another selfish poem that doesn't seem to make any sense.
but I often wish your heart had ears,
Because surely it seems like mine has a tongue Which seems to speak a language that you could never understand.
©rahoof19 1 4
From her eyes
......................
I gazed depths into her eyes,
After agreeing on a staring contest.
Notice how I blinked twice,
Just after we blew the starting whistle.
That’s how weak I get,
Knees weak - heart weak - around her.
And when she noticed me staring further,
Even after my deemed failure.
Her eyes struck back with a gaze,
Perhaps a futile attempt,
to startle a grown man’s heart.
And as always I took it with a smile.
when I gazed upon her eyes further,
instead of the love that I was hoping for
I got to see my own reflection thrown back at me.
And on her eyes there was no love for me.
©rahoof7 0
Read More"having a heart blinded by the shadow of a love that it could never receive, inturn blind to the love one is willing to give."
-rahoof
Being stuck in a love triangle
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#rahoof #rahoofpoems #narrativepoetry #lovetriangle #humancondition #conditionoftheheart #cravingsforapersonnotwillingtolove #narrativepoems #brokenhearted #brokenheart #disappointed #lovestory #tragedy #tragiclovestories #tragiclove #rahoofpoetry @miraquill @writersnetworkSurely my heart sings the melody of mellow poems, after giving out glimpses on thinking how we could have been;
Sometimes my heart crave to give out unending hugs, in-between pauses of your late-night speech.
Often I crave comfort,
To idly recline on your back,
To find my tears washed away after gaining relief from the wounds past had gifted us.
Sometimes I find you comfortable as home,
Even on the times my heart is seeping despair.
And I am not even dazed to say,
I had known this a long time before.
"having a heart blinded by the shadow of a love that it could never receive, inturn blind to the love one is willing to give."
We resume to die every other day.
©rahoof8 0 1
Queen of hearts
..........................
Her wandering soul craved closure,
She was too tired from walking miles.
Once this gypsy queen walked the blazing sun,
From where she got her feet burnt.
Then she walked the crescent moon,
And felt the moon dust-
healing her cracked up wounds.
She used to pluck petals off from her
Flower tiara and offer it to the king of nights.
This gypsy queen had walked miles-
without end on both sides.
But in the end it didn't matter as both her masters gifted her the same heavy-aching heart.
©rahoof12 0
myasir99
29w
Read MoreNazam ( Umeed - E - Sahar )
Narrative of ( Shab-E-Ghum )
#mywords #mypoem #hindiurdushayri #ownwords #miraquill #selfwritten #urduhindi_poetry #shayricommunity #shayar #khayal #poetry
#narrativepoetry #sadness #hope #loveNazam
( Umeed - E - Sahar )
shab -e- ghum se umeed -e- sahar ki ibtidaa hoti hai ek nai umeed ki kiran parh ti hai
shab -e- num ke zakmo pe ghum ki kahi chatt ti hai shab-e-ashq ke aasmaa pe umeed ka khora path ta hai
dil pahir hassta hai kisi ki yaad main ehsaas hota hai apni kari har sahi bat ki ghalti ka
dil pahir roo parh ta hai uss bat pe waqt pahir chal parh ta hai pahir uss he intizar main umeed-e-sahar ki talaash main
©myasir99
©myasir993 0
dishagandhi
59w
Read MoreThis is a narrative poetry I wrote.
Narrative poem .A long form poetry that tells stories. I ended this here but I might make it a whole story series maybe .
#mirakee #narrativepoetry #poetryA lost soul
I was dead
Inside out.
Lying somewhere beneath the deep dark
waters.
The darkness kept me anchored.
But I knew I didn't want to be there,
It wasn't fair,
It never was.
But I had to keep trying
Bcoz that's not where I belong
There's something else that my heart longs
for.
Something beyond the darkness,
Beyond the dreary gloom.
I was in this melancholy,
Everything looking at me accusingly
I kept striving,
Until you came along,
You heard my voice through the
wilderness...
But the first one
To be kind enough to be concerned about it You knew it wasn't a place someone's
supposed to be
And you came close to me.
You put your arm in to pull me through.the quicksand.
Over the surface finally reached my hand.
And I could finally feel the breeze on land.
You pulled me through it
I was so scared, my eyes were shut.
We fell to the ground , my eyes still shut.
I could sense you and everything around me.
It had been so long that I had forgotten what it was like to have life.
And after this I could finally feel a glimpse of it.
©dishagandhi2 0
itsmedash007
83w
"Voice of The Woods"
Walking through the forest roads,
Lay silent that for months and years,
But I heard rumbles of wind addressed
Someone me as the chap with a hat,
Stunned I looked around but found no one,
Thought was tired so took a break when,
It struck dusk.
The voice murmured again the figure,
Was clear with a voice so hoarse,
Never could I forget when I saw the,
Wooden torso move its leafy lips like,
Some human to him was insignificant me,
Like dry leaves of fall but astounded I,
Needed to know how could he talk.
"Where you heading" asks the manly seeming wood,
Lost are you in the forest so dense you,
Men burn and then come for refuge,
In times of dusk dawned my realisation,
To them are we perpetrators of crimes,
That go unaware of "Let us live and leave in peace,
The forest's here so deep seek help move quick."
Is it a dream or some fairy tale answers,
The entire forest speak they language of us,
In grave pain are they what I made up of,
Those hoarse but pained roars "What should we say that you ought not to know",
Struggle will be yours are we bound to go.
The voice fell down with no more roar,
Carried on the chap with a hat and,
Questions a hundred more never had,
Heard this city bloke the speaking tree,
The pain in its voice can't I set free.
Listen to the forests listen to the trees,
Ignorant don't be Aye! humanity of the,
Troubles answer they seek nonchalance,
Shall cost gravely to us as rivers dry up,
And creatures gone long the voice of us,
Will fade and crumble like those of woods,
I encountered at dusk of the forest road.
©itsmedash00714 2 2
-
friendly_phantom
Heyy your writeups are amazing ❣️❣️❣️......hey writer...✍️✨✨ Wishing to be a published co-author of an anthology of a well-off publishing house??
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away_with_words
101w
Read MoreA narrative poem inspired by the works of Edgar Allen Poe:
”THE TWISTED TEXT”
PICTURE #5 (of 5)
“Written rhymes hid horrid hex…
...you reach the end to know what’s next.”
CHAPTER 5: “...THE END?”
Daunted, I delved so desperately
for I felt my future had past, you see
Living my life so longingly
feared my fate’s folly, unfortunately.
As I read, the book, I took
my final form, ‘spite balance shook;
lapsed living lies; won’t die a crook.
I blinked, unlinked, to weaker chain
I shrinked, to think, of lesser gains
I winked, on brinks, but not insane
So now, my friend, I’ll pen some prose;
dream up new lines; make up new words:
Where once I thought that what was writ:
the rise and fall, all of it
could not be altered, not one bit;
as if in stone, the letters sit;
lines laying law, commanding it!
But now I face what fate comes forth;
leave letters forming words with worth.
My written rhymes give gallant girth;
they sing a ballad; but say one verse:
I put down past, but faced it first
in breaking down, I found what works
I fixed my fate, and shed the curse,
Better for me but, for you, much worse!
The book, this poem share a name.
Perchance that fact would make it plain
When written words hide horrid hex
You cannot flee, for you are next!
...THE END?
Tags:
#edgarallenpoe #edgarallenpoetry #inspiredbypoe #inspiredbypoetry #poetry #narrative #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofig #poetrycompetitions @mirakee #poetryoftheday #poetryofinstsgram #poetryofinsta #repost #share #collaboration #curse #book #twistending #twistendingpoetry @writersnetwork #amateurpoet #amateurpoetry #poetrycanada #torontopoet #torontopoetrysociety #torontopoetssociety #torontopoetryslam #narrativepoetry #narrativepoem©away_with_words
7 0
away_with_words
101w
Read More****READ CHAPTERS 1 and 2 FIRST | CHECK MY TIMELINE****
_______________________________________________
A narrative poem inspired by the works of Edgar Allen Poe:
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”THE TWISTED TEXT”
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“I spy where shadow lies…
...or has the dark deceived my eyes?”
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#3 (of 5)
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CHAPTER 3: “Shadowed”
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What harkened there, shadowed so?
It made no noise; I didn't know.
and so my steps fell soft as snow,
heard silence then, and nothing more.
.
Was it the shopkeep, hidden there?
In darkness deep, 'thought saw his glare
and so I turned, searching, scared.
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Nought, I saw in darkness there
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Nought, eyes spied, no shadows spared.
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Nought, my cry left my fear bared:
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"I face you now, as friend or foe!
Why you hide yours, I do not know."
.
So still, the shadow stayed his frame..
as if playing a hidden game.
His outline froze, stuck; seeming strange,
Besot, I sought the shadow’s name!
but to my ears came only rain.
.
Alas, light passed, lit up the space
where I expected a strange face,
but to my shock, the revealed place
held only water, reflecting face
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On puddle’s edge, I searched the grass,
still found just water, still as glass
Just as I thought, "This fog won't pass,"
my clouded mind came clear at last.
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A lock, a breeze, cleared my mind's haze.
To self, I said, "If blindly brave...
I'd sell tomorrow to yesterday;
risk retrospect of future fate."
...TO BE CONTINUED...
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****CHECK MY TIMELINE FOR CHAPTERS 4 and 5 TO SEE HOW IT ENDS****
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_______________________________________________
Tags:
#edgarallenpoe #edgarallenpoetry #inspiredbypoe #inspiredbypoetry #poetry #narrative #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofig #poetrycompetitions @mirakee #poetryoftheday #poetryofinstsgram #poetryofinsta #repost #share #collaboration #curse #book #twistending #twistendingpoetry @writersnetwork #amateurpoet #amateurpoetry #poetrycanada #torontopoet #torontopoetrysociety #torontopoetssociety #torontopoetryslam #narrativepoetry #narrativepoem.
6 0
away_with_words
102w
Read More****READ CHAPTER 1 FIRST | CHECK MY TIMELINE****
****CHECK MY TIMELINE FOR CHAPTERS 3- 5 TO SEE HOW IT ENDS****
.
A narrative poem inspired by the works of EDGAR ALLEN POE:
"THE TWISTED TEXT" -continued
Part 2 of 5
(Under the shopkeep’s watchful eye, a book is bought and a curse is wrought.)
Text:
The TWISTED TEXT
CHAPTER 2: “A Book’s Nook”
Creaking hinges, a'rust with age
made way for shopkeep's leathered face.
His cobwebbed volumes filled the space
and gave the air a smell and taste.
My steps were s l o w; I didn’t know
what book, which nook, my search was for.
So I walked the aisles, for a while:
‘Till a hidden book stood out
A hidden nook stood out
A hidden book’s nook stood out.
Into that nook, up to that book
my outstretched arms raised hands that shook
Had I known what fate was in store,
I would’ve stopped short of the door
and listened to my heart’s retort
turn my back to oaken boards;
neglect to knock, proceed no more.
Alas, the wiser choice did seem
like foreign words I could not read
a weaker foe to curiosity.
Thus on the door, my knocks numbered three.
On portal’s edge, the wait did seem
a lifetime spent, eternity.
Heard racing heart, mistakening
its pounding pulse for echoed feet.
A lock’s release, my wait was for;
an unlatched, oaken, ornate door.
As portal opened to the store,
of echoed feet, I thought no more.
....TO BE CONTINUED…
Tags:
#edgarallenpoe #edgarallenpoetry #inspiredbypoe #writersnetwork #poetry #narrative #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofig #poetrycompetitions @mirakee #pod #poetryofinstsgram #poetryofinsta #repost #share #collaboration #curse #book #twistending #twistendingpoetry @writersnetwork #amateurpoet #amateurpoetry #poetrycanada #torontopoet #torontopoetrysociety #torontopoetssociety #torontopoetryslam #narrativepoetry #narrativepoem.
11 0
away_with_words
102w
Read More****CHECK MY TIMELINE FOR CHAPTERS 2- 5 TO SEE HOW IT ENDS****
.
."THE TWISTED TEXT"
A narrative poem inspired by the works of EDGAR ALLEN POE
A man buys a book. Turns out this book was far from 'simple.'
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Image Text:
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The TWISTED TEXT
CHAPTER 1: “A Simple Book”
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On these pages: a story writ.
Not lines of love, near opposite.
With wicked words, bursting seams.
and pictures ripped from horror scenes.
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This transcript: tallied tragedy
seemed clear, at first, of trickery
such that I said, with full belief:
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“I simply bought a book,
simply bought a simple book
bought a simple book this early morn.”
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Nary a choice did I resent
more than my steps up staircase bent.
.
Had I known what fate was in store,
I would’ve stopped short of the door
and listened to my heart’s retort
turn my back to oaken boards;
neglect to knock, proceed no more.
.
Alas, the wiser choice did seem
like foreign words I could not read
a weaker foe to curiosity.
Thus on the door, my knocks numbered three.
.
On portal’s edge, the wait did seem
a lifetime spent, eternity.
Heard racing heart, mistakening
its pounding pulse for echoed feet.
.
A lock’s release, my wait was for;
an unlatched, oaken, ornate door.
As portal opened to the store,
of echoed feet, I thought no more.
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....TO BE CONTINUED...
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. #edgarallenpoe #edgarallenpoetry #inspiredbypoe #writersnetwork #poetry #narrative #poetrycommunity #poetrycommunityofig #poetrycompetitions #poetryoftheday #poetryofinstsgram #poetryofinsta #repost #share #collaboration #curse #book #twistending #twistendingpoetry #awaywithwords #amateurpoet #amateurpoetry #poetrycanada #torontopoet #torontopoetrysociety #torontopoetssociety #torontopoetryslam #narrativepoetry #narrativepoem
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@writersnetwork @mirakee
#ceesreposts #cursed #book #edgarallenpoe #narrative.
9 0
After the crash of the bar
Things hadn't remained the same.
Day and night,
The bartender hoped one day,
someone would walk through the door
And bring light back into the bar again.
Walks into the bar
A man who has dazed me merely by his sight.
He said, bartender serve me your best.
With ardor and a smile that reaches the eyes,
I poured in a glass, friendship
that will last till the end.
Mixed in affection and happiness,
To give thrills till the last days.
How can i ever forget respect and understanding,
And peace to cool.
Serves him,
With delightful eyes, he said
two straws please!
Caught me off guard,
Come, let's drink deeply of love.
He said.
©mythoughtscouldbeyours11 0 2
Ancestor, where?
Sun set across the plain lands
Air stiff and silent
Drums being beat
Wildlife all around fall silent to the beats
She's listening and watching; nature
People dancing, stomping the loose Earth beneath them
With every stomp, Her spirits jumps through the beats
Eyes closed, music and the people's chants get louder and louder
Imagining my ancestors dancing with me
Cheering me on around the fire in middle of us
This isn't a ritual to summon the gods, but of one celebrating the living dead
The beats get louder, the sun sets and under the moonlight
More people appear
Opening my eyes, a tear falls
These aren't my people, seeing not a familiar face in sight
A woman approached me, telling me to close my eyes again
A voice so welcoming I haven't felt in real life
I didn't want open them anymore, wanted it closed forever
"Don't cry, you may not be ours but YOU are OURS."
Eyes closed again, this time tears roll down my cheeks
Smiling, I found my ancestors, my family
Somewhere I belong
Dreaming forever, waiting for one day to become like them
©sha_ra_el JAN. 27, 20208 0 1
sunflower_taurus
139w
Train station
She continues waiting is the fridged cold,
For a train that isn't coming;
At a station that doesn't exist.
He keeps saying that he'll be there;
Just hold out a little while longer,
And with those words it's hard to resist.
So she continues to wait,
In this frided cold,
At this station for a train.
Whilst he's on a whole other route,
On a whole other train,
In a whole other station.
Looking for someone else.
©little_fox_12 0
Batman
Is he a diversion of someone with mental illness?
Is all this superhero stuff in his head?
Parents were killed before him
His loses his mind
His batcave, his room
His wheelchair, his batmobile
His butler, his nurse that pushes him around in a wheelchair
Harley Quinn, his psychologist
The Joker, his split personality that's attractive to Harley Quinn
His dog, his teddy bear he had when his parents were killed
Scarecrow, a doctor that give him meds that makes him hallucinate and sleep
Bane, when he DOESN'T take his meds he feels invincible
Poison ivy, a nurse that gives him his meals throughout the day, in which he thinks she puts poison in it cause it tastes so horrible
Robin and batgirl, two kids that do voluntary work at the nursing home that always spend time with him
Catwoman, another mental patient that he adores
Batman costume, really his pjs with bat prints
Feels like Batman when he wakes up everyday
Superman and Wonder woman are just two incredibly strong mental patients that fight with the nursing staff
©sha_ra_el 20198 0
Safe Space
A space where the four walls are decorated of loved ones
Spiritual trinkets protecting, hanging from the walls
Fan spinning in the ceiling
Batman decor on a queen sized bed
Salt lamp glowing in a corner
St. Jude and Mother Mary candles burn in each corner of the space
Black out curtains
Parakeets chirping, playing in their cage
DVD of a classic tv show playing
White sage smudge stuck burning
Canine at the foot the bed, asleep
Man in a red and black mask (merc with a mouth) dons the front of the door
Art supplies and dog toys cover the floor
Books mask the floor near the head of the bed
Jimi Hendrix shrine on one nightstand
Rushing to get back home from wherever store or place I go
So peaceful, no worries in this space
It's mines
My room
©sha_ra_el 20196 0
sha_ra_el
145w
Music Magi
On a rainy day, relaxing in a lawn chair
Listening to nature's own music
A day to pop out and get drifted into electric lady land
Eyes closed
Drifting on Neptune
A soulful voice and hypnotic music dances in the air
The guitar has its voice that out sung the original singer
A man emerges from Neptune's valley
Huge black afro, tall and lean body frame
Smile bright as the morning star
Guitar in hand, resembled a woman
Blue/purple aurora engulfs his hands
Each stroke of his finger on her, she sang a beautiful electric noise
His hands glowed brighter
The more he plucked, the louder she sang
He played like he was putting on a show for millions
His guitar unfolded and was now a woman
She stood beside him staring at me
I lean foward to touch her
A zap shocked me back into the real world
Eyes opened
Guitar god music still playing, electric lady still singing
A musical experience not be forgotten
Jimi Hendrix, I hear you
©sha_ra_el 20198 0
Gone, baby
Belly being rubbed by a proud mother, waiting for the life in womb to be birth
5 months
Her first born are excited as well
Ultrasound of the unborn , nearly fully developed
Glass of water and medicine sitting at the nightstand
Mother takes a sip and wash the meds back
The ultrasound picture in her hand began to bleed
She gasps and drops the picture
It shatters
More blood came about, leaving a small puddle
It shattered like a broken mirror
On her knees, crying hysterically
A sharp pain strikes at her lower abdomen
Clutching her stomach
Picking up the broken picture, she cuts her fingers
Trying to piece it together
Large pool of blood now surrounds her
The more pain, the more blood
Collapsing from the pain and loss of blood
Soaked in her own blood, her dress was white then turned red
Staring at the pieces, she lay beside
Wiping the blood from a shard of the picture
It was a mirror and not the baby picture anymore
A little boy smiled at her
"Mommy, it's not my time to come to you. I'll be alright. Love you," he said giggling and fading away
In a fetal position, one last tear slowly slid down her face
"My child, please come back. I'm so sorry," she said repeatedly, rocking back and forward
©sha_ra_el 2019
Would you like to work as a co-author in our new book..... If you're interested then you can contact us.
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