Life is a unpredictable path which is often walked by all the individuals of the world, and you too will have to walk on it. It might be a rocky mountain or a plain-smooth surface you'll have to walk on it Zen! Maybe you won't find roof but, in sure you'll find vast azure over your head. Just look around yourself you'll find someone whom you never dreamt of. Through the walks of life you'll look up, feel down, and the shiny strokes of sunny day will hard you up again. A time will come when you'll see nasty, sonorous people in your surrounding, you'll get irritated by them. You'll be separated by your own family you'll feel regretted and blessed. With all these changes around you make feel lonely-crowded at the same time often. Sometimes you'll see no-one behind you, but at seconds you'll find long queue behind you, they'll help you but you'll have to pay for it....willingly or unwillingly doesn't matter. Zen all you'll know after the tiring day that as a small rock you have faced many obstacles in your life, you have faced then with full strength, you have beat them with your sharp confident smile. And now you're a beautiful sculptor of what you ever thought.
optimist_wordsmithDamn hues in senses and effective sprinkle of devices with beautiful vocabulary and gorgeous thoughts , you'd nailed the masterpiece with limitless depth,♥️ i loved this symphonic flow and fabulous rhyming there.
writerwithinThank you so much. I am overwhelmed with your comment. You sure are a person of words...haven't seen many people write so nicely even in their posts.
When I step into the cold room, I'm hit by a wave of nausea. It's 4.34 am in the morning and I could see the sun's rays peeking out the window screen. This room has been Linda's for 20 years and it has and will have her memories both dark and colourful. But the girl is no more. My EYES travel around the room. She's there sprawled across the floor with blood dripping from the vein she cut. Her hands hold the weapon of her cowardness. Cowardness? Was she afraid to live? Why? Even after death her face holds beauty behind her masked past. I lean down and TOUCH her. Her body is cold and rigid. Why did she have to do this to her? I walk around to get a clear look of the posters in her shelf. They SMELL a scent of pure love and vanilla. Somehow it reminds me of my mom. I FEEL an ache in my chestbat the thought of her and quickly refocus my mind. I HEAR pages turn, and take a look. A diary. I read it. There. This girl was in love. The first page says "Love always hurts". So then why? She was in love, not with a random guy.. but with her MOM. And then I knew what would've been in the other pages that still carry her life yet she's there dead. Linda lost her mom and the world lost Linda on the early morning of cold November. I TASTE something salty, and then I realise I've been crying. How long? I feel my senses all at once racing through me as I calm myself and let my thoughts wander to how numb my senses have been until now. It wasn't a suicide but a murder of love when love died. #senses#wod#momslove#isitworthdyingorlivingbetter?
when the stars fool me to write nuances of love, hope and peace i coax them hard to shut their mouths that were left hanging after seeing my audacity of tuning in only to zip them up in the bags of time and throw them away only to be found in the stories of people who knew me well: the ones who know why i bled every night every time after cutting myself; ajar for the Orions and Sagittariuses to see the real me even though i could never believe that i were a human being still humans thought i was one of them and burned in the illusion of me being one; now barely anyone knows me. so after being thrown of the throne the most awaited revenge was served; cold last night when i was forced to read stances of faith and hope a bloody recital of dramatic expressions and bloated abominations of "claimed" prophets either true or false but in the time being there was no right or wrong no cloud of hope or literature of the most powerful Romeos and Juliets but only me, who was betrayed by her own kin the stars that turned to dust made me without the will of ever being born or living happily. so i cut my nerve gently the one on my left hand to bleed profusely and avenge the betrayal from my own kin forcing me to live
EVERY SINGLE BREATH THAT I TOOK IN THE PAST SEVENTEEN YEARS WAS FORCED UPON ME SO I WAS LEFT WISHING THAT THE NEXT WOULD BE MY LAST but now i don't wish for anything anymore; evermore. // The starry betrayal// . . - a_franteen_writer (Sirisha) . #wod#pod#ceesreposts#miraquill#writersnetwork#stars#senses