28 posts
  • absynth 66w

    a (trans/sent)ient conversation

    "I think solitude is a state while loneliness is a condition."
    She said once during a transient conversation.
    That made me ponder about the difference between the two
    And seek some clues in the cyclical moodswings of Autumn
    Who reigns as a queen, a ruler supreme
    Over the earth in short bursts
    With a hand on the armrest of death and another on that of rebirth
    While seated in all glory on a throne of detritus.

    The invisible crown she wears
    Rustles in the air and encircles her head
    Without touching it
    Unlike the hearts she breaks
    Into shards of cliches
    with her brutal ways
    And never apologizes for it.
    She never stays back long enough
    To reveal the essence of her true nature,
    That's really clever of her
    To keep the mortals busy with renewal.

    If she had mastered the art of solitude,
    then she wouldn't be back,
    Busy enjoying the perks of privacy
    Behind the yellowing walls of her perennial palace.
    That leaves us to believe that she seeks the approval
    Of every falling leaf and promises them another chance to be green;
    An agreement which Autumn signs with ease
    onto the paper of the passing breeze.

    The search for our roots is a lonely pursuit
    While holding onto them imbues solitude
    And transient conversations like these
    Are drops of dew
    That add bits of clarity to our points of view,
    Baptising the withering cherry blossoms and maple leaves
    lying in the laps of empty park benches
    Then dusting them away with the meandering zephyr's broomstick.
    When the brunettes, blondes, auburns and greys-
    All blend into the same soil,
    Autumn shows us some colorful ways
    To paint the transience of life.


  • seaweed 86w


    Remember me as mellifluous verse,
    Or a melody you heard somewhere,
    A nail scratch on your back,
    The remnant of a winter night.
    Remember me as transience,
    And a bit of joy held within.
    Remember me as a stroll by the beach,
    On a summer eve.
    Remember me as dust,
    For I am dust and I will return to dust.
    Or better,
    Do not remember me,
    I am a moment, a breath,
    A speck in the universe,
    A speck in time.
    I am your moment of sonder,
    Found and lost.



    #mirakee #writersnetwork #writersbay @writersbay #remember #moments #transience #donotremember #sonder #rememberasc @anirockz7 @writersnetwork

    Image: Pinterest. Credits to the rightful owner.

    Sonder: The profound feeling of realizing that everyone, including strangers passed in the street, has a life as complex as one's own, which they are constantly living despite one's personal lack of awareness of it.
    - The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows


    Read More



  • seaweed 87w


    I am a silhouette,
    Meant to remain a half unearthed mystery.
    I am transience,
    a muffled laugh held within a breath.
    I am a whiff of smoke,
    that traveled from my mouth to yours.
    And you, my dear are an eternity,
    held within my transience.


  • fallency 97w


    Eventually, it will all slip through your hands,
    like granules of sand


  • flamesfrommind 112w


    Days are transient,
    So is our life!
    The world's transient,
    Just as we thrive.
    Life's a journey...
    Through some means,
    Public transport?
    It may be; People getting down,
    At each stop or port.

    With ups and downs,
    In the midst of,
    Valleys and hills.
    The stop for some may arrive,
    In between!
    Where the valleys are as low,
    As the height of the hills...
    The engine stops!
    But transiently...
    May not be at one of the hilltops.
    And there gets down,
    A dear companion!
    Accompanying from initials,
    To miles a million.

    Life's a journey...
    With my stop at the end,
    Passengers getting down can't make,
    My destination to bend.
    Onboard there are still many,
    One may befriend,
    And count on any?
    But the matter quite evident,
    Is, all charms are transient,
    Maybe then it's me among us,
    Getting down to catch the next bus?
    Or if it's the mid-way rain,
    I will prefer a faster train?

    The charm may lie,
    In you or any...
    Either a roadside tree,
    Or an eventful spree?
    But all that exists now,
    How much ever we,
    Sob, grab or tow,
    Is transient!
    Feelings, emotions...
    And the entirety of life,
    Is transient!
    So is time,
    Sweet as sugar,
    Or sour as lime?
    Which itself defines transience,
    That's the very essence.
    So it's better we know,
    And happily allow it go!


  • sannasha 166w

    The beach and the sand
    Is all a farce
    What is yours in the day
    The sea takes back at night

  • ruminations27 170w


    Dark skies,
    Gushing winds,
    Everything, just the same.
    But, we, darling,
    Are a different tale.
    Only memories,
    Survive the litmus test
    Of forever.


  • landcrabb 170w


    Change, the clouds through the surface of the earth. Autumn, winter and summer blend into a cosmic flow. Rivers run like sea horses wandering through meadows. Flowers blossom, corals reflect light back into space and ice freezes the global sorrow. You, you are what you don't see, a gust of wind through the cosmic storm

  • dafodil 172w

    The Aftermath.

    The silence of shutting doors
    Raindrops dispersing into coalescence
    The walks of vanity
    Down the endless flight of stairs
    Into busy one-ways on the slopes of Goldilocks
    Harbouring lifeless commotions
    Following rules, making laws
    Grasping and caressing shreds of emotions
    Carelessly hiding gloominess
    Behind unlocked doors
    Guarded by smiling, merky eyes
    Gazing at long miles
    From solidarity to solace
    Pecked with countless pieces
    Of shattered glass
    Showing reality in broken parts
    Only smaller and incomplete -
    Easier to carry and deny
    While condescending the Aftermath
    In the plans of promised future
    In the arguments about completeness
    To have let transience not lived
    And champion into the lands of fertile futility
    With no one to rule.


  • eeshani_dasgupta 175w

    A Conversation With The Flower.

    Felt a mere tiredness, in my soul
    So I glanced out the window.
    Looked at the little leaves,
    Playing in the breeze.
    Saw the flower,
    So elegantly seated on her throne!
    But what hurt me was the reality,
    The transience of this beauty.
    I think the flower felt it.
    She jumped into my hand, dangling out.
    Astonished, I exclaimed,
    She smiled. Her intellect shone through her lovely petals.
    She spoke, "You see, I fell off my throne.
    You see the transience of beauty?
    You see the transience of everything, don't you?
    But all I see is that frown on your face.."

    She said,

    "Despite this transience,
    Nothing really changes.
    A month later, you'll find a flower,
    The same as me,
    Seated on my throne.
    The pain might throb in your chest,
    But how long will YOU be here?
    You'll leave your throne too...
    And a replacement might already be ready
    To march onto the Earth,
    Awaiting you to come back home.
    You see,
    Despite this transience,
    Nothing really changes...... "


    Here I am, a month later,
    Yes, I feel a pain throb in my chest to not see The Flower,
    That died to teach me how to live,
    To see her replaced on the throne, Her throne,
    But not in my heart.
    In this little time I have, I'll try
    To leave a mark like The Flower did,
    On my heart.
    On my soul.


  • lj_brodigan 189w


    Sat in my shed,
    Watching my breath freezing,
    Into little sparkly stars,
    On the grey concrete ceiling.
    Reassured by the weight,
    Of the gun on my lap;
    Again things were desperate,
    Again come to that.
    Damaged and dysfunctional,
    Failing to solve life's cryptic designs,
    What price to leave the cordite
    But I hesitated too long,
    And the moment was gone.
    I wonder if I'm worth more than this,
    And if I am,
    Then what it is.
    In a little the storm had passed,
    And I go back to watching little sparkly stars,
    As they coat the ceiling,
    Beautiful but transient,
    Like the way I was feeling.


  • curiousphilosopher 200w

    Everytime there's no Loss or Win
    Sometimes we play for ourselves.

    Everytime there's no you and I
    Sometimes we do things for us.

    At times we need to realise
    The essence of life
    The simplicity of the journey &
    The stupidity of transient humans.


  • phoenicorn 205w

    13 Sept' 018
    08:02 P.M.

    Freeing drafts.
    Here, transience imply my mortal being.

    #presence #present #perfume #mist #mask #memories #thoughts #trespass #transience #pod

    Read More

    In the end,
    I learned to say No to your day dreams
    I learned to say No to illusional perfume of your presence.
    I learned to say No to the misty mask of your memories.
    I learned to say No to your thoughts trespassing my transience.
    © Hira Khan

  • pursuingbodhichitta 208w


    Nothing is perfect in this life. Nothing that can make you whole, complete. No love, joy or happiness that is everlasting. All you can ever have is semblance of that perfection, in transient moments that you have. Expectations would always deceive you. Specially your knowing about the transient nature of your own emotions and feelings. Unless you become detached from the part that has the knowing and only exist as one who is feeling, experiencing. In removal of that knowledge, in your ignorance, you can be happy as an innocent child is.

    But as nothing is perfect and so can't be things that you experience, you would run into the problem yet again of falling prey terribly to the bad experiences that you'd necessarily have. To not have the knowledge of its transience would only add on to your suffering. So it's a lose lose situation. In moments of happiness , if you have the knowing, your bliss is removed, in moments of torment , if knowing is removed, you suffering increases.

    To navigate through life, actual, real, day to day life, you need discernment to always have the balance.

  • star_shadow_ 212w


    Some things are just like water
    the tighter you make the hold on them
    and it leads you to realise
    that you have lost all of it.


  • my_head_is_a_circus 214w

    Bridges to ashes

    Too long ago I've burned the bridges,
    Not realized, but to the ground
    The ash was causing all these itches.
    Not longer lost, now I'am found
    I was covered in the wrecks, so long
    Till you came, to dig me out
    And now I know, I don't belong.
    There is left not any doubt.
    ©my head is a circus

  • koel_dutta 221w

    Passion Changes

    I met someone a few weeks ago, someone I haven't been in touch with for sometime.
    Something he said stuck with me,
    "Your passion is rare. But somehow, I find your art more beautiful than your writing."
    Writing is my most valued skill. The home I turn to when all else is wrecked.
    Art and dance are a hobbies I've picked up recently. Not quite as seriously as writing.
    But, there's something I realized. Everything is transient. The air you breathe, the people you love, the person you are. Everything changes. The you of the past year is long gone, replaced by the newer, better you.
    And if we can accept that all is subject to change, why not a passion?
    Year after year, we can change. And if you feel that something you felt passionate about isn't quite clicking into place, that's okay. It's always okay not to feel something you used to, because you aren't the same person you used to be.
    Accept it. Accept what you're passionate about at this living, breathing moment. And then pursue it until the unquenchable fire burns out. And if you're lucky, you might just stick with it, and the fire shall never burn out. Be passionate about that fire. Do things that you most love doing. And if you decide that this isn't something that you want to do anymore, don't think twice and leave. You're doing what you want to. You're being what you want to be. Be it a profession, a hobby, a relationship or even a life.
    If you feel let down by the job you're doing, leave. In a month of two of blindly rowing the boat, you will find another lighthouse.
    If you feel that your hobby is obsolete for the time being because "you don't have time" stop making excuses and get a new hobby. You're done with the old jobs. It's okay to want something new.
    If you feel that you have been or you could be treated way better than how you are now, leave. Immediately. Because what you think, you become. You're capable of it all. You're capable of receiving the love you think you don't deserve.
    If this life isn't the one you dreamt of living as a child, don't let the child with the big dreams down. Change cities, change your closest people, change yourself and be where you want to be, doing what you want to do, being who you want to be. Do this until it isn't what you want anymore. Do it until you feel you want to change again. And when you do, nothing shall stop you. Change when you want to.


  • diwa_diwa 222w


    I found you.
    In the midst of fabricated bliss
    And discordant melodies,
    I discovered you, my dream.
    Yet, the smoke evanesced
    And I was left with the ruins
    Of a beauteous yearning
    That turned out to be a mirage;
    For, naught can stay constant
    And people can be whimsical--
    Even as they inveigle to remain.
    I lost you.


  • bara_br 225w


    A beautiful


  • mohitasadhwani 226w


    What is certain? Is anything?
    That which was here a moment
    ago is now slivered in shadow,
    only its outline visible, as if it
    never existed adorned with
    fiery hues, like a dream whence
    one is yet to escape, akin to
    a mirage one desperately wishes
    would not vanish like life
    does, sans notice or mercy,
    drowning all hope for tomorrow
    into a ceaseless sea of torment.
    What is certain? Is anything?
    Is life? Is peace? Is joy? Is sorrow?
    That who was brimming with life
    a moment ago is now shrouded
    in desolation, as if that voice never
    sang or swore, hauntingly silent.
    What is certain? Is anything?
    Is hate? Is love? Is time? Is regret?