5 posts
  • venus93 25w


    Dear diary,

    Today was an ordinary day but I do not know why while walking through that crowded street, out of nowhere i felt this sudden rush of happiness inside me it was strange. I could smell the scent of something delicious being cooked in a nearby house and it took me back to my childhood and to my grandma's kitchen, where she used to cook all sorts of delicacies for us grandchildren when we visited her during vacations.

    We would watch TV in the hall or play in the courtyard , all the while leaving a part of our senses back there in the kitchen , taking in the inviting aromas wafting in. When others seemed to be too engrossed in a movie or a boardgame or a catch me if you can, I would surreptitiously slip inside the kitchen, sweet talk to grandma and get a taste of what's being cooked before everyone else did. While I eagerly dived into the piping hot dish , she would lovingly admonish me to take care not to burn my fingers or my mouth. That love and care used to make the already heavenly dish taste even better. How I miss her ! If only I could turn back time ..

    Who knew a casual walk through a crowded street would end up as a wonderful trip down memory lane !

  • soullular 77w

    Trip Down The Memory Lane

    I take a trip down the memory lane
    Whenever it rains
    From walking hand in hand soaking it up
    To ending up kissing in drizzle
    In those abandoned lanes,

    What carefree days those were
    Of numerous coffees, drives & music
    Not a hint of worry
    Just about conversations, hugs & kisses,

    Though, we knew the days were numbered
    And, life was going to change
    But it was that, what made us turn
    Those moments into memories,

    That we could always look back & cherish
    No matter wherever we landed in life
    They would always be our winter sun
    Giving warmth in difficult times
    & a tender smile in happy ones.


  • silentloud 192w

    Mona Lisa Smile


    You're a portrait of everlasting beauty
    Your maker created you so vaguely

    Seems that every artist wants to paint you so badly
    One can distinguish real from a copy

    In spite of your tragic love story,
    Trauma wasn't the result;
    And you start to worry

    Every painting has its past
    From a simple sketch turns a masterpiece
    So as you, waiting for your prince

    No matter how many paintings have done,
    For me, comparison is no such fun

    For a painter uses emotion instead of a brush;
    Instead of a canvas, there was his crush :)
    A painting consists of great affection instead of a vivid complexion

    Your maker handled you with care
    So as the museum sheltered you well
    No wonder why critics doesn't have a place for such exhibits
    For you to be judged so senseless
    They dont know you're unique and just trying to look for happiness

    But then you find yourself lost
    Yet dont want to be found
    Like a sheep of a different shade
    Out of place in your own race
    Keeping distance for your own sake

    Then at night I visit you
    To take a glimpse of you
    My heart begins to pound so rapidly
    I might fall! Will you try and catch me?

    Even though you smile so rarely
    For you I'll try to exist definitely
    So that your smile will just cost me a penny

    To see that "Mona Lisa" smile
    Will make my life a worthwhile

  • niana_devine 212w

    Hearts of Gold

    Look upon them and rest your eyes
    Bow your heads and never despise
    For one day they will rise
    Beings compassionate, loyal and wise
    Their hearts of gold
    Speckled with diamond
    Thought to disappear, but you were wrong
    They have been here all along
    The ones of light are pure and true
    They will amaze anyone including you
    They will never slumber
    As they raise their voices as loud as thunder

  • cloud9_af 232w

    The beautiful and eternal rain cleaning the gloominess of an inquitous mind.

    #pod #rain #pluviophilicmind

    Read More


    As the neverending rain cleansed the terra firma, the writer sat with his 'sword' and 'shield', planning to etch history. Little did he know that this endeavour of his would only bring him anxiety and misery. As he opened up the gates to his 'Mind Palace', memories gushed on to him like water from a switch gate. As he tried knitting his memories into the embroidery it was, he couldn't let go of the ones he hated. Lucid of his miserable past, the writer's 'sword' fell and he couldn't pick it up again.