fromwitchpen

delusional enough, asphyxiating my poems concluded no more as a bard.

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  • fromwitchpen 4d

    @lovethatneverfades @kin_jo
    Although we met through a wrong person but you turned out to be a gem. Love you loads. Thank you for everything. A very happy birthday to you love <3

    Read More

    The cardigan of poetry

    In the begrimed day-deplore
    I quested for an unco, whose
    tresses tinted of vibgyor and
    orbs so profound hard to pore
    over her aurora coruscating
    with quietude and camouflaged
    by putting the kibosh on comely
    verses

    I cudgeled my brain about her
    whereabouts

    Notwithstanding,

    she contrived a celestial-case
    from gravels and cobblestones
    manoeuvring the combers quixotic
    enough of twilight and star-crust
    she pulverized with alienated
    allegories and obfusc oxymorons
    in Kafkaesque mortar and pestle
    to weave as poems

    Her taciturn eidolon and the
    hex she disgorged over the
    silhouettes of myriad colors
    prepossessed me and I visited
    a citadel

    where austerity was treasured
    where grampuses were couthy to typhoons
    where Davy Jones' Lockers were zabutons for Kings and Queens
    where love never faded even in the fire of odium
    where traumatic trains'tootled 90's Ghazals
    where fronds cavorted in autumnal equinox
    where poets weren't judged as depressed souls

    I
    descried attenuation
    of deceit in dulcet
    innuendo
    forbearing the acerbity
    inviting fondness in
    impenetrable doorway
    of tenebrism

    _ she is the cardigan of poetry,
    her dolorous thoughts are abutting the
    clouds of callowness.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 5d

    The title is taken from the song , memories by maroon 5.
    _____________

    Soliciting soothe or sliding off from the jalousie and sprigs of vexatious life's episodes. I baked cashmere sweaters and serapes for my loved ones.

    Friendship,
    This word was unfathomable for me but after setting foot into this chock-a-block of colors (miraquill) and benevolence I stumbled on many comely hearts and glimmering diamonds.

    Scarcely any, are those whom my heart esteems and idolize and a hue of camaraderie can be felt with them. Part of and few are those who were there with every fluctuation of my vicissitudes. They armoured my unsubstantial and wobbly thoughts and fulgurated my mythical and mystical fears with warmth and rapport. An accord of serenity and propinquity is also burgeoning with them.

    A soupçon of these tinctures and the book of my existence one or two has known and they are the most idiotic and idyllic homosapiens. Co-conspirators, musketeers and a bona fide interrelatedness is what expound them as my heartbeats.

    They are buddies the ones who knows how to hotchpotch someone's sorrows and fuel a soul with optimism and blithe.

    @gunjit_jain @smily_aina @bouncy

    A very happy birthday to you all. Stay blessed and happy always. May all your dreams and wishes come true. In the End, Danco (ϋ)/♩

    Cakes and chocolates for me 乁 ˘ o ˘ ㄏ

    @writersnetwork thank you so much, team. Glad to have your support and presence <3

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    Toast to the ones here today, toast to the ones that we lost on the way

    O sky'
    Our banausic musings
    can impinge with thy homespun
    aperture we may then descry
    feu d'artifice on your nimbus
    where those kites are stuck
    which we tried to flit in air in
    our salad days

    O sky'
    puff of balloons we will
    dangle those around the
    ridges of Moon and the
    sun will sparkle the candles
    with combustion of its
    flamous elflocks and
    holocaust orbs

    O sky'
    crochet a birthday wish
    with asteroids and fireflies on
    your chest we will cut the cake
    bedecked by the grandma of thy
    crescent and wrap the gifts
    in your furbelow

    O sky'
    we will sew satellites of hope
    we will sing songs of longevity
    we will place giggle-mugs on the uppercase of poems
    we will clad the postmeridian to glisten nights
    we will play hide-and-seek with dewdrops and rainbows

    O sky'
    let our dreams come true
    we want to sleep in your cold and tranquil arms

    _ you shan't turn dark let's celebrate life.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 1w

    #vil_witch Phew, My third villanelle after a long time.
    Thanks for supporting :) I'm sorry for not responding to your tags . Take care .
    #start
    --------

    Her eyes look like unheard
    stories, the clouds go berserk
    while searching for the heaven
    betwixt her orbs. Fire and
    brimstones, what her laugh
    shredded upon the vague
    veranda of vamoosed verses.
    They attired the guffaws of
    perdition with streetlights and
    counterfeit similes. I've lived
    betwixt her poetries she never
    coiled the pandemonium of
    turnpike troubadours in
    lecherous ignis fatuus which
    gurgle out phantasm on the
    grief-stricken walls manipulating
    the doldrums kept inside a jar
    of clemency. I flapped my wings

    Befogged,

    She an ample-apple of
    fuliginous stardust
    nurturing my eensy soul with
    fierce-flowers and compassion
    evoking a euphoric bedlam
    beside my lungs

    They,
    smoked
    evils, deaths, knives,
    blood, huckery hymns and
    my unfeigned condolences
    to her unwavering
    beauty

    I grilled her heart
    on wilted orchids they
    coughed out blood
    and turned to fragrant
    roses

    She cursed my
    existence I stabbed
    her words
    she blamed my facade
    I chopped off
    her name
    She taunted our telepathy
    but then
    her pain subsided and I
    saw her crying while
    writing a villanelle

    I snatched away her
    coal orbs. But blindly
    she guided the rhymes
    and I tip-toed to keek
    that tear she sobbed
    before taking the last
    breath

    ~ I'm that lonely word she forgot to write in that villanelle before she cwtched quietude.

    Read More

    'The rain is falling and I'm traumatized
    God asked the address of my sorrows
    I assured a bard I'm wholly cicatrized
    -
    I feel flamboyant to 've death visualized
    They seek for redemption in my brows
    The rain is falling and I'm traumatized
    -
    I was a day, gloomy dim and materialized
    With auburn parables, silver-tongue of crows
    I assured a bard I'm wholly cicatrized
    -
    T'was condemn thyself after I demised
    I throttled you betwixt my deep furrows
    The rain is falling and I'm traumatized
    -
    Hills, Euphrates and bridges fossilized
    oh, the Gold, cold your upcoming tomorrows
    I assured a bard I'm wholly cicatrized
    -
    I spurned my words as they are, immortalized
    seeking a sooty swan in the present boroughs
    The rain is falling and I'm traumatized
    I assured a bard I'm wholly cicatrized'
    _ she, the poetry.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 2w

    /(Bard)iche virtuoso/
    I was a poet: trahison des clercs

    I never counted stars
    as they burn the house of
    dusk manipulating the
    daydreams to fell in
    love with ephialtes
    I'm a drunkard
    cursing the flashbacks
    and photographs of
    augur. I'm depicting
    the future with threads
    of past time
    I'm a bardic barque
    whose debris are being
    stepped by mariners
    as flotsam
    unable to fathom; a prolix
    to rejig the spaces and
    bardiches into poems
    which are hard to gulp
    and not-that-easy to
    cognize the roads
    I build with
    black and white images
    They left
    They left one by one
    two to four
    and in thirty days
    where I tasted
    the three sixty fifth
    rotten flesh of
    forevers

    Nobody stayed
    the home to my soul
    the love of my life
    the salted-buttery elflocks of my grandma
    the last wish I made while celebrating my 11th birthday
    the guy who keeked through the orifice of fornication
    the bullets of prophecies
    the matinee to masquerade happiness

    howbeit,
    I was a poet

    Until

    who is a poet ?

    one day my heart asked
    I was discombobulated
    I read books,
    watched movies
    I kept being inquisitive
    But steadily
    instead of getting
    an answer

    I started a war
    betwixt my heart
    and mind,

    A virtuoso bard , bardiche and
    bandit named life
    snuff the cigars of chivalry
    and puff out the
    intumescent verses of
    ruination

    I'm partaking in
    sighs, cries, thwacks, flames,
    relics and coal-camphor
    of the pits of villainy

    _ I'm not guilty of the trahison des clercs I caged, by trading my poetic pale-flower. I'm a cobblestone of perfidy.

    ___________________

    @writersnetwork grateful for your kind acknowledgement :')

    Thanks, everyone!

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    My poems are home to my tears and cradle to fears, I feel warm betwixt my dark verses.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 2w

    @writersnetwork thanks team for the support and encouragement you always showered on me *-*

    Thank you everyone! Pardon me for not reading you all from past a month I guess, life turned hectic and I feel suffocated here but I can't leave this place . I'm trying my best to read like I used to before. I sucks due to constant headaches and emotional breakdowns. I'm trying to cope up with this all to be strong to fight and to again respire spells of love on you all. Hope you all understand my situation :-) thank you so much for being here . It somewhere breaks my heart that many left and very few are here those whom I know. And the beautiful new users here, my name is Sanam no need to call me Ma'am. I'm a learner like you all I'm not someone who is an actual writer. Please be normal. Formalities scares me , much love <3

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    Unknown: schmaltzy satire or a hetaera of r(l)usty love

    Last time I ate
    my lies a whirl of quarrel
    carried away my verses
    and only giggles of
    treachery kept mimicking
    the unwanted twilight

    I'll leave again
    the chauvinistic approach
    towards the gaslight which
    speaks of love when the
    fireflies massacre themselves
    in its fibster flame

    I'm tired of being called
    names that my own self is
    snoring in that void my heart
    decomposes every second
    I've tried so much
    I've denied myself
    I've deplored darkness
    I've lived a thousand deaths
    I've been eaten by myths
    I've grown an aubergine of chivalry
    I'm done I'm done with this life
    This all feels like an incomplete poem
    A puzzle or a clue

    Nevertheless,

    In this span of time
    concomitantly a star kept shining
    looking at me with woebegone orbs
    It somewhere capture the
    wisteria of souls
    I remember the weight
    my shoulders are bearing
    I'm embarrassed
    Feels like a burden on my body
    has ripened into a nihilistic night
    Jasmine

    I'm a failure
    from my first cry which
    didn't even got a clean rhythm
    to this day that I'm not
    even able to conquer anything

    I'm an insomniac
    A person very easy to be trapped by depression
    A selcouth of fallacies
    Never understood the ways of love
    hated the proximity of timeless reveries
    and the worse thing is
    I'm not able to write a true poem
    and such blindness I suspire
    that I'm called a poet

    _ I laugh hysterically when my own words opine with my sentiments.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 3w

    Blah. Idk what this nasha is . Something new I tried .
    #end

    As I have seen many of you didn't got the actual point in this post pardon my negligence let me elaborate it

    The first verse is about wine how it touches the throat what we feel even the colada feels a piece of trash in front of it till we puke it out in dustbins and it burn into areas surrounded with blood death and hearses . (The taste of wine is like the wet sand after rain)

    Second verse states that: I have talked about few girls as periwinkles its like wine sex and love or pain. So yeah, they walked in a ballroom trying to look as elegant as this is what erupts their synchondrosis joint. Like a categorized clichè girl. Fueling their dresses with bra cups, underarms and hips all ready and cleaned up and at that time the pimples when start pirouetting on their skin many stares which are eerie make them loose the last gum of their mouth as they bump with any man and he use her on his dashboard cupboard and then she again bloom in mudpots but the end is always pain and pain. (It means the suburbs and (bra) cups are carved with foolish people's gaze)

    Last verse is about the themeparks the childhood we have lived and with time we killed it with our own desires its all cold now unfathomable and bizarre life filled with bewildered gossamers and confusions . (I gulped in love to feel the pain)
    Hope this helps :)

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    I cut your thighs in moribund sighs

    Wine :-
    It obliterate the heartbreaks
    artbreaks breaks. Chainsmokers
    or something sourly cold gave
    shivers shivers shivers to the
    throat's skin. Oh, Akin to the
    last love , last night or last home;
    cursing the eternity, mortality or
    illi-city. Dumping a colada in the
    near vessels or utensils . Toss
    one's cookies in the dustbin
    bin-burner. Zilch the environs
    faubourg or purlieu of heart-hearse
    blood-boneyard, deceptive-death
    /The wine tastes like cake of slush after rain/

    Cups:-
    Periwinkles in mudpots cupboards
    dashboards decomposing the
    hiraeth
    hiraeth hiraeth in iced-isle
    soigné-synchondrosis in egyptian
    ballrooms fueling the bra-cups
    underarms and hindquarters with
    banal pigeonholed pirouetting
    pimples and thousands of leer
    eerie or queer the end gums
    just bumps sticks of drums
    /Cups or suburbs carved with rubbernecks/

    Ice or fire:-
    By the to the if the of the in the
    flames of parque de atracciones
    of my childhood chomping the
    gallimaufry to get the hold of
    those torn lurking-labyrinths
    the maze oh blaze what a phase
    I've lived so blue so dazed and
    so cold so cold so cold so cold
    /I gulped in fire to feel the iced pain/
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 3w

    ᴛᴡᴀꜱ' ᴀ ꜱᴜɴꜱᴇᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜʏ ᴍɪɴᴅꜱᴇᴛ

    Daubed lip-rouge, one of her
    mother's red shawl she wore
    as a sari rigidifying her blouse
    to get a deep neck as the line
    which appears betwixt her
    mother's breast always made
    her curious being unknown of
    her surroundings she put her
    lips under her teeth orbs up
    to give a winsome look

    Her childishness
    captured the eyes of
    her dadi descrying
    this all she checked
    the time sun was
    starting to set she
    stormed inside her
    room tore her dreams
    and said
    "You are her daughter, that
    woman's how could
    I think you will be
    different from her
    she was a prostitute
    and so are you,
    This sunset is such a
    bizzare old man who
    once stripped off her
    truth as she danced and
    abutted death at this time
    so are you trying to be her
    at this tick of clock,
    This sunset is a malison"

    /And the sunset under the kef of myths
    mourning on human's mindsets/

    #myth

    Is it just me or everyone's miraquill is not workin' ?

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    The sun set behind the backyard of my mind, morphing my soul into treacherous twilight.
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 4w

    Green: One word to 24% matching text. Yellow: 25-49% matching text. Orange: 50-74% matching text. Red: 75-100% matching text
    Blue: No plagiarism.
    ~ according to Turnitin (an Internet-based plagiarism detection service)

    /What is plagiarism in your eyes ? Is it that your few words can be found beautifying someone else poem ?
    Plagiarism isn't about words , concept or
    corresponding to nature.

    ~If the words you use like let me give my example a word 'cwtch' many of us write. But I know hundreds of users here got to know about this word from me. And what about me? I also got to know about this word from a vocab page at Instagram. So can I say that these people who started using this word in their write ups that I own this word and you are copying me? No, I can not cause I'm not the one who actually invented this word.

    ~If your concept is somehow same after reading someone later then he is a plagiarizer but if you read the same concept written before you wrote then you aren't a plagiarizer. Is it so? Concepts can be same but the way of expression can vary. This is not plagiarism.

    ~sky is beautiful. You can read this line almost everywhere. This is a natural thing which no one can pilagirize.
    _

    Yes, if your exact words are being used by someone without giving you credits. This is called plagiarism.
    As the miraquilleans rather than posting this or warning people contact with Carolyn Ma'am or send a mail to miraquill with proofs. They will surely look into this matter.
    I'm saying this all cause I have done a very big mistake by myself here a few months ago by disturbing the peace of miraquill and posting posts about plagiarism. But, I learned after such experience "to not to show anger be peaceful"
    Notify the admins/

    PS- People plagiarize the best ones be proud of yourself and they plagiarized you, you didn't so let them take stress, be happy!

    #color

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    ( I̶n̶s̶p̶i̶r̶e̶d̶ Plagiarized)

    A few words of Shakespeare
    tranquilizing them with a haiku
    of Matsuo Basho,

    Taking a bit of green-lines
    from an anonymous writer
    playing hide and seek with other's
    eyes by showing them as
    mine,
    |
    Pressing a yellow-paragraph
    of a lovelorn prose inside
    one's poem making the metaphors
    scream on such cruelty plucked
    from not-so-famous book,
    |
    Combining a few orange-pages
    and complimenting them with
    a speaker's words (Ted talks)
    clasping a copyright beneath
    I have tasted shoreline
    of plagiarism,
    |
    Not even bothering to
    veil up the whole write up
    just changing the title
    such lethargy and red-nuts
    are very easy to find

    I want to take a blue paint
    coloring the seas and graves with
    purity and to create an
    authenti(city).
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 4w

    October's Pleiades

    Ole and cantaloupe thy
    Orbs suspire horizon
    Omnipresent aura
    Obfuscating lanterns
    Ogling at planetoid
    Oh, the calendar is
    Obscuring September

    Creating poems on
    Canvasses rhyming'rhymes
    Clasping the hand-houses
    Concocting candlewood
    Combusting blossoms of
    Camaraderie on
    Chalets of pandemic

    Tussling ramp-walk of the
    Twilight coruscating
    Time under lampshade of
    Thunder-travelers it
    Tincture tranquil bliss on
    Throttling despondency
    Twas' October Pleiade

    Of verse and palabras
    Orbiting the seven
    Omens of syllabic
    Order propounding an
    Organized set of words
    Oscilloscope to limn
    Off-urned tipsy morrows

    Brewing few shards of the
    Baked hurricanes in its
    Bones burning the spaces
    Bewildered by ones yore
    Being poet whether
    Brooks, Blake or the Browning
    Beautifying the books

    Everything envelopes
    Euphoria (of) new month
    Episodic an epoch
    Erupting days of the
    Ebbs and combers collapsed
    Evocative tombstones
    Effacing November

    Reverse the train to past
    Reminisce the rainbows
    Rambling portraiture of
    Renowned dawn and fallen
    Raindrops evanescence
    Reverberating the
    Rose-dom of thy glee

    #tanka #pleiadespoem

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    October gestured
    a poem to dance on the
    lap of sombre sun
    saying a toodle-oo to
    ballerina of spring star
    ©fromwitchpen

  • fromwitchpen 4w

    Quill: A Traveler

    Twice, thrice and toto-frice?
    I consolidated visionaries and
    pander to picturesque paper planes
    my no-muse-phantasm perspired
    a subfusc syllabic synchronization
    of thoughts and vexatious turmoil
    trespassing the point of my lifeless
    nefarious-nib,

    Using a bleaching-burner I shan't
    efface eulogia which I traveled by
    my wings, so-called libraries and
    when I relish that tangy sourdough
    of inked-journals I morph into so
    autumnal-auburn-ashes

    I have travelled on paper-palimpsests
    trailing towards the manuscripts
    meandering on streams of solitude
    selecting a succored-sauntering
    synecdoche and bled bonfires to those
    dark and doused palabras

    A safari to hunt the seraph of poetries
    or a globetrotting to gleam glossaries
    I've smouldered suffixes and massacred
    mutilated poetries.

    #travel
    Blah . Just a try .

    (As I saw in the comments not many people got the actual point of this poem let me give you all a summary about this,
    This is a poem about a quill which sum up the visionaries to indulge and carve Paper planes through fantasy and trespass through the turmoil of its bewildering sync of thoughts and life which are odious to its nib it will die inside a bleaching-burner will keep writing itself eulogies will travel the hidden libraries and will taste that sour journal of those ole journals it will change into autumn then will be auburn ashes. It will travel on palimpsests, manuscripts, solitude, will succour the selected synecdoche by sauntering on them and will bleed fire to dead words. Whether to hunt the poetries or to travel through the world of glossaries it'll burn the suffixes and maimed poems.
    Hope this help you all)

    @writersnetwork thank you so much , team ♡
    Much love to everyone <3

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    I roam around the streets of poems to pause at the inevitable full-stop, and when the poets yawp out phrases I voyage, to be a barque of metaphors.
    ©fromwitchpen