To any person/ reader who has ever read me you must have noticed that I use bright, colourful illustration that I take from many artists who inspire me. So I have created an art account
Hope you all can give the same love that you gave to my channel and speaking of writing. I'm not coming back any soon so sorry. Take care and stay safe. I'm still inactive and won't respond to messages here so ..sorry
artwork by Sahana ( if I give mine away what will be the fun and suspense)
Those days when the skies and your pleated skirt twinned Those days when sweat dripped of your temple generously like a running tap on leak While the plumber went for his annual summer vacation while you a dutiful child stuck here in a room No less than a temple An alcove A nook of divinity A hook for summer shadows You feel the evening breeze slip away from the tip of your fingers that hold a fancy Reynolds pen
The smell of the incense sticks nauseates you You stick your head up look at the ceiling In wonder as piles of homework now lay scattered around You have just received the award for the tidiest room
Legs dangling from the corner of the bed Can you hear? The TV and it's angry blares Amma chews betel leafs Watching elusive witches and snake women Your Hindi textbook narrates a cunning constitution a decree by nature that the lion and the deer must sip water from the same brook that passes through your collarbone Peace is temporary A state of not waging wars isn't peace Do not confuse You mumble entranced
You look up at the ceiling again The fan dangles It's lip latched onto the roof Someday you would stand on one foot trying to balance the world in your temple like a revered deity sweating marble tears with the gait of a crane other days you would want to donne dresses with v cut as graceful as two swan lovers twinning
To all the people who do not know the mythological context In Ramayana, Jatayu was believed to be the son of Aruna and a nephew of Garuda. A demi-god in the form of vulture, Jatayu was an old friend of king Dasharath, father of Lord Rama. Jatayu was the first person who tried to rescue Sita from the clutches of Ravana while he was taking her to Lanka. He fought valiantly with Ravana. However, Ravana clipped his wings and severely injured him. Even as Jatayu was battling with life, he managed to inform Lord Rama about Sita's abduction. Sensing that Jatayu won't survive, Lord Rama, a Vishnu incarnate, decided that Jatayu must attain salvation. In present day Kerala, Chadayamnagalam, a few kilometres from the Kollam district, is believed to be the place where Jatayu fell after his wings were clipped.
Dedicated to Sakshi Di. Imagine my happiness when @writersbay gives me her name and to dedicate a poem to her just one day before her birthday.
Happy birthday to the most versatile, very loyal absolutely beautiful and my biggest constant in my entire writing journey. Sakshi Di ❤️ I have never shied away from showing my admiration towards you. You are a strong, beautiful and courageous woman who I will always love and look up to. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Kasturi- it is the musk of the deer that sits on its navel yet the dear keeps foraging the jungles for it. Our roots are where we stand yet we keep searching for them across man made maps Artwork by Manal Mirza
This is based on a personal day to day experience of colourism All the events mentioned above are real and have happened with me. My skin has always been something I have been criticized for. This poem is me, reclaiming my worth, my territory. @anvaya thank you for being there and pushing me to write this poem
Dead girls carry keys in fists and aphrodisiac in their sleeves
The first woman who was a feminist died single and failed to carry on her genes forward according to the theory of evolution by Yuval Noah Harari conclusion, women who were submissive lived on to carry the blind inheritance
P.S- this poem took me a lot to write. It forced me out of my comfort zone. I would be glad to get some honest reviews on it. It's napowrimo and I really wanted to experiment and get out of my comfort zone. So here it is #gtnapowrimo21
Before i start let me just think of who actually my audience is. Well that makes it funny and unusual because i don't know where my audience is. Maybe in some corners that has webs and websters. A note to my audience should begin with a big thankful note of how they were grateful to me but i guess I'll write a prose today and mind not the sombre it may hold or satire that may attack you.
Beginning with silence that listens every of my poem, my proses and my musings that are left for no one but just me. Chaos has left me long ago, since the time i left thinking as a part of my writing. All that comes is from the heart and dies there itself. Silence that hasn't left me, not even the time when the words were to die. Silence that has sharpened every aches and cries has also enhanced the way i react to joy and happiness. Of how a short, simple smile can make my day, looking in mirror can bring certain realisations that are positive so far, touch of a maple leaf gives a warm hug and the broad tree under the bright sky gives me a sense of certainty. It all blooms in silence, in the lap of silence. My poems they talk in silence and this silence listens to them.
With the bright sky that reminds me of how fortune has its own vivid forms, it's the grey clouds that brings me an aura or just zephyr of uncertainty of whether i hold on to my feelings today or should i spill it out to my beloved audience. And these clouds are one of them. There are confessions that are hidden, explorations that are incomplete and a destiny yet to be discovered. Should i praise these clouds for holding my words amidst the void or the big holes that these clouds are afraid of. What if these holes grow big enough one day and be a reason for these clouds to fade. But then, i feel my words do comfort them, lying in mid of those voids. Fading is a part of process that shouldn't come early. But neither are the clouds nor are my poems are provided with this wealth to stay for too long. They fade way too quickly.
Though these nights haven't been a good audience to me and being honest, i guess it's just me who never felt to recite these feelings twisted in every possible way, veiled with Metaphors and filled with oxymoron. I don't feel like confessing my heart out to this pen and paper at this part of time but I still feel lucky to have these nights for listening all my thoughts, chaos and musings that sleeps with me but never stays when I'm awake. But these nights they remind me of my confessions that i refused to write. These nights reminds of the raw feelings that i hide in my poems and they laugh whenever i recite them in front of my audience. Often my audience fail to peek, of what lies beneath these veils of poetic devices but these nights that has all my confessions, it laughs.
So as to conclude my prose, i guess I've to manage it with the same phrase that we're not used to. Thankyou.
I'm more used to 'its okay's than 'your welcome's but today when no one's around, i can hear silence whispering. I can see clouds waving me a goodbye. I can feel the night caressing my beating heart and i can see all of them say nothing but their actions speaks for them and i feel that's my greatest reward. To be appreciated by the nature. To be read by no one but the sky, the clouds, the silence. To speak when no one's listening.
Hello everyone, I've started an Instagram page called @scribblingpolarbear, i post there more often, a better fresher content, and would love to be in contact with my readers and friends with whom I lost touch and those who unfortunately left this place. I hope you're staying safe and having a day you deserve. No, I won't ever be posting again on mirakee. If you're struggling and have mental health issues I just want to share my favorite quote by Maya angelou " each storm runs out of rain" If you want to talk, I'll be there for you. This was quite the journey mirakee, not good, not bad. @miraquill@writersnetwork See you on the other side Be kind ~Avi
Someday, you'll be walking in a park in the month of October and Autumn will brush your shoulders the way my lips did. You'll turn around to find me but I'll be nowhere. You'll sit under a shade and look at the sunset, the way you promised you would do with me. The sun rays will burn your eyes and your chest will feel empty. I'll not be around to warm your freezing palms. I'll not be around to fold my arms and beg you to love me. I'll not be around to give you every ounce of my love for sufficing your sadness. Someday, you'll miss me so much that your bones will hurt and your heart will physically ache. Someday, you'll realise that no one will love you the way I did , with all that I had. Someday, you'll cry the way you've always made me cry. Someday you'll feel your knees going weak at the mention of my name. Someday, you'll realise how bad you did me. You'll feel all the pain that I did. You'll feel as betrayed and used as I did Till that day, I'll make my tears, my ink.
I don't know the smell of the dead, but I know what grief tastes like, and what it sounds like, like roaring and love spewing souls, like ghoul blood in a wordless mouth, I know what my heartache feels like, a thousand rusted iron locks Clanging at the violence of the (fate)ironsmith I know what my grief is, and will always be, The pseudo light in the deads' eyes Everyday in the mirror, It's inexplicably vast and unending as my love, I know grief. ~avani
I'm watching the painted skies, Creasing at uneven edges The blues from the skies Seep into my soul A poem buried into the woods The sunset rhymes with shades It is the 18th winter Yet again Spent by the bonfire Do not ask me, What I burn Or about the fuel It is the season Where they ask you The coldness of your words Or why do you write But tell me, What is poetry, If not another call from the blues.
There lays a patch of sky A little jealous of its neighbourhood Draped in solitude And here I stand Under so many lights, A festive crowd Yet the blues above my head, Feels no less than a stranger I long for the skies Where there is no light From the firecrackers But a patchwork of stars, Looking for their soulmates
Dear empty skies, May you find a home Like I found in you Where emptiness is not outcasted Where every ounce of your soul is embraced
~M e g h a //Festivity
Too much of noise. Please don't hurt the stray animals. Festivals are to spread kindness
@writersnetwork I don't know if you'll read this but I want to say thank you for a lot of reasons, not just for the reposts. Thank you