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  • image_of_ink 90w

    Touch.

    Ending NaPoWriMo with this. I could not write each day and I feel bad. This is honestly not the right time for any of us. #architawrites #inspiration #poetry #thoughts

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    I envisage world with my eyes shut
    No colour, no smile, no dark, no light.
    How do you remember with nothing to see?
    I memorise touches,
    as a tactile token of love.
    How you touch
    a hand, a soul is how you are remembered?
    I recall blessings from wrinkled hands,
    lined with experience.
    On wintry nights I find warmth in hands,
    roughened by constant giving.
    I remember tender fingers clutching,
    feeble and full of love.
    Edges of quaint crinkly books, and worn out rubber balls.
    A lover's tenderness, a friend's comfort.
    I trace my hands,
    to remember every bit.
    I chronicle touches in memories,
    where they remain untouched.
    Caressing and reminiscing,
    I fondle a little longer with souvenirs,
    people carelessly give.

    ©image_of_ink

  • image_of_ink 91w

    She wraps the world in petals
    even the thorns,
    turning them soft.

    She knows no vice
    even to venom,
    she turns it sweet.

    She shines
    amidst a cloudy sky,
    bringing light to places she go.

    She is a beautiful flower,
    you tuck into books,
    but doesn't turn to dust.

    She is a bud
    that blooms in spring,
    doesn't dry up when left uncared.

    She is filled with love,
    to the brim
    spills it when shook.

    She walks lightly on the surface,
    she runs like a breeeze.

    She leaves her tender imprints
    wherever she goes.

    She is irreplaceable,
    she knows it.
    So, leaves a piece of her,
    with a piece of you.

    There will always be only one of her.
    -archita

  • image_of_ink 92w

    What if I scream loud enough, yet unheard ?
    What if I write, in metaphors yet incomplete?
    What if I hug a little less tight?
    What if I don't hold on?
    Fears haunt me in a loop of chaos,
    a clock ticking, steps pacing.
    With dubiety in my rear-view mirror,
    I rush to an empty stage.
    With knives in my back,
    I struggle at the feet of betrayal.
    My hands tremble at slit wrists.
    Monsters that scare me,
    do not sleep under my bed.
    They sleep in me
    and I can't sleep.

    ©image_of_ink

  • image_of_ink 94w

    Articulate your fear. Write clearly about what hurts you.
    #NaPoWriMo

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    What if I scream loud enough, yet unheard ?
    What if I write, in metaphors yet incomplete?
    What if I hug a little less tight?
    What if I don't hold on?
    Fears haunt me in a loop of chaos,
    a clock ticking, steps pacing.
    With dubiety in my rear-view mirror,
    I rush to an empty stage.
    With knives in my back,
    I struggle at the feet of betrayal.
    My hands tremble at slit wrists.
    Monsters that scare me,
    do not sleep under my bed.
    They sleep in me
    and I can't sleep.

    ©image_of_ink

  • image_of_ink 95w

    Poetry will help us survive.
    World Poetry Day �� #mirakeewriter #worldpoetryday #thoughts #inspiration #poetry

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    Poetry is a vehemently struck chord,
    you can't masquerade.
    It is not symmetrically arranged,
    it's everywhere like a luminous halo.
    On some days it's the omnipresent sun,
    on others it's will-o'-the-wisp.
    On some, it's dark with no tearing light,
    but there still are verses even if broken.
    There still is a voice,
    although shook.
    The tremors are still beats.
    Poetry is not dead,
    maybe in comatose, but there.
    It will revive and reverberate,
    until then, believe.

    ©image_of_ink

  • image_of_ink 97w

    International Womxn's Day!

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    Dear Womxn,
    You are an individual for yourself first
    and not just for your relationships or what you offer.
    Reject tags and cages.
    Do not be apologetic for being too much.
    You are allowed to take your share of life, happiness, success and food.
    You are not the weaker sex, there is no weak sex. Ask for what you want. Do not hate your body.
    Raise your voice against harassment and if you can't shout please confide in someone.
    You are not at fault.
    You are doing great.
    Love each other.
    Happy Womxn's Day!
    ©image_of_ink

  • image_of_ink 101w

    Revolution is Love

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    Love in the time of Revolution

    How do I tell my heart to love,
    when thousand hearts are breaking each day?
    Red reminds me of the innocent blood that fell.
    Oh! How do I hold a rose and not think of the thorns?
    I make love to you hastily as I run to Shaheen again.
    How do I believe love in these times is not vain?
    You tell me there will be better days,
    anarchy will perish.
    Love will rise above tyranny.
    I hum, the songs of a rebel.
    I part from love
    to tend to the wounds of hate.
    I look for my muse
    in the hands of the dissent.
    My verses begin at the feet of a revolt,
    my songs are stained with resistance.
    This revolution is a love lorn poet's beloved.
    Every word uttered will be music,
    it will be in harmony.
    The revolution will be loved.
    ©image_of_ink

  • image_of_ink 103w

    Ehtijaj, is an urdu word that means resistance.
    #architawrites #imageofink #theportrayalofanartist

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    Ehtijaj : Resistance

    As the resistance gains momentum
    and voices are heard above tear gas and cannons,
    As verses are heard against vindictive oppressors ,
    Dissent sprouts to dismantle dictators.
    Ehtijaj, can you feel the resistance?
    As Faiz becomes the voice of the blaring heart,
    As the future lies in the hands of the future ,
    Progeny turns into protestors.
    Ehtijaj, resistance becomes existence.
    Art against arms, we gather.
    The revolution will breathe,
    through undying dissent .
    We will paint our towns in freedom,
    we will sing of insurgence,
    our gardens will reek of rebellion.
    In sound or in silence,
    there will be movement.
    With varied hues of freedom,
    we take to streets,
    ensigns in hand,
    on a wintry night, the revolution is ablaze.
    ©image_of_ink

  • image_of_ink 111w

    I wish I could comfort by saying it will be fine.
    #imageofink #theportrayalofanartist #architawrites

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    And at times the loneliness penetrates deep inside.
    It becomes a second skin. The blurred lines are exasperating.
    Your demons look at your cold naked body tearing into your soul. The ever engulfing loneliness can not be doused by another person, by a kiss, by love, by inebriation.
    It's just so much to take in, so much.

    And it's an invisible rain,
    You are drenched in it alone.
    No one sees the pain dripping, and you try to keep others dry.

    ©image_of_ink

  • image_of_ink 113w

    You are a poet on days when you have nothing inside you.
    On days when the only gift seems taken away,
    don't fret, don't give up.
    I know what feeling numb feels like,
    I know what trembling fingers and slow beating heart feels like.
    I know what seeing blank pages is,
    I know what emptiness is.

    On days like these,
    I tell myself, I am still a poetry and I can still write them. I can. I can. I can.
    ©image_of_ink