The Old Guitarist is an oil painting by Pablo Picasso, which he created in late 1903 and early 1904. It depicts an elderly musician, a blind, haggard man with threadbare clothing, who is weakly hunched over his guitar while playing in the streets of Barcelona, Spain. Source: google.
This might be quite unpredicted but it is what it is xD please bear with it. I don't know where to start with, but if I reminisce about the first post I read here, genuinely, was your submission to the 'T-shirt prompt' on water. I commented something and you replied, "Thanks alot lady with beautiful bangs". Before that I thought mirakee was just an app where we write and read, but since then I came to know that it's not just an 'app' it's home for writers where we make friends and live blithely. You seemed utterly sweet, thereafter I became your constant reader. Reading you felt blissful and it still feels. When I read your post about 'chuzo' I really felt sad but also ferreted out that you're not only sweet, but kind hearted too. I love how your newfangled thoughts make this place more dynamic, may it be because of your write-ups, your appeal to tag you on the posts we want you to read, 'sakask' or the challenges you host ! You're my idol. I really feel low when my friends here leave. But then, I ponder, "Chaheti, it's not even a year since you joined this platform, and you're becoming sad ?" and then I think about you. How strong you've been, almost 4 years (I guess) Like from the starting ?! You must've had sundry friends here too. Many of them left, some are still here but they don't write, right ? And you, you're still here, you still write and you will always be here cause you write for yourself . You interact with newbies and that stimulates me to stay here, always. You're a fillip to many novice writers here, like you were to me. And you still are. We haven't talked much but still everytime we've talked, it was a cachet to me. Your backgrounds, captions and obviously words always have my and everyone's heart. Your thought provoking posts are doses of humanity to us. The way you pour your colossal musings in ample words, no one can ever do. No one can ever be like you ! You're actually a cup of poetry, from which we sip drenches of ethics. You're like an elder sister to me, who clears all my queries when I feel dippy. Not gonna rankle you more :P so yes, THANK YOU SAKSHI DI, FOR BEING THERE, ALWAYS !
The Archangels correspond to days of week and they are Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael, Selephiel, Jegudiel and Barchiel with their seven heavenly virtues countering the seven deadly sins of the Seven Princes of hell- Mammon, Blephegor, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Bleezebub, Leviathan and Satan.
A mess lol. ____________________________
Wrote something like this long back !! So, old me inspired me to write this. Though not sure about it !
Idek kya bolu it's like we never had a proper chat yet it feels like we had many. You've an unpareil vibe which no one I've met in real life or virtually has. Iss din sab tareef krte ik pr fir mujhe hairani bhi hoti ki mtlb koi itna exuberant kaise ho sakti. But then I hope it's all smiles to your core and you're not masking anything. You always light up this place like always. Pata nhi kyu itna comfortable lagta likethere's something. Actually it's all you and the person you are. CHAHETIIIIIIIIIIIIIII uff that name is sukoon. Khair mujhe nhi aata yesab bolna but I really wanted to write you a poem mujhe yaad hai Devika k time you said ki tere liye likhungi ya nhi aur I said usse bhi achi ;_; but I don't even write like that anymore and it's tough now to go back. People change so much. It's scary. I hope you don't.NEVER OKAY? Teri poem due hai I'll write you a khoobsurat one. Fir I thought I'll atleast send you something pr fir kal raat se I've a bad throat ache aur subah 10:30 ko uthne k baad bgi gale se awaaz nhi nikl rha . Piu na padhle yeh. Khair. Hum dono ka birthday pe aise sick ho jana is mandatory. I just hope you're not sick on your birthday please ;_; . I swear I can't even speak thik se ;_; Study hard. All best. Happy birthday Chahetiiiiiii TAKE CARE kam bimaar huya kr ;_;
To chaheti, with the most adorable name and smile in the world.
I'm writing this letter and mujhe pata bhi nhi ki chaheti isse padhegi ki bhi nhi considering boards shuru ho gye hai atleast cbse wale ke ya pre boards chal rhe ho. Happy Birthday chaheti, pata hai I still remember Riya ke post par the first time I talked to you. And it was all because of your name, chaheti, I was like itna pyaara naam with such a simple meaning, yet it's like this name is made for you and only you. Maheeno pehle aise lag rha tha chaheti ka birthday toh kitna dur hai and lo and behold it has arrived so quickly. Pata hai it was the best of the times 2020. Halaki bahut up and downs aayi life mein, yet 2020 is something which I'll remember for the lifetime. Chaheti and Piyul ki jodi, your amazing vocabulary, chaheti ki sabse pyaari dps, your concrete poems, one liners, and pata hai the first time I'd seen you was in Vinit and Raika ke posts, shayad tumne mere posts pehle pdhe nhi the, na hi maine. Then tumne meri story pdhi, I think wo first post tha jo tumne pdha mere account mein. And itna cute nickname diya, SaSo yaaaaar kya batau. Your cheered up this place. But ofc time changes, and so do priorities. Bahut fights hui iss place mein and mera sach mein yahan kuch likhne ka mann nhi karta. Na hi purane log, na hi wo vibes. Pata hai chaheti ko dekh ke aise lagta uski ladayi kisi se ho hi nhi sakti. Like she'll smile and bas saamne wala bhi sochega, nhi yaar, kya ladayi karna, let's live peacefully. Chaheti is my lucky charm, aur chaheti is really adorable. Happy 17 chaheti. Uff kitni baar chaheti naam le liya maine, aaj shaanti mil gayi sachi. Btw I've taken up literature, ab hum bhi literature student ban gye hai. All the best chaheti har cheez ke liye, health, happiness, academics, life, and EVERYTHING. and humesha uss pyaaari smile ko maintain karna. You have this really genuine smile and vibe and mai aise lagta zindagi bhar uski tareef kar sakti hu.
जब हल्की सी सर्दी हो और बारिश हो जाए तो गर्म चाय से जो सुकून मिलता है ना उससे भी अलौकिक है चहेती ( अभी हल्की सर्दी है और बारिश हो रही है तुझे तो पता ही होगा खैर)
अनुव जैन के गाने के तीव्र स्वर सा जुनून है उसकी आंखों में और मुस्कुराहट तो ऐसी की वक्त भी एक पल ठहरना चाहे, समय कुछ घड़ी उधार मांग कर उसे निहारे। प्रतीक कुहड़ के गाने में जो अलग सी ही भावपूर्ण धुन है ना वो अहसास है वो, चहेती नाम तो है ही पर वाकई में सबसे खास है वो। सुबह पत्तियों पर बूंदों से जो बेबाक आकृति बनती है ना कुछ इसी तरह उसके साथ बिताया हुआ वक्त लगता है। समय बीतता है पर वो यादें दिल के एक नायाब कोने में सदा मुस्कुराती रहती हैं, जब भी उन्हें टटोला जाए, चेहरे पर एक अलग चमक होती है, उस जादू नाम है चहेती।
ज़्यादा लिख नहीं पाई पर सोचा चहेती के लिए हिंदी बनती है। मतलब जितना प्यार हिंदी से है ना उससे कई ज़्यादा प्यारी चहेती है। तो ये मेल बैठा। चहेती हिंदी और हिंदी में चहेती ❤️
A laughter so contagious that if it were a drop of water, it could make a barren heart bloom into a bouquet of flowers. His eccentricity stood out. Not in a dark twisted way but rather, mysteriously. I could never have fathomed him to be a church goer for I can't remember a time when he wasn't engulfed by smoke rising from the cigarette dangling between his fingers or a time when there was no whiskey on his breath.
I could have easily concluded he belonged to the likes of me who were forced into this weekly tradition had I not seen him alone. Always.
He never stood in mercy or bowed in prayer. Just sat there, every Sunday morning, on the last bench during the service and stared ahead as if he was trying to dare Jesus into a trial by combat.
The gossipers whispered about him. About his dark and seemingly damned soul. "That arrogant fella never opens that mouth unless he has to be downright ghastly. Why even insult the lord by coming here at all? Brings down the atmosphere of the entire room with that foul expression." But that's what they were. Gossips.
For down at the Fusion bar, round the corner at the end of the church street, he was the life of the party. Always talking. Always merry. Always making people laugh. Always laughing.
Remember how I had mentioned that he never smiled? Well, there was once a time when he surprised me. On a windy autumn night when I asked him about love.
On that cramped porch, surrounded by empty bottles and rising smoke, I saw his blurry face look up at the dark sky, his lips curl up into a tiny, almost oblivious smile, just for a moment before blending into a smirk. A softness had flickered in his eyes before it was replaced by the intense hollowness I was more familiar with.
And before another word could escape me, he took a long drag and turned all possible answers to my unuttered question, into smoke. And then, he never smiled again.
They say he loved a nun who despised cigarettes. Hated them more than she hated his tattoos. More than alcohol. More than his impertinence. But, she loved him more than she hated cigarettes. They say, she loved him more than she loved God. And perhaps, God couldn't stomach that.
To be honest, we loved the name MIRAKEE❤️. It was inspired from a Greek word, Meraki used to describe doing something with soul, creativity, or passion.
But the realisation that the word Meraki has a broader interpretation and can be used to describe cooking or preparing a meal, arranging a room, choosing decorations, setting an elegant table or even purchasing the perfect gift for your best friend, made us rethink.
Therefore, the name MIRAQUILL was coined to better reflect our focus on the appeal of written matter as this app was designed with the writers and readers in mind to bring more attention and visibility to words. A quill is a writing tool made from a bird's feather used in the past as a primary method of written communication. So adding quill as a suffix makes it more compatible with our objectives and aspirations.
Although we will always be MIRAKEE in our hearts, we are very excited about our new name Miraquill because it is more in line with our vision- a global interactive platform for a truly creative community of writers and readers.
Tell us in the comments how you feel about Miraquill!
Along with this name change we have offered you an exciting library of unlimited photographs brought to you by Unsplash. You can update your app and search for photos.
However, with this new addition, we have removed the upload image option from the app. This step has been taken to ensure that creators are credited for their artwork. We also want to make sure that photos with nudity, violent imagery, screenshots are not allowed on the platform. We expect writers to respect the original work of photographers and the guidelines of the community. If you would like to upload your image to the library of photos permitted on the app, we can guide you with the process. Please write to us at email@example.com.
On some days when I'm not an artist, I'm just another C o u n t r y s i d e L o v e r, admiring the 4: pm skies and the forget-me-not blues the white canvas drapes itself into. I'm writing eulogies to lost summer love stories who taste like modern day fairytales. I'm a beautiful spectrum of ivory reveries, a prefix to another sultry morning of writing pale hopenotes. I'm my own muse.
On days when I've left my art to rot in the rosewood alleys of memory lane, my heart weighs a P r e t t y M e t a p h o r . I'm pliant to my hometown's fondest touch, the fringes of my paper towns. They know my stories, of smiles, songs and sunsets. When I want to say how I've swallowed shards of fate, they'll tell you the saga of aching to growing up into a poetry
On some days I'm not an artist, I'm just another V a g a b o n d B o h e m i a n in the vanilla street of Kashmir or writing promises on seashells. I'm putting wildflowers into my braids and painting my nails in acrylics. On those days I'm the calm breeze humming to wind chimes and forevers and not the city that never sleeps.
On days my art has left me for another hope I'm just B l u e A e s t h e t i c s as I scribble urdu poetries on my mauve walls and paint my nails in a buoyant orange, falling in love with vinyl tapes and polaroids. I'm loving bougainvilleas and heartbreaks over everything. I'm falling back to soul-warming smiles.
But somedays when I'm not an artist myself, I choose to be the A r t crammed inside my childhood photo albums and festive chorus. The art forgotten amidst the pandemic. The art of caring for old strangers and emptying metro seats. Sewing sunflowers on denims, family gatherings and humming Gulzar to my grandmother who says I've grown up too soon.