It dawned on you one dawn that the nights are gone and you're still in belief of how you haven't shed even a bit of your self yet. The realisation makes the same self full of questions to the answers. You don't feel empty you're almost whole you've stopped digging the holes and filled the closed ones. You said you're letting things go you said you're at peace I see you looking that black canvas not fretting to see no stars, you seem like a lost jigsaw piece. You say it's filled neat but the air bubbles say otherwise like your heart beats. "Fall hurts more only when you know spring's on the way" With cold feet you repeat.
It dawned on you one dawn that you're keeping it all in and whatever comes out, makes you regret on the way. It scares me how if it weren't your strong jaws bearing all the clenching, you'd beat yourself up and end up laughing. You'd catch a butterfly, tear it apart and stitch it back, wait for it to fly but it wouldn't fly and you wouldn't cry.
It dawned on you one dawn that you want to join your fuvkin hands and ask everyone to fuvkin get lost Oh I'm sorry but isn't this how you talk? I'm not your friend I won't wear fuvkin filters. You fuvking said in all sobriety you feel fuvkin whole now But I fuvkin swear you were never this fuvkin empty anyhow.
Will you be here? Where? Here? Where? Here. Why so doubtful? Nothing's real. On the verge of fading.. fading.. fading.. and gone. Even about yourself? Unreal for someone out there. Fingers crossed that it isn't me. I belong here anyway?! Now.. today? And there is tomorrow we don't know about. Keep my place reserved, will you? Never had any. It's all full with um no one but many.. I'm sorry? No, you aren't. I'd still be here. Somewhere in the corner. Smiling. Waiting. For? You. Where will I be? Will you be here? Here? Here. I don't forget things. Prolly make sure things don't let me forget them. Seeps in. Leaks in. Crawls in. And what if you forgive the way? I was never mad at it. I'm just always.. The h in a hug stands for hurt; the h in a heart stands for hollowness. Um. The h in hurt stands for habit; the h in hollowness stands for heaviness. The h in home stands for hatred. Stop. Why? You're being h for hopeless. And you always play along. One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi.. Where are youuu? *Breathes* *Breathes along* No one's gonna find you if not me. I know. You're weird and tired. I know. You're afraid of looking into yourself now. I know. You need help. I know. You're not you. I know. You.. I.. Fck it. Hahah. Caught you. Caught you but.. unable to hold you. That's alright. Flowers hurt more than thorns. Sky hurts more than ground. Lalalalala. What? Grey. Her eyes are grey? Tf? I never knew? He must have known right? Was I even supposed to look into them? They.. they were hurt, hollow and heavy. They are light grey? I never knew! Idk what's this but flowers heal and sky is hope. Oh, is it so? I'll never know. And I'm hopeless? You'll never know either. *Breathes* *Sobs* Flowers. The last thing she could offer. Sky. The last place she'd ever want to look for him. *Chuckles* Stop. *Chuckles* I said stop?! I hate you. Fine. Atleast you stopped. Temporarily. I know right. It's all about temporary gains and permanent losses. l couldn't look into them again.. I wonder if they got their old colour back. Not grey.. They were colourless. Are you talking about just the eyes? *Sighs* There are thorns in life and flowers in after. In a blink of an eye, the feet raise above the ground and in second, they'd be flying in the sky. Fun. It's all funny. But you aren't. Why so serious? Always been. You were so when you decided not to cry. "It's enough. No more tears to waste." Hehe. The universe listened I swear. The very next day, I wasn't even left with any to spend. What if.. Don't. What if that differently sleepless night was telling you something? Telling? Hah! It showed me how morning can be darker. Darkest. Yet. I.. I'm not ready for more such happenings. No one is. Does hollowness work?! Love is done. The damage is done. Cruel. What isn't? Shaving my head. Don't. They're loved.. It's the only visible weight, darl. What else? Cruel. It's raining. Outside and inside, both? I hate July. I get it. Too cold eh? Coldest. And the worst part? Our warmest clothes, froze. I can remember the smiles when we wore them. These are the type of smiles which make you cry worse. Go away. From? Me. You won't be fine. I never was. For? Some time? Sure. Can't promise but I'll take care. Lies. Lies. Um thing is.. I know. I know you've left quite ago. I know you aren't here anymore but I wish you be back to me. I'm sorry. For everything. Travel to the places that won't welcome you and leave a smile there. Sure. The h in home never stands just for happiness. Be back someday? Someday. Where? Here? Here.
I love everything Fire's spreading all around my room My world's so bright It's hard to breathe but that's alright Hush –Cradles
“A heart which doesn't break, aches.” You say aloud and another layer full of cracks, breaks off. I know how sometimes you say a few things loud enough for yourself to hear and realise how big of a hypocrite you are. You realise, you understand and keep it all within with a slight shame, closed. When a lot is changing and has changed, you've decided not to, even if it is for yourself. Actually, it's because it is for yourself. You want to stand in front of those changes, smiling wide and show off how you managed not to. The loss, it'll be the same for you.
You reach doors and near every doorstep, find a box. Not a surprise box. What surprises you anyway now? Everything is already thought by your mind which barely thinks now but just overthinks. You open the box and find layers. They aren't many, a few, countable on fingers. What makes you smile is the number of moments which is always uncountable. Satisfying enough, isn't it? A box full of pictures and letters. One picture drenched in stranger talks and naive smiles below which lies a letter with laughs all over. Another picture which feels close to the heart, warms it, makes it smile adding some real ones on faces too. Then a letter with Thankyous written even between the lines. A picture with tired eyes and forced smiles and a letter with unwritten goodbyes. You close the box shut! before a goodbye crawls over your heart, the one that you feel within, the one that doesn't exist. Yet. I'll always love how you call each box a priced possession. It is one indeed after spending so many smiles and tears on it. Spending, okay? Okay. And don't forget to open the boxes and keep a mask in each one. Funny how even after having so many faces to choose from, you can't expect anyone to remember even a single one. Stop getting funnier with everything you encounter, please?
“Where do the used and thrown articles go?” you ask to mock me. Me? I have nothing to give but a smile and a gaze at your heart. I hate how all the colours from your face fade away in no time and you keep a hand on your heart. Smiling back at me you close your eyes and almost drown in the answer. Realise how it goes nowhere but stay with you. All tired, used up, fed up and feeling nothing but worthless. I love how it still keeps doing its only job in silence along with all the burdening tasks which aren't meant for it. It does nothing, by the way. Very dedicated to its prime job, you know.
Let's go, not a decade behind but um.. a year? I've come across so many parts of you that everything is a mess now. Well, when was it not? Just that the mess keeps getting messier and bigger unlike your will to fix anything. Some parts literally begged you to stop. Everything. For once. You didn't and here we are. I don't know what we are doing but for now, let's just sigh it away.
“My heart isn't made of glass to break.” It didn't require you lying in emojis to earn a smile back then. It didn't require any lying in the first place. From not lying to lying and then having no one to lie to, you've made me write a lot. What do you regret? Say nothing and I'll know you're lying. To me? That's the only thing that remains, right? Dare to do it and I'll smile you away. Keep caressing those regrets and if they hug you back, you know who'll be the happiest. Wish it was made of glass, atleast one pair of hands would care to handle it with care? Is it okay if I wish that pair belonged to you?
It's time to close the door and change the curtains in your favourite pattern. Even your favouritism depends on others, why? How? No wonder your heart is always full. Full of everything. And everything you take out of it for space's sake, never gets touched neither by any heart nor any mind. Everything's going to be present in a flashback one day, so better don't think of any names please. Some flashback tapes are low-key titled 'just temporary things'. Well, keep changing the curtains every season and instead of drilling holes in them, try translucent ones. Some light in, nothing goes out. Let them see the garden blooming in all the shades possible and keep the most loved but wilted ones a secret wrapped in letters. Them them see the butterflies fluttering over the blooms and keep safely the dead ones a secret without trying to find any shoulder to cry their loss upon. Greet everyone you meet with a bright smile and they don't have to know whose shadow you prefer to dance with in a room full of lights hanging like webs. Alone yet not alone. Shh. Even the shadow won't know. Get the outer walls painted once in a while and draw all the childish stuff that crosses your mind, on the inner ones with colourful chalks. For further details, keep contacting me.
Sometimes, I feel like you deserve the ache. As in for everything, you deserve something than nothing at all. Perhaps, what's everything for you is actually nothing. You'll never know. You'll just agree with this right? Ugh. Dumbass. Takecare.
Reminder: They love you. You know that they do and you know their ways. You'll find a forever in their eyes and trust me, it exists for real.
~Someone who almost hated you the most and the only one who can love you the most. 24.06.21
Hey roommate! Thankyou is a smol word just like you How about I'll do all the chores and you just relax? If possible, daya kar dena :')
Everyone, takecare of yourselves, stay safe and I wish ya'll peace and smiles ^_^
And nonetheless, Mira stays constant XD♥️
(Not able to add my own pictures, that too a painting, hurts ;_; Not even kidding. It's like I'm not allowed to decide the wallpapers of my own home ;_; Keeping the decided bg of this post as my dp till I return lol. *pats my own back*)
“Bloom!” I'd say. “Where?" you'd ask. And I see you running in the corridors of the building where you read this word for the first time, embroidered on your uniform. Running, wearing the same uniform behind a boy who pulled one of your two ponytails and made fun of you. You aren't you when all I see in your eyes is revenge to take by hitting him. You're him. People have been slipping away from your hands right in front of your eyes since then, you see. You never caught him being not a slow runner but more of a care taker who was afraid of slippery tiles and getting hurt. Hurt and fear are somewhat constants. You were you when I saw you smiling on your way back. You forgave. You forgive. You remember. You remember what clings to you no matter what. Over seasons, chapters and people. Things stay behind and you give them a place to stay not for some days or months but as far as my sight goes. It goes years and beyond, where the uniform doesn't even exist. A mere material it was.. maybe. You ain't someone who is picky about perfumes. It's never a choice to be honest. You are made to wear them, once in a while and whenever you do, they sink in your skin and keep flowing throughout. You let them. They become a part of you and then there are moments you revolve your world around them. You realise it's time to stop just revolving and start living in that world full of similar billions. Are we still talking about scents? They sink in and stay there. You let them have you in one way or the other. They affect you, you let them. They change you, you let them. They hold you, love you, kiss you, bite you, hate you and leave you. You just let them. At odd hours, you smell like them but you don't smile like them. A lot lost and a little found. You are you when you smile. Who are you, if I may ask? Will you ever be able to answer yourself or there will be sessions of going through ages? You are and you'll always be afraid of answering. Looking into yourself to find an ‘I’ nowhere. The very rare times when you have the courage to look beyond what your soul pretends to be, you find that ‘I’ locked in a room full of faces and faceless cases. They stand at a distance enough to seem familiar to each other. The source is always you and your mind which can't stop expressing. Some standing so far from you that all you remember is the eyes which spoke a few words accompanied by your sentences. Some standing so close that your sight goes blur and all you see is a droplet hanging onto your eyelashes. Close enough to control your thoughts. You a soul, slave of your heart and mind whose freedom lies in your masters holding you tight, silencing themselves and listening to what you have to whisper. Half of which is buried away, long before it could reach the tongue. A slave who feeds them scented liquor, they're always high on. When some other tired souls rest on flower beds made of your words, you caress them gently, they become flowers themselves but flourishing in your garden. Without their knowledge, you pluck a petal each, a little part each, a part yet to be yours. Mix them together, grinding it all into a mortar on which carved is your name, until proses leak. You are you when you write. “Bloom!” I'd say. “Where?!” you'd ask. “Wherever and however you're planted.” I'd recall. You'd write. Everytime it'll be the homesickness which will make you cry, make your soil saline with every passing face. Ashes of burnt pages would be enough to balance it back. You are you when you smile while writing about ashes of burnt homes. And the next time when they ask your name, take a deep breath and say it aloud then smile and whisper to yourself ”A bloom”. You were born as one and will die as one. In between, whoever and whatever you become will be a long prose written on your beauty with a lavender scented ink, amidst a field of sunflowers, for you, by you, with love.
@samarlexis Um just to be clear, the 'you' here isn't you XD but I wish you find this writeup strangely related to your bloom series. It's okay if you don't cause my words often fail to be what they are meant to. But! the picture below is related to you and your masterpiece! A #/bloomseries fanart ♥️ Had a good time painting this hehe. So, thankyou for writing ^_^
There's Gulmohar, Palash, Phalaenopsis, Jasmine, Lotus, Rose and Ketki (Screwpine) :p
Keep smiling, keep clicking portraits and oh do I have to say it? Keep writing!!!
To the one reading this, bloom, bloom and keep blooming cause you only wither once.
(This is very similar to my previous post so I guess you should skip XD)
Do you know where will I find you? I know. Let's have some familiar setting with almost unfamiliar thoughts, shall we? I'm not good with poems you know. They don't empty me. It takes a lot of words to take things out and just few of them are like teasers. They crawl in from somewhere, make some place in there and stay in a mood to never leave. Maybe things we want to stay, are all moody and it all changes like um..weather? And seems like you're always without an umbrella. It rains. Keeps raining. It stops and you touch the droplets which stayed on the bougainville bracts, under a street light. Some things stay even after leaving, within you, in things around you. If I'm not wrong, there was this moment you felt like hating Passenger. It's not the feeling that he knows a lot about you which made you feel so but your fear that it all is true enough, did. The moment you start singing along is when I know you've accepted it all. That's where tears and smiles go hand in hand. Not gonna romanticize the breeze here but one thing I know is when even it isn't able to pull you out of your thoughts, I know you're lost. Lost somewhere you want someone to reach you but you won't even let them find the ways. Ever wondered why you find yourself stuck? That's where a passenger like you feel those homely vibes. To stay there and write songs, to leave and sing them to homeless. If I could, I would look in your eyes looking at that unfathomable ceiling. If I could, I would fathom the shape of those clouds in your eyes. I do add it's okay to your you knows and you know it to your it's okays. I know this will never be enough but it's okay, okay? Okay. From the mornings when you looked at the leaf laden road thinking about the steps that'll walk over them to the nights when you look at the stars thinking about where the dead feelings go, you know that you've come a bit far. Not far enough but yeah. Maybe they leave them and stay with you. You know they do. Over thoughts and thoughts, some things are painted too neatly on your mind. Your untidy wishes will never fit in the borders of the page, half of them will be cut short from their already short versions. To force it all out on a paper will never seem right because it all deserves to have a place atleast in your mind even if not those hearts, you see. You see straight into the streetlight and smile. Smile thinking how you saw everything coming, how worries and fears took over the whole of you before it arrived and so, how you failed to live in so many moments. It starts raining again. You're supposed to dance in that rain. Aren't you that free soul anymore? So caged that when the door is left open for you to escape, you feel like there's a bigger trap waiting for you out there? Happens. Well, you better don't ask me how many times. I haven't come far enough either to answer you with some specific digit. You look at the watch to find it's 11:12. How unfortunate it is when the number of twelves exceed the number of elevens? Stop clenching your teeth, it's fine. Many more to come okay? It aches in the heart, I know but it doesn't ache any less when the wishes are repeated for years. Too much of hope and I wonder if it'll be the same when you'll be reading this again. If yes, hang in there, you've this long, maybe same length ahead? If not, wait in the dark, remember it's like a switch? Something, someone will switch it on. Will you just please ask for it? Mend, sigh, cry, smile, laugh, repeat. Break? Keeps happening. Nothing new. It's fine now. Mending is important even if it's nothing before what's broken. You know your ways and no one will stop you if not you, yourself. I wish one day you read back and feel like I've exaggerated everything, palm your face and smile. I'll know you are fine. Takecare.
If one fine day, I find you trying to keep up with the wind letting it know you can balance alone swaying back n forth on heels and toes suppressing a few urges down and humming a Passenger song, I'll know you're fine.
If one fine day, I find you looking at the sky with a thin smile glaring at the clouds with a still sight murmuring you knows and it's okays shifting your thoughts from road to the haze and flying with birds without any wings, I'll know you're fine.
If one fine day, I find you spinning a paint brush over two fingers struggling to write two simple lines hating the tune made for the lyrics forgetting the steps again and again and trying to swim over everything, I'll know you're fine.
If one fine day, I find you looking at a flower with closed eyes clicking sunsets as a flock flies wishing at 11:11 knotting hopeful ties searching for a star with a blurry vision and making sure no one listens, I'll know you're fine.
If one fine day, I find you breaking over little things sighing over yourself crying over no reason smiling over everything and laughing over the thought of mending, I'll know you're fine.
You'll never find an appropriate quote from a book to quote or any suitable lyrics to dedicate to a moment. Someday after months or so, you'll be recalling that moment, a habit which will never leave you alone, and start singing. You must read books to find those quotes, I hope you know. Still you won't find any because you are just not meant to dwell upon those words. Those aren't any places. Those aren't any people. Those aren't any moments. Those are better than anything and you aren't going to get this ever. Next time when something in you will ask you to smile, don't be foolish to think of the things which take it away from you. How dumb can someone be to think of those on purpose? ‘I'm not supposed to smile'. As if you're meant to cry. And no one's there to call you a fool looking at same trees everytime and smiling. It's just where your sight reaches. It's just how you've been smiling at your thoughts. It's okay, it's just a smile. You very well know about those times when your lips tremble to do so. No need to then, getting it? You'll be provided with the bricks from time to time, stay aware and spit out the ignorance already. It's the time, brick by brick, start building the wall. High enough for you to never feel like peaking on the other side and low enough that when you'll feel like pulling it down, it'll be something you would care to do for yourself, with least efforts you know. The chances are very very less but if someone tries to do so on your behalf, you are supposed to give them a chance. A gem is meant to be treated as a gem. You know it. No need to be sorry for yourself, it's fine. Everything is. Maybe someday you'll learn how to get pissed off at atleast a few things which are meant to piss you off but instead hurt and then you grab it all and lock it somewhere. Somewhere, where it all keeps teasing you. Not everything is meant to hurt, not everyone is supposed to possess that power to hurt but you are you and you will suffer just by being you. Everything. The list is long. Let it be, that's how it works. The day you'll stop being you, I'll know how I am nothing for you. As if I don't know already but just saying. Something? Okay nevermind, as usual. 101 ways to walk away like those passing clouds, but looks like you don't have enough excuses to stick on your tongue with some unsavoury glue. That seems quite unfair but nonetheless, you know you're good at sticking back. Staying back in an empty room which smells like chapters, in the middle of the mess, being a mess. Who cares? I don't, you don't, clouds don't either. Some polaroids won't look into your tired eyes before tiring them more.You may look away tho, who's stopping you? Nothing and no one but you. You always do and while collecting everything in your heart, forget how having two sided conversations about memories make you feel better and not the other way around. Actually, you know it all but still you'll say I'm spending my time. Fine!
“Ah, another amazing day. I lost my house keys in the morning, my temper in the afternoon and now I'll lose a part of me in this evening. Sunsets and me, we have something between us but who knows what it is. They can make me sad and happy both at once. Oh I forgot!” I hold the glass bottle right in front of my eyes and see the sun in a somewhat green shade. It's okay to shift the hue. It's okay to shift with the hues is what sunsets have taught me lately. I hum two songs while playing their tune with nails on the bottle and before people around start thinking I'm drunk without even drinking, I gulp a large sip down. Another two and my gaze falls upon two old souls standing not much far from me. I'm probably seeing them now because I was too busy looking for myself. “The bench right behind them is empty so why not occupy it?" I get up and quietly go there. They look pale. Not just the appearance but seems like they are tired from inside. Why won't they be, right? Thinking about so many things while watching so many sunsets in such a long life and still trying to breathe in what life has left to give, must be tiresome. I sip looking at the empty space beside me and then look at them again. They look very familiar. A wheelchair and grey hair are missing in the picture. “/Memories bring back, memories bring back you!/” Ahm. I let out a laugh.
“I did! I tried talking to my grandchildren about it, you know.” Old man's louder voice catches my attention. Aye no. Grandpa he is. And grandchildren are allowed to eavesdrop I guess hehehe. I grin. This evening is gonna be fun. I sip. “And how did your talk go?” She asks with some faded light in her eyes. Surely she's expecting something nice. But the smile on his face, looks off. I'm already sorry, grandma. “They said.. They said they don't want to waste their time. They already know that they won't get me because of generation gap.” “Dumb kids, I swear.” I say under my breath while burying the urge to pinch those kids hard and bring them into a world where you invest your time into grandparents. “Sometimes when we are vulnerable, we don't have it within us that'll make us make them understand even if it's some simple thing. I definitely don't have it in me now to make them understand that they aren't supposed to get me as a whole but just a piece of feelings which are related to them as well.” And he lets out a laugh, little louder than mine. These defence mechanisms. I don't get if they make it any easier or just make it worse without our notice. Another burial of some feeling isn't it? Lump forms in my throat so I sip again. “It's okay. We are here and I'm listening.” She tells him, smiles gently and then turns towards the setting sun. As if showing him her ears. “/Cheers to the wish you were here but you're not./” It's okay.
“You know, I wanted to tell them how she totally forgot about her age in her last days. How she became younger than them. Can you believe she even sang the ABC song once and then all the nursery poems when one night I wasn't able to sleep? She did! I had never seen her smiling so much until she saw death taking baby steps towards her. In our 50s I'll tell you, she used to talk for hours about how she enjoyed sneaking out of her house with her friends and having all those colourful popsicles in her childhood. So one day, we sneaked out of our house without getting caught by our kids and went all walking, holding hands to that popsicle corner. You should've seen her laughing her heart out without any teeth!” Says a talking example of teethlessness. “I wanted to tell them how she was the colour of my life and ask them to draw me a rainbow popsicle.” And all of a sudden, all the noises around, stop. This silence will kill me. Grandpa, you hurt. You are hurt. “/Everybody hurts sometimes, everybody hurts someday, ayy ayy. But everything gon' be alright, go and raise a glass and say, ayy/” I look at her and she's smiling wider. “You both didn't change at all. Just like college days. He used to talk about you both a lot. I don't even remember what excuses I used to give him back then for not meeting you. But now getting to know things from you, has a different feeling in itself. It's filling me with nostalgia, with affection, regrets, hurt and even a tinge of happiness.” Keeping her veinous hand on her mouth, she giggles. They say I'm bad at reading people and I can see all of those emotions passing to me from her. “Dumb people, I swear.” I sip.
“We all have come too far. But they.. they both just went farther from us. Pretty fast, I must say.” He says looking at the clouds. The clouds are still today. “Thank you for staying back. Among these selfie perfect grandchildren, I needed some picture perfect company.” She says wiping her tears. They're still smiling. Ofcourse they are. Many years of practice. I take out my instant camera and click them and write below the picture, ‘A soulful sunset’. A sunset to be remembered and cherished. “These kids these days, keep clicking photographs.” Damn. I stuff the camera back into the bag. “This one thing they taught me, I'm very grateful about. I have a bunch of her pictures I clicked before I lost my phone. And fortunately they all got.. what's that.. Yes, backed up. Who'll take care of a stupid phone when she's beside? Then I felt how clicking images in my mind matters more. But now when I look into it, all this weak memory has is those smiling square pieces to fall back on. Everything matters. Everything.” Gramps. “/There's a time that you remember, when you did not know no pain. When you believed in forever, and everything would stay the same. Now your heart feel like December when somebody says her name. Cause you can't reach out to call her, but you know you will one day/” “Everything matters and so do these memories we have now. I do feel both of them were naive to ask us not to cry after them. We emotional fools, couldn't hold our tears back when we had them beside. It's another thing how we knew we'll be held by them so we let ourselves loose. What now? All I feel is that this sea will embrace me without any hesitation and know how the sky embraces and never leaves.”
I, now high enough, walk up to them. “Grannie! I knew I'll lose a part of me but didn't know you both will take away my heart. Not fair, is it?” They both are looking at me, surprised. They are smiling too. “Haha. What are you talking about, child?” “Nothing much, Gramps. I just felt like inviting you both at my place for some..” I hold up the bottle. Shit. No. Grandparents. I hide it back immediately and ask “Juice?” Coffee dude. There's something like coffee. She starts giggling again. In these moments, she's like my very younger version. I join her. “Wine? We're up for it if you don't mind.” He pats my head and smirks. Such a personable man. “I'll definitely mind if you bring your dumb grandchildren along. Shit. I'm so sorry. I didn't mea..” I turn around and a warm hand holds me back. It's her. “Wait! We won't.” I turn around again and they both laugh. This time I know their laugh is real and worth much more than my heart. /Doo doo doo, doo doo doo Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo/
The true art of Reading a poetry Is to feel a fire in your bones Yet ache to burn But here's a toast To a gypsy's song Hawker's chant Pauper's tears To the things not noticed Here's a toast To the poems Half-written, To the words Half-felt.
The city's heavy With saudades Of tired souls And biased stars Of a December sky I shall end up being a surrogate Of dead hearts And tell you, My dear friend This poem is a blueprint Of all the faces You've loved and left And if you feel a flicker, While reading these words Know that it's a greater flare Blazing within my heart.
Okay first things first, it's not Mirakee and Miraquill now, that was surprising to see though, have seen crazy changes in the past 5 years in the growth, exponential and stunted, in people and the app. So what's there in a name. (It pricks somewhere about not being able to use a picture, but alright)
As it's being seen, how writers put in efforts (most of us do) to convey a message, the feedback isn't being given in the same fervour as it should be. Criticism as it's been hammered in here by only a handful here, constructive or destructive should be a prime cause to reflect and work upon to only get better. Flowery language, adulations and appreciations and pretty emojis all seem hollow, because certainly it doesn't require one ounce of effort.
This is just a preachy rant,
To conclude, it's just an experiment of sorts, don't exploit it (or me or Doc) (because time constraints)
I believe @clichepenname and I are genuine readers, and maybe a genuine feedback may or may not work wonders in getting better but it's a start. (Please don't think I'm being high and full of airs, I want to see the place I called my Home, now broken, full of better people and writers)
So please tag me with my username or @/clichepenname or use the hashtag #honestgranny in the caption. Hope others join in reading and writing, and simply encouraging in getting better.
Two humans 1 soul Seven births of love Death for death One alive one dead.
Thursday morning over the stained sofa I sit in white , there is grief sitting on the corner of my lips, and I sit naked to let it barge out of me Hands pass down my back passing a nudge of hope and she slips right away, everytime.
My eyes red and hands shivering grey. He stopped breathing, he stopped all of a sudden and once for all. No more beeps of the ventilator and no more money for oxygen . No more tears to flow, no more smiles my way. No more rainbows for me , no more red flowers from him. No more bangles for you my mother says, And no more colours either. No more colours to my lips and no more attempt of being fair. A black woman for a black man. And white for white, But what's left for girl like me whose womanhood is lost and is dressed under coats of blue Do you paint me black again or do you paint me grey the colour of his ash?
time flies past me, maybe, just maybe — it's minutely slower for you, because you look at your reflection, in the hope of turning into the pitch-black and cold asphalt; whilst, I'm left at the bay wondering what's underneath. the binaries still scare me, for the certainty that it provides, whereas, I'm starting to get used to hanging inbetween, in the hope that you would knock on the door, that I've slightly opened just so, I could hear your footsteps at the front porch. crack my ribcage open, and repair the pacemaker with a pair of pliers and some screws, but, please make sure to find the correct fit for the bolts, otherwise, I'll be fed to the stale taste of recycled air.
you retracted your attention like the landing gears of an airplane; now, I will never be able to look at flights the same way, ever again and, I'll banish myself from the hope of ever getting out of this place. if this is called living — then, I've been a sinner for the entirety of my life, because, living comes partially to me, and, killing time turns me into the monster completely; the monster that your mother warned you about, the monster that stays wide awake underneath your bed, as you sleep quietly.
and, just a verse ago, I could've sworn on the victim card — yet, sometimes nothing is ever what it seems like; you, for example, seemed like an angel, but, aren't you the succubus to each one of my turbulent nights ? horses gallop over the burial grounds, me and you, we both rest the case; take my innocence into consideration and let me off easy, a busy man shouldn't be held up for so many days on end, time is running out, kindly, let me off and out —
(I've to go, time's running out but, it's never too late for killing time;