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  • kairos_ 16w

    Ahem ahem
    *Clears throat*

    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.

    *bows*

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    Gread of words!

    Use #honestgranny
    Experiment only
    Please tag the newer writers, they require us more.

    I ain't no authority here, though we could just start by being a better community.

  • kairos_ 17w

    Hour 0:
    Trumpets blew,
    my fame entered the room
    silencing critics
    before me,
    empty chairs
    lit up in hollow adulation
    and applause.

    Hour 1:
    "Preparations and
    mindsets were
    for the
    amateurs", I whispered,
    "My gibberish
    had potential to
    enchant
    the deaf.", I stated

    Hour 2:
    Under my very
    own overconfident spotlight
    I stood,
    shivering, as
    the stage
    was prone
    to nervousness,
    not me.

    Hour 3:
    With borrowed confidence,
    I spoke
    and the shaky mic shrilled,
    I stuttered
    and
    I blamed the mic
    for my
    diffidence.

    Hour 0:
    Upbeat still,
    I sat on
    the empty chair,
    accompanied by
    absent minded claps,
    where I made up
    reasons
    for my
    next fumble.

    - T.S.

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    Microphony.

    "Digging a pit,
    falling into it.
    I was very brave,
    to make my grave."

    ©kairos_

  • kairos_ 18w

    Once doors that
    opened willingly with a smile
    now creaked alone
    watching years fly by
    begging me to leave
    like I did before

    How I wished
    to smell the lost times,
    whiffs of which
    stayed in the wardrobe
    rotten now inside out
    like my worn out mind
    giving up

    Stepping on the floor without care
    each tile yelled about
    little fingers crawling
    working feet rushing
    aging bodies limping
    I could hear them well,
    without any recognition

    Paints on the wall
    falling off bit by bit,
    commemorating the ones
    that left and my return,
    loved ones that stayed
    questioned my loyalty
    albeit in a frame

    Shouldering my past,
    my knees crumbled like
    those old pillars,
    windows welcomed me
    with a caressing wind and
    a stench of familiarity,
    both, I once abandoned

    a stranger I became which I always was,
    in my broken home.

    - T.S.

    #abandoned
    #wod

    @writersnetwork Thank you for the welcome. Hoping that your team has been alright.

    @mirakee Grateful to you too. Thanks for making our lives, readers and writers alike a tad bit better.

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    Homesick.

    "left to come back,
    right to stay and not.
    correcting times and wrongs,
    forgetting right paths."

  • kairos_ 76w

    Validation innate
    by birth,
    trophies and praises
    that outgrow their shelves
    kept on show
    for past smiles
    with an ever losing shine.

    Acquired it
    young,
    a field of mango trees
    adored for their
    sweet worded fruits
    a neem tree ignored
    for its honesty, instead
    declared bitter and envious.

    Given and taken
    when old,
    a part of the crowd
    that believed to
    stand not on their feet but
    walking on toes to stand out
    to catch hold of even an
    appreciative smile,
    tending to always
    smile first.

    Validation died
    when contentment knocked,

    knocking on fragile doors
    built with ego
    meant only to fall.

    - T.S.

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    Appraisal.

    "Scared,
    asking for words,
    only good ones
    to calm nerves,
    otherwise it burns."

    ©kairos_

  • kairos_ 76w

    The hand in the air
    waiting to slap as one
    each finger with a role
    rarely worked in anger as a whole.

    The thumb would rise
    to praise and appreciate
    turning over on its head
    wanting to give bad luck and hate.

    Index being number one points out
    singly or in a huge crowd
    playing a trumpet of its opinions
    quietly raising in a voice loud.

    The middle finger,
    a snake devoid of venom
    still striking fiercely, that
    doesn't hurt much or make you go numb.

    The finger that comes next
    grips the ring tight
    outgrowing it sometimes
    like a couple's love after a fight.

    The little finger in awe,
    tagged behind the larger siblings,
    a baby making small promises
    and breaking even smaller friendships.

    Holding on and then losing out
    each finger blamed the sweaty palms
    yet worked in tandem
    when in need, begging for alms.

    - T.S.

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    Finger-tips.

    "Nails on the finger,
    my other hand
    struck them with a hammer."

    ©kairos_

  • kairos_ 77w

    Shushed words
    have lived under a rock
    too heavy to lift
    easing themselves
    on my tongue
    when brave fingers
    pointed out
    at talking statues, that
    never listened,
    in vain.

    Never quiet,
    my pebble of opinions
    was thrown,
    skipped the surface
    thrice,
    only to drown
    into the
    river bed where
    its unheard brothers
    lay asleep,
    silenced.

    Beating loud,
    questions went unanswered
    my heart turned
    to stone,
    that once invited all
    with warmth
    now built a cold wall
    around, brick by brick
    never to break,
    shutting
    ears and mouth.

    - T.S.

    Picture credits - Me

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    Bold and Boulder?

    "Some day
    ever listening mountains
    will crumble to
    silenced sands of time."

    ©kairos_

  • kairos_ 77w

    The city
    born out of
    the blue, or green
    reeked of
    sweat and dreams and starts
    living in
    narrow roads
    and broader minds
    where talkative trees
    grew in the past,
    present as silent spectators
    in tall buildings
    that competed
    in a rat race
    struggling to find
    a space, a pause
    in the
    walls of crowd to
    breathe,
    out of breath
    where monotony
    walked,
    brushing shoulders
    trimming beards
    of leisure at
    a price, under the sky
    that undressed,
    changing into
    different clothes
    yet painting
    the city grey
    never sleeping
    killing in its own way
    that atleast
    made
    the living
    stop,
    for once.

    - T.S.

    Picture credits - Me

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    A city thing to do.

    "Beyond the street lights, living.
    Under it, surviving?"

    ©kairos_

  • kairos_ 77w

    On days
    a part of her
    tiptoes towards me
    hurriedly
    the other part
    cries for me
    when I'm wronged
    the house burns
    in her presence
    we dance

    Kissing me
    gently on the nose
    the feeling lingers
    on my hot head
    like forest fires
    coming out of nowhere
    blaming animals
    unable to run,
    trapped within my walls
    she stays by my side
    on the bed

    Drowsy eyes
    asked for a
    sip of cold peace
    her breath hot on my neck
    waged a war
    she takes me captive
    and we walk
    till I scream
    and she empties out
    just like my rage,
    bottled up,
    inside.

    - T.S.

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    Power ragers.

    "I'm enraged at my rage,
    and this angers me, more."

    ©kairos_

  • kairos_ 77w

    He has been still like a sage,
    sprouting roots in the middle of the parched earth.
    We've known each other for a while, the tree and I.

    I've seen the winds surrounding him, whispering like mongers of gossip and rumours.

    Rains betrayed him more than once, who offered water at a price which was more than his gratitude.

    He prayed to the Sun God who preached equality, never shining on him yet he practiced, giving shade to all.

    I ask him why he sits still weathering all, he says you're helpless, you can only watch.
    He smiled.

    Perched on his shoulder,
    I smiled back and flew away to a greener tree.

    - T.S.

    Picture credits - Me

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    Treety.

    "Grew a tree with love,
    and cut it with care."

    ©kairos_

  • kairos_ 77w

    There was my cycle where I had last kept it,
    gathering dust.

    A fresh paint of rust chipped off, falling onto the floor, like I did when both of us were young, smiling, riding like the wind,
    a skeleton of our youth, metallic bones, a pale skin.

    The bell rang a frail whisper from its days of charm and song, when people didn't fail to turn twice, talking of our arrival, creaking past the noisy youth with blaring horns, a coughing shadow we had become.

    My kid loves to sit on the withered seat, I don't stop him, the one that taught me to take the disallowed roads, pushed me into potholes,
    watched me grow, he was me now, mimicking my past.

    Selling my old one coupled with a few memories,

    It was time I taught my son
    how to face life,

    about how to ride his own cycle.

    - T.S

    Picture credits - Me

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    Bye Cycle.

    "I fell when I looked back,
    I flew when I looked ahead,
    and still fell."

    ©kairos_