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  • love_whispererr 10h

    What are you staring at?"
    "Rain drops on window glass is a sort of love-bite, is it not?
    -Jasleen Kaur Gumber

    #decay #wod

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    Wearing a bluish white serape
    in an artistic July night
    a girl replenishes some
    water drops in a dry watercourse
    and the wizened old woman
    blesses the welkin while
    looking at the
    not-so-melodramatic cloudburst ;
    Repulsing some naughty
    lambs towards the pen
    the shepherd sighs
    again and again with a grin
    and the chaste perfume
    of the soil mounts
    towards my clavicle
    while they name it "petrichor".

    My mother rushes towards
    the rooftop to bring
    the half-dried clothes
    and I scamper towards
    the balcony
    to infuse the fully-dried
    pages of my diary with
    some unnoticed alluvion
    and hidden avalanche;
    My brother starts to play guitar
    with his favourite tune
    and my grandmother listens
    some 90's songs on radio
    while ignoring the English jingle
    and bringing teardrops
    with some idyllic memories
    of my late grandfather.

    The seine of a forgotten
    fisherman dances while
    abutting the furtive oysters
    and risqué shrimps
    & the sea looks a little more blue
    while wetting its whistles
    with the fugacious breezes
    and fetching weather;
    Undressing the syllables
    of my frenzied metaphors
    I stand beneath
    the catastrophic rainstorm
    and the water drops scour
    my mud-caked lexicons
    and I smile while looking
    at the lapsed summer.

    ẞ I D Y A

  • love_whispererr 2d

    Brown skin
    some broken ribs
    wavy hair, looks a little brown
    and hiding boldness under the skin of clavicle,
    she sews poignancy
    with the melody of heartbreaks.

    Wearing the maple leaves as her corsage
    and daffodils as her skirt,
    She grills some ingathered metaphors
    with the lampshades of mouthful of griefs
    Yet waits for someone
    to come
    to pat on her back
    to whisper her name
    to write her name on raindrops
    to love her a little more than everything else
    to buzz her sonnets while ignoring her trepidation.

    But no-one comes and
    I watch from the welkin
    but darling ! I'm a mere star
    somedays I hide behind those dawdling clouds
    and somedays I drown inside
    the seine of a damned fisherman
    but no-one notices
    neither me nor her sonnets
    //she dies alone
    and I fall on her graveyard (alone)//

    B I D Y A

    #start #wod

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    They said
    "not all poems are written to be read."
    and her 1437th metaphor dies inside a pyre
    while waiting for someone.

    She never sighs darling, she exhales death.

  • love_whispererr 4d

    That’s the worst thing, isn’t it?' Charlie said. 'Things that act alive but aren’t.
    -Scott Cawthon

    #oldenglish #wod

    (Ps_elflock means tangled hair)

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    When some toys toyed with the elflocks of my metaphors

    A horse, a monkey and some beautiful dolls
    I played with them
    I broke that horse's tail
    I broke that monkey's head and
    I lost that doll while playing with my friends
    and again I insisted for another one
    when my father asked me "what do you want ?"
    My mom smiled and hugged me tight
    because I was kissing my fourth summer.

    A barbie doll with ivory skin
    strawberry blonde hair and two blue eyes
    wearing a black blouse & a spanish pink skirt ;
    My aunt gifted me when I was
    bidding farewell to my twelfth winter but
    I entered my thirteenth spring with a new friend
    who never disheartened my jejune magpiety
    who knew about my first kiss and first heartbreak
    who counted stars with me and
    saw my messy bun while eating noodles in midnight
    but never judged me.

    Some toys were there ; not-so-messy
    inside the cupboard of my room
    untouched and a little dusty too
    The smiles were missing from their lips
    because I was silencing some anxieties
    The alacrity on their eyes were missing
    because my restlessness was bugging up
    in front of them while gulping the reality
    of noisome pandemonium and hideous burthen.

    I brought some toys for my seven year old son
    but he told me with a pale face & unexcited eyes
    "Mom ! I don't want these monkeys and birds.
    I just want a stunt black car."
    The style of toys were changing
    with the colors of my not-so-excitable elflocks
    but I tried very hard to color them again and again
    and I failed terribly as a old-fashioned mother.

    There were some broken dolls and kitchen sets
    and some broken electronic toys too
    I was smiling as a grandmother
    while looking at a three year old girl
    My daughter-in-law was trying to beat her
    but she was hiding behind my lappet
    to protect her cheeks and back
    and I was shuffling my memories of those
    broken monkeys and blue-eyed barbies.
    I sighed.

    ẞ I D Y A

  • love_whispererr 1w

    The only inference is freedom to vomit intellectual pain and interesting evil but freedom is not same for everyone, it's like chalk and cheese.

    #inference #wod

    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��

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    F R E E - D̶ O̶ M̶ D U M B

    I caught three dragonflies and put them
    inside a bottle wrapped with some pink
    and yellow papers and gave them
    my favourite cookies to eat but they didn't
    look at them and I cried a lot ;
    My mother smiled and said "They don't
    like the cage, they want to kiss the flowers
    and want to be kissed by the zephyr."
    I opened the jar and they flew away but
    they didn't look at me and I was six.

    I went to my uncle's house with my father
    when they were celebrating fifteenth birthday
    of my cousin brother and I saw some
    caged birds inside a green cage, I opened
    that silently, one of them flew away
    but others couldn't ; my aunt's face wasn't
    looking so good and my father beat me
    black and blue in home and I whispered
    "Mom told me that birds don't like the cage"
    My father was scolding me but I was happy
    because that free bird was kissing my tenth winter.

    I was nineteen when I fell in love with him
    and the August raindrops were singing
    & pot marigolds were crooning a love song
    while kissing my forehead, he said under my breath
    "Hey, should we elope ?" "Where ?" I smiled
    "Where there'll be me and you, no-one else,
    We'll be free, we'll be alone there, me and you."
    the definition of freedom was looking like a
    lovebird blooming and fluttering Inside two hearts
    but that bird died one day while humming silence
    and I ended up with my first heartbreak but
    I buried that bird's feathers under the pages of a diary.

    I was thirty two when my bestie was getting married
    but I couldn't come as I was eight months pregnant
    My mother-in-law said "No, you can't go,
    How can you manage ?" I looked at my husband
    "Hey ! Can you come with me ?
    "Sorry, I'm not free." My husband replied where
    my freedom was screaming with
    a big stomach and an abandoned heart
    I cried a lot while looking at her marriage photos
    but no-one was there to console me, I was alone.

    I am on my deathbed
    while gnawing seventy nine winters and Augusts
    holding some agonies yet many reliefs
    some heartbreaks yet many heart-melting words
    holding some quarrels yet many kisses
    I want to be free
    free from those heartbreaks
    free from those quarrels
    free from those agonies
    "Do you want death ?" Someone whispered.
    I stunned and silencing my breaths I murmured
    "Freedom is death, death is freedom".

    B I D Y A

  • love_whispererr 1w

    The fear of having no money was so merciless and so overwhelming.
    -Anh Do

    #poverty #wod #woundsc

    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��

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    The story of some broken
    piggy banks and many sleepless
    nights with covered wounds

    Poverty became an ungrateful LABYRINTH
    when the daughter of a forgotten goatherd
    insisted on wearing a yellowish-red gown
    on her fourth birthday like her best friend
    but her father was crying his eyes out
    while seeing his tatty shirt and his wife's
    old salwar where the lappet was weeping silently.

    Poverty became a miraculous LANGUOR
    when the father of a small scale industry
    service man diagnosed with lung cancer
    and the small piggy bank couldn't afford
    the high-ticket life of his father but
    one day, a suicidal note of his father suddenly
    ended the melodramatic miseries of a son.

    Poverty became an awful ANGST
    when the thirty-five year old single mother
    couldn't give her son's school fees on time
    and the ten year old boy got rusticated and
    she transferred him into a government school
    while crumpling some big dreams ;
    yet the poverty bowed down for a while
    when her son said "it's okay, mom" with a smile.

    Poverty never became an enticing EUPHORIA
    when a brother couldn't afford his sister's fashion designing course abroad and looking at
    her shattering dreams he wept in front of
    the portrait of his dead parents and whispered
    "I'm sorry, I can't make her happy, forgive me mom"
    but the laments couldn't scribble a delighted sonnet.

    Poverty became a stolen PARADOX
    when a poet couldn't publish his dream book
    summers died, winters withered & raindrops parched
    sonnets were shedding tears inside the oak forest
    blank verses were evanescing from the poetic castle
    and the metaphors were ebbing away eventually
    O darling ! a poet was dying wordlessly.

    B I D Y A

  • love_whispererr 2w

    I picked me, myself, and I for the winning team.
    -Rebecca K. Sampson

    #introduction #wod

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    O darling ! Can I choose myself again and again ?

    They hung me on the wall of a room
    but I was the collapse of Mohenjo-Daro and
    the catastrophe of the American civil war
    and I destroyed their incapacitated wall to bloom
    among the staunch cave-ins and holocausts.
    They caged me inside an undying home
    which was faded within blue funk of their yesteryears
    and I burnt that home to rise inside the moor
    I killed them again and again to unearth myself.

    B I D Y A

  • love_whispererr 2w

    Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.
    -Leonardo da Vinci

    (Ps _Ikigai ; it's a term that embodies the idea of happiness in living.
    Ree - a state of great excitement
    Lady Lazarus, morning song - poems by Sylvia plath)

    #words #wod

    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��

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    I K I G A I O F P O E T - R E E

    I wrote a small poem for my mom's
    thirty-second birthday when I was four
    with an ugly handwriting and tilted words
    "You is a moon, you is a f l a wa r,
    You are a beautiful and you is lovely
    I love you, mama ! Hapi birth de"
    with so many spelling mistakes and
    grammatical errors but without any emotional error.

    I put down some words again when the
    birthday of my crush was coming nearer
    "Hello senior, happy birthday to you
    My dreams belong to your eyes
    and my words belong to your love
    sending you loads of happiness
    wrapping with the melodies of life"
    I tried to give that card to him
    but I tore that up when I saw him holding
    my friend's hand & eating a piece of pancake
    with his infectious smile and alluring eyes ;
    I cursed loudly what I had known with
    my fourteen years of existence,
    but not to him, only to my friend.

    Darkness was screaming hard and
    those phantoms were crawling on my pyjama
    wearing the white lampshades of my room
    I couldn't sleep, I couldn't scream
    because a ghastly heartbreak
    was waiting me outside the door
    And to gulp that sickening heartache
    to silence those godawful phantoms
    I entered into the world of phantasm and
    scribble myself while cutting my ribs into pieces
    Darling ! I celebrated my nineteenth winter
    inside the courtyards of some grotty grey metaphors.

    I was twenty two when the "Lady Lazarus"
    stopped near the meadow of my
    not-so-excitable solitude
    and the morning song was trying to
    wake me up when I was sleeping in twilight
    and I embosomed them with the subtle nakedness
    of my syllables to die as a poet in Babylon.

    B I D Y A

  • love_whispererr 2w

    When they asked me what I wanted to be, I said I didn't know.
    _Sylvia Plath

    Phrase - I'm nobody, who are you ?
    Word - gradually

    #combination #wod #sufferc

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    I'm nobody, who are you ?

    Inside the fragrance of petrichor
    beneath the stillness of a sunny afternoon
    on the doormat of some forgotten skies
    under the gown of silken stars and a moon,
    I hide
    I wander
    I wonder
    I suffer
    I watch
    I bow down my head
    I put down my thoughts
    I gulp a night
    I vomit metaphors
    I search for some old letters
    I dance with dreams
    I become a curtain of a door
    I become a lampshade
    I become a phantom.

    I rise undoubtedly
    I bloom gradually
    I wither eventually
    I light up my scars
    I burn myself inside a fear-tinted home
    I become a poetry.

    I destroy the heart which made me vagrant once.
    I kill the metaphors who never understood me
    I murder a poetry which never chose me
    I put an end to you who never kissed my soul.

    I'm dead
    I'm gone
    I'm destroyed
    I'm nobody
    But who are you ?
    An illusion ?
    A vagabond ?
    Or a liar exist beneath my skin ?

    Darling, I can't sigh anymore.

    B I D Y A

  • love_whispererr 3w

    My life looked good on paper ; where, in fact, almost all of it was being lived.
    _Martin Amis

    #cage #wod

    Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��

    I'm always grateful @miraquill (✿ ♡‿♡)

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    Inside a cage of papers, I unpaper many fragrances of life

    Folding a yellow paper,
    my grandfather taught me
    how to make a paper plane,
    he put a paperclip on the plane
    & said "it'll fly farther dear"
    I grinned and wasted many papers
    while trying to make planes and
    he was smiling and
    I saw a beautiful morning
    on his wrinkled face.

    I wrote "Hello Miss, I like you"
    on a reddish-pink paper
    while holding my thirteen years of courage
    & with my best friend's moral strength,
    I gave that paper to my favourite miss
    but my principal beat me black and blue
    but I smiled when a soft zephyr
    from the window touched my cheek
    while passing through her jhumka.

    Trigonometry, algebras and mensuration
    the last page of my mathematics copy
    was looking like a garbage center
    while I got busy with the reckoning
    of my life and inside the
    totting-up of my flummoxed existence
    where a newspaper on my table
    was looking for someone's nudge.

    And one day, I departed this life
    while bowing down my head
    to the mysterious candour of death
    I gulped some darkness but couldn't vomit
    I chewed many sighs but couldn't sigh
    I gnawed some lies but couldn't stop a death
    and to prove the end of my extant,
    a piece of paper was needed
    "A death certificate"

    ~a closed chapter of papers

    B I D Y A

  • love_whispererr 3w

    Word - pen
    Sentence - Sufferings are soft taps of life

    #combination #wod

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    Sufferings are soft taps of life and I pen them before melting away

    Some colorful balloons
    and blue red candles
    on the vanilla cake,
    everybody was clapping
    and my delicate lips were
    abutting my mother's cheek
    because I turned five on that day.

    Some birthday cards
    and my closest friends,
    we danced on our favourite songs
    till three am and
    those uncles were watching us
    with their cheerful eyes but
    our moms were calling us
    again and again when I turned ten.

    My favourite make-up kit
    a lovely pair of skates and
    some beautiful handmade cards,
    my friends celebrated
    my seventeen years of existence
    inside our classroom and
    we wasted that big cake
    on our face and hair
    and my cheeks were looking
    like the furs of a polar bear.

    Many birthday messages,
    insta stories and whatsapp statuses,
    my mobile was beeping constantly
    when I turned twenty three ;
    some puddings were there, made by mom
    and some books presented by my father
    and I was smiling while tasting
    the handmade cake made by my aunt.

    I turned fifty one
    and after facebook reminders,
    one of my friend called me and
    some of them messaged me to wish
    and I thanked them with a supine smile ;
    my daughter sent a voice message
    on whatsapp and put a story
    and my husband asked
    "Is it your birthday ? Sorry, I forgot."

    One day, I was sitting
    on the balcony with my grandson
    and he asked me
    "Grandma ! Tell me, when is your birthday ?
    We'll cut a big cake on that day."
    I smiled a little and
    whispered with a frail voice
    "I don't remember dear."

    Some raindrops were sighing and
    my August was dying inside me.

    ~and then August went the way of all flesh.

    B I D Y A