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  • mbyfdmk 5d

    ~and when the
    Snifter yearns for the touch
    of my chapped cupid lips,
    I rim its glass with lime ,
    to bury the Hangover
    of my long lost love //

    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 1w

    defined by no man ;
    neither curves ,
    shades
    nor her attire

    Untamed tempest; they say
    She carries the entire
    constellation in her fist
    she is a war and a woman;
    she can drown oceans

    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 1w

    Untitled

    I stare at
    the blank wall
    playing with
    silhouettes and
    exotic phantoms;

    Cursed by the
    spiders and lizards
    for limning their
    white shred with
    my blues and greys,

    I see the
    cerulean corners
    sneering at my
    abondoned edges
    that crave illumination
    and the clock
    in a race with
    my heartbeats
    marching rapidly
    surpassing the rhythm

    Up above, is the
    golden chandelier
    mocking at a silver
    cicatrix on my back
    and I hear the
    flickering lamp
    whispering me
    a deed of darkness
    left obscured;

    handcuffed, I sit
    there motionless
    when I realise
    that the monsters
    I searched for under my bed
    were residing inside me


    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 2w

    ~Waqt ki baatein - Dream note

    Toh kya hua jo tuta aaj sapna yeh tera
    Toh kya hua jo aaj koi itna na mila
    Kabhi toh pura hoga yeh chahaton ka ghar
    kabhi toh mil hi jayega tujhko humsafar

    Tujhe mein na kami koi hain
    Bs tera yeh din bura hai
    Waqt ki yeh baatein Hain
    Isse guzar jane do//

    2Am , 3Am , again the same and the loop continues
    @writersnetwork thnks for ❤️

    #song

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    ~the night is darker than usual
    but the dawn is just waiting outside
    it's just another bad day
    wait for a while , the
    raging storm will subside//

    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 2w

    I hate you !!!
    He screamed from behind ...
    I hate you more, my grandma screamed

    The radio played ," Ek pyaar ka nagma hain"
    it was raining, getting colder as my granny sat beside the fire , knitting a black white sweater for grandpa
    I asked her , "why do you keep on fighting?

    she smiled , and said
    Darling'
    "This is the song of love we've been singing since 18'

    She continued,
    " He never says, he loves me but plucks the most beautiful flower from his garden and keeps it near my case whenever I get upset,

    He never asks ,if I've had my meal after a fight but straight away goes to the kitchen to check if the food is still there,
    and when I wear his favourite colour saree, I never hear an appreciation from him , but he writes about me like I am the only moon in his fading sky "

    He never says , he loves me but remembers every little thing I tell him about myself ;
    the right amount of additives in my tea , the Kashmiri shawl left in the laundry and adores my wrinkles like it's the only thing he ever wished to see

    He is quite forgetful about things so he gives all his important documents to me , and proves it every single time that he has more faith in me than himself,

    He never says he loves me, but tells me that he finds solace in my arms and the warmth of my arms reminds him of his mom ,
    It's been 42 years , he keeps showing me "he loves me without even saying it ",

    Saying this she stood and
    walked towards him with a smile and gave him the sweater and my grandpa singing to her
    " tu dhar hai Nadiya ki , main tera kinara hu ,
    Tu mera sahara hai , main tera sahara hu"

    I smiled , looking at their wrinkles �� and whispered in my mind
    ~Sab kuch bata diya aur kuch kaha bhi nahi//


    ©mbyfdmk
    #song
    My grandma �� nd my grandpa��
    @writersnetwork thnks for ❤️

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    // He never says he loves her//

    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 2w

    // the only place where I breathed were my poems , so I doubt if that's my home //
    #home

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    I see her there
    sitting at my lancet,
    she comes here everyday
    flipping and hoping
    from left to right,
    I drive her away
    but she sits there still,
    chirping melodies and
    symphonies to my heart
    when I ask ,
    Where is her home?
    she pretends not to listen ,
    then flies and perches
    to one of my poem
    I doubt if that's her home

    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 2w

    #home @miraquill
    Title ke liye maafi kuch suja nhi��
    @writersnetwork thnks for ❤️

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    ~Home turned tomb~

    Butterflies and honeybees
    no more visited me,
    I saw them
    tee-heeing near
    the chicory bloom;
    my four chambered heart
    was once their room
    and my honey
    dripping lips
    nectar for them,

    But now they
    feared this cicatrix soul
    with rusted ribs;
    ramshackle bars
    and trap was the
    lisle of my ebony hair
    making cinereous cobwebs
    Of sluggish air,

    Oozing dark from
    my rotten bones ,
    painted the wings Scarlett
    and their colors faded,
    they feared the lesions
    dripping poisonous ichor,

    I was the home;
    my heart their honeycomb
    but my abrasion anima
    craved restoration
    for their honeycomb now
    turned into a frozen tomb

    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 2w

    Dear younger self

    Ugggh!!
    Stop it !! crazy butterfly.. are you not tired fluttering the whole day from here to there?
    Your birthday is on next month so stop making a fuss like it's tomorrow.....

    Yaa.... so meet the 13 year old me
    who use to celebrate birthday for months... only if she knew that it won't make any sense later ...
    who use to think that scoring full marks in science will make her a doctor and wearing mummy's saree, bindi and kangan will let her own the house;

    who still keeps 'Hogwarts' as the first place in her bucket list,
    listens to emptiness just to feel lonely :-)
    and cries over 'Kal ho na ho' because Shahrukh Khan said kisko pata 'kal ho na ho' ^_^ smirks

    Hey ,
    I m telling you
    you are still inside the shoe box darling' not knowing you need to travel the whole world once you are worn , you think life to be like colourful popsicles unaware of its faded flavours , you fear darkness flipping on the switches and still cry over the broken crayons.

    How will you fix your broken self ?
    You run for the roses are you aware of its thorns ?
    Why do you seek the crowd ? they will live you alone..

    Stop crying when your neighbour says you got baked a little longer in the oven ....
    It's okay if your favourite colour isn't pink and you prefer trousers more than dresses
    You are beautiful , your skin does not need a wax and you don't need a validation
    You are your own appreciation

    Dear younger self
    I miss you sometimes , the way you flipped and flopped your wings, carefree and untamed like a wild butterfly ...
    and yaa there's a good news I no longer need to listen emptiness to feel lonely ......mm no more effort needed

    mom pleads now to hear your
    giggles and smiles but they
    are lost now amidst my ink and pages
    and yes the 4 year old diary has been replaced by a new one

    ~so this is the letter I am writing to you ....
    love your self , embrace all your scars , keep smiling and screaming even if mom tells you to stop and keep going until you fulfil the promise you made to dad on your 13th birthday

    ~your 18 year old self

    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 2w

    Wish I could say this to my parents when asked instead of doc , engineer falana dhimkana��

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    What do you want to be ?

    I want to be
    the amaranth hiraeth etched
    in the heart of a poet,
    the caramel of his fragile poetries
    blossomed in the ebony hours
    and the lacuna of a verse
    weaved by a one sided lover ;

    I want to be
    the "love story" by Taylor Swift
    where Romeo Juliet had a happy ending ,
    and the metaphors that a
    15 year old breaths ,
    in the last page of his notebook

    I want to be the shelter my
    roof fails to provide;
    the vermillion Of a widow
    alone raising a child and the faith
    Of my mom's Knotted pallu
    she ties when something
    gets lost

    I want to be
    the promise and
    forgiveness of blooming hearts
    "tourniquet to bleeding scars,
    and silver lining to the wings
    that fears to fly
    I want to be ,
    the shower every broken heart
    needs to cry and the hope
    Of a dying
    soul wrestling to survive

    ©mbyfdmk

  • mbyfdmk 2w

    #place
    @writersnetwork thnks for the ❤️

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    ~The only home I belonged~

    the
    cocoon made
    for me and

    the cocoon
    I was made
    from

    the
    water where
    I roamed

    drowned
    but never
    sunk

    the cave ,
    I wish was
    also my grave

    I long for your womb ,
    "Maa"
    the place from
    where I bloomed

    ©mbyfdmk