hazy when it rains i look out of a window stretching my palms towards freedom pretending that there is more to this world while a subdued part of me wonders what more can i ever see through the only window i am allowed to keep
fuzzy when it's cold my window is frosted with facades and faint cries of everything that is protecting me from what lives outside my room that my crutches cannot distinguish with two clicks on the ground on the other side of the only window i am allowed to keep
bright in summer, i feel heat i try to look outside but my eyes betray me as i fail to make sense of the beauty that i've only drawn in pictures that are now paper planes, flying i scratch the window, try to break through for myself a view that is for once not adulterated with the descriptions from the eyes of everyone else who's been luckier than me to see the world, unfiltered but what view do i see when my eyes physically prevent me from distinguishing between sky blue and tree green as i sit behind a dead black screen realising, that to me, the world shall always look alike, through whatever window i'm allowed to keep.
thoughts. of what i've been doing wasting a life so privileged that i could make scatter plots of all the random things i think of and not join the dots because straight lines through them are misleading and false.
thoughts of my neighbour of the girl i saw at the mall of all the love i let go because my thoughts told me that it'd be funny for love to come easy.
thoughts of you, the wonder of simplicity the fragrance of your touch that i don't remember feeling but thoughts, just thoughts, that institute in my head and race down my spine every time i misprize the power of my thoughts.
thoughts of seclusion, thoughts of approval, thoughts that run parallel but travel in opposite directions centripetal thoughts of radii that only my mind can walk ancillary thoughts opening dimensions in my head, that it is almost impossible for me, to ever visit, the thought, that onset this fire.
yet, overthought thoughts that i cannot get rid of, that i wished had a conclusion, that made me feel less miserable about how shallow my brain is. thoughts of ending.
thoughts of ending. beginning ending again a pendulum of thoughts between right and wrong, a myriad of emotions that somehow fit into these binary values, that side at the opposite ends of this pendulum.
thoughts. thoughts. thoughts that don't make sense, that i cannot make sense of that keep my senses so engaged that there is nothing i can do but think.
thoughts that i think that power my existence, all in my head and fade it in a world that my thoughts claim, doesn't exist.
Usually when I am writing my heart out, I don’t feel weighed down. My heart feels relieved, as if it is at peace seeing me face my emotions and getting rid of all the anxiety that these uneasy times bring to me however today, as I am writing this, I feel compacted. I feel like the world is deliberately trying to crush the little hope that is left in me. I’ve been strong, so have my people. The kind of support I’ve received and learnt to give parallels my patience through every adversity and this was one of those times when I felt like the world wanted to reward me for staying put and not losing hope. One year of doing things that do not make sense, aimlessly fueling my mind with good thoughts and hopes for a better tomorrow only to realise that it is all supposed to come crashing down and hit where it hurts the most. Tears come in spurts and I break down so often that I forget the last time I wiped my face. My skin feels like a blank canvas for emotions that do not find a translation in words. I try too hard to map everything that goes in my head but today, today I am too tired to try. The words that I am scared of the most are coming to haunt me because they are all I can think of right now. Everything is changing, happening so soon, I wish I had the time to pause everything and change it. I wish it got easier from today. I wish I had more time, just a little more time because if there was one thing I could ask my God, it would be just a few more days with you.
//one of those days when I realise that no finite number of days will ever be enough because my love for you goes far beyond
how convoluted are our stories that it almost feels as if there is a wall between us that i do not dare to look through and you don't bother to look past. we both just stay, right where we are.
we're both wrong i, when i don't tell you how hurtful your abstention is and how the little things i did for you don't seem to make any sense because halfway through time effort is a two way road and you, when you fail to look if i am still following you or if i ever did for i may have been stuck at the beginning and stayed, right where I was.
they say it gets easier i say that it doesn't it stays the same, probably gets worse but we accomodate the patterns after a thousand failed attempts we know where it gets ugly and we prepare ourselves conditioning, to not expect anything so that it hurts less and when growth ceases to exist we don't have a choice but to stay wherever we are
and the cycles continue. where we starve the roots that we've forced to hold us in place neglecting every need that may voluntarily let us stay until we realise there's nothing worth staying for.
on most days i don't write but every time i do, i kill something inside.
i fear my words so i avoid facing them on paper and choose to cry them out as i feel them trickle down wondering if muffled sobs are as satisfying as screams typed in capitals, out of words that don't add up but echo of my disparity.
i talk but i don't say things assuming that the world doesn't contain the heart to listen to the feelings that i don't have the voice for lowkey hoping for one heart to hear me out.
so i let my art run astray waiting for it to bring back words as souvenirs from places that reek of estrangement and don't make me feel as less of a human
but whenever these words add up a fear comes to life sentences start making sense and i let out a sigh and cry holding the nib against my neck mourning every reason as to why i dont write because every time i do i kill my voice inside wishing if it could have just talked me through and made things right
read between the lines as the rain talks quietly and writes poetries in shades of silver and grey on a canvas darker than the bottomless pit into which i am now falling; watch and weep as i burn, word by word, every letter that i ever wrote waiting for the pain to dive, dilate and die; write back to me in the language that i spent years developing - a different signature for every emotion that was considered unnecessary. weed out the sunflowers and grow acer in my field bind all my drafts and unstitch my weaves eat alone, drown in wine draw flowers over everything that i've called mine do not turn off the lights let them be the company you keep plant hydrangeas on my grave as i choose to leave.
a rock for a heart white and grey weathering and rotting turning into clay i wish for things to change so i grow mosses all around trying to cover up for the negligence of seasons and protect this heart from mouldering away but the mosses are dampening and a heavy heart grows heavier day after day until it degenerates layer by layer and pieces of it travel to places that my feet cannot walk to;
a rock of a heart now a pebble does not miss the granules and modicums that are soiled in lands, unknown as shelters, stoppers and sheathes emancipating emotions that i never knew existed and welcoming the weather and weathering as mosses fertilize flowers in lush gardens that grow in place of this heart, white and grey causing changes in my own self so that i do not wish for things to change
i've been inactive (haha not a surprise) but @eclipsed_sun@zohiii and @iamsleepy (idk if you've changed your username or deactivated but i really hope you see this) thank you so much you guys for making me want to write and get back and for leaving the sweetest comments while i was away. *melts into a puddle*
when i close in and zone out bricks facinate me and i position myself against the wall of all my insecurites cemented with smiles that should never have existed and adorned with hooks that now prick my back as i very meticulously start building a cage with no windows around my promonotary self with walls so tall that nobody dares to climb and basements so deep that my roots reach wide upto everything discarded and decaying; i build till my arms hurt and my tears go dry hatch the roof and bolt it from the inside; and as i sit in this enclosed room of everything i've ever feared i feel the closest to myself vulnerable and holding up tears waiting for my walls to go weak and fall and pin me down so i can collect the debris of my fallen self and begin building again the whole of me, that i am too naive to know territories from the parts of me that i'd never dare to show
my fears are definitive because every step i take somehow makes me want to think of everything tragic that there is and my mind does not stop creating possibilities that leave me paralyzed for hours until i wait for the situation to pass close, closer to what i thought would happen slowly killing myself and wondering if that was the worst that could have happened and that makes me so much more susceptible to the very chance of its reoccurrence in ways that hold my breath and thoughts as i push myself down the road of fearing and over analyzing again and again and again until my thoughts show up on my skin leaving scars on my heart and drafts in my diary as i stand on yet another crossroad with the nib against my throat wondering if i should take a turn or keep standing till the end of me
long, long back my father took me to the city; he wanted to show me everything that he was blind to in his younger days. and, deep inside, my father made me think, that maybe he had never seen a hospital bed; because, that white sheet covering my tragic affair, was the only place, he could sit and tell me those stories, about taking me to the city.
he's always been scared of the idea that one day he has to leave me, all alone; but, what good is that idea, when it is his son, who will be leaving, all the sooner than later. and, so — one day, during the visitation, he asked me about my last wish; it was too late, as the nurses said, and were pulling the tubes out of my body; it was easier to turn around and look at my corpse, than it was, to watch my father shed tears of despair.
maybe, there isn't a thing such as perfect timing; maybe, we always end up in the vicious cycle of adjournment; maybe, that last wish wasn't meant for me — but, if there was one; it would be, to be able to forgive myself, for inflicting pain, for tainting my father's heart; but, there's always this promise that once in a while, your son would try his best to turn around, and wipe your tears.
#sfwn @mirakee Thank you, although I very much think that this write-up is just not that worthy. Last year wasn't that great for me and lately I have been failing at almost everything and your repost gave me a little bit of hope and I can say that it's more than enough for me.
It all started in October of 2017 when I saw a whatsapp status of my English teacher. She had written this beautiful poem and so I decided to download this app, with this beautiful logo. I and my sister are not the ones who wrote poems or quotes but we loved writing essays and English and so that was the motivating force to our joining mirakee. My first username was raika_ashraf and my first ever quote was on the word of the day: Rivers.
After that I and my sister collaboratively wrote two to three quotes and she went off on her own from then. The first ever person or friend I made was satyamdharia, he was a really good friend but him and many others when found out I was from Pakistan, were very hesitant from there on. Satyam was a really good friend of reshamthegreat and I admired Resham so much, she was the celebrity of that time and hence I got to know her slowly and it was the beginning of my journey and then I got to know so many people.
I wrote really cheesy and stupid quotes at the start and now when I look back I creep myself out but I think that was when I grew and became the person that I am today. In the first year on Mirakee I met this amazing group of friends (zafarkhan, shafia_khanam, shivam, yash, sehaj and milo) and we called ourselves Stalkers not because we stalked people (okay we did but not in the creepy way), what we did was read the people who were here before us and talked in comment boxes that one time we exceeded the limit of comments, I don't know how we did that! Those were really good days and my parents absolutely had no idea what did I do on my phone all day.
Suddenly, oh so suddenly things began to change and my group left mirakee, and so did so many other people - my mother found out about mirakee and read some chats with nivi where he said, 'You will be fifteen in January right?' and my mother scolded me for talking to guys and strangers and all that stuff and hence I took a break (my first ever break) from mirakee and this was after I wrote the post on Men's day.
When I came back nothing was the same, people I knew had left and believe me I do not exaggerate when I say I knew hundreds of people and when I came back I knew only a handful. Mirakee was a strange place to me and hence I left again. That was also the time when I wrote my first ever good write ups, the ones I myself like such as Mirakee-A writers paradise, Paper Planes etc. But I was not consistent and really sad and angry on mirakee and everyone who had left. I once commented on Shivam's post and then I posted those words too, they went like, 'When and why did you leave?' I remember people commenting on my write ups, we miss you come back and then finally I came back after getting over all the people who left and started writing one write up every day, and met sangfroid_soul and then slowly other friends of her and slowly more people on mirakee and zohiii of course. It was a new era, a new lifetime on mirakee which will not make sense to most of you, but everything changed for me. I had this rant account and this anonymous account which some claim to be my alternate personality. There was this phase when I changed my usernames so much and landed on raika but mirakee stopped allowing five lettered usernames and hence the underscore.
Debjit, Gaurav, Tarun, Avitaj, Moi and some more writers are some who were here when I started and they are still here (somehow). I remember reading old writers such as Bluebird, Nightwriter_i, Shizane, _nishta, and so many more (I have a whole list of these amazing writers if anyone needs) and I read them and missed the old mirakee even more. I used to read them when nights were hard to go through. So yes, a thankyou to these old writers, who are the real celebrities for me.
People started leaving yet again but this time I wasn't that bothered because I knew I would leave too, someday, maybe.
But in this second life on mirakee, I once again met this amazing group of girls, also known as Drug Divas and I'm so happy I was one of them. Writersbay being this really nice motive for me to write.
My mirakee journey has had alot of ups and downs, from being harassed because of nationality and religion to being respected by readers who love what I write to making friends, and finding my best friend Shafia.
I have been typing for a while now and it has gotten really long and yet I want to write so much of how I admired tengoku and never thought her and I will be friends and how I have this beautiful and huge block list and about the times when likes and reposts didn't matter, (they should really not matter) and how I got to talk to Bluebird (a huge fan moment) and also Avitaj, haha but yes! I have grown so much in these three plus years of my life and I will never regret downloading mirakee though I really hope they give us free drafts(trying my luck).
I don't know when I might leave mirakee or this world but mirakee for me has been this other dimension where I met people of all kinds especially from India and I am grateful to everyone, to the people I love and hate, adore, and those who creep me out and those I creep out and everyone. It has not always been a good journey but I think, what is a journey without any hardships? So I would like to say
*ink runs out*
What better day to write about mirakee than on Valentines day. My love, you have been really hard on me but then again, I have been really hard on you too. Forever and always, mirakee. (cheesy enough?) I know you love me Mirakee. Miss me when I leave.
30 letters, half of which won't even make it to the page the rest were written in a daze moments of blinding clarity interspersed with a stupor that mostly hangs back in the shadows but refuses to leave you alone.
The light is blinded by a mist which cloaks the surrounding air the footsteps move after the other nobody can see, yet they forge ahead, holding steadfast to faith you walk at the very edge, just taking care to stay on the right side of nothingness; hope, faint receeding hope flickering away.
They follow, they always do but if you were to question them they wouldn't be able to tell they wouldn't be able to tell you why hand them a pen, give them words and yet they won't be able to write.
15 letters in a hand you wouldn't now be able to recognize, words written from a bygone age, and yet two decades down the line it is those which burn brightest the truest poems are unedited your thoughts spiralling out of control, the wildest mess somehow dresses itself into the calmest art.
"i know that i'm not the first person in the world to say 'i love music; it saved me.' but that doesn't make it less true." -keah brown.
i can't remember when i last saw the sunset, but i've been waiting for it in eight days time. that i'm just sitting on this bench, by the porch, near the shoreline, with the little doggo whose eyes never tire of sticks and bones.