|| 19 || soul of Himachal ~it's just curves till they are alphabets~

Grid View
List View
  • mismagical 1w

    After reading "The Glass Menagerie" by Tennessee Williams...

    (Written from Laura's pov)

    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @dusky_dawn @amsterdam

    Read More

    The streets are empty but for the rain that splatters along, matching my steps but softer in a way, like a baby's feet on the wet floor. What do you make of desolate roads that lead to nothing but reflections of rainbows that couldn't make the sky? What do you make of a flickering moon, broken like the street lamps, hiding and not hiding, promising far off lands and illusions of dreams that are fading yet not fading? What do you make of music that slows your heartbeat to a lull and zaps it suddenly with a thunder? What do you make of glass that falls and falls to shatter in a loud wimper. Glass is delicate indeed. Perhaps it was made to be broken, perhaps its beauty is in the splinters, in cracked little pieces resting on the ground, sunning a rainbow of delicate colours that did not make it big, that could not make it big!
    "You are pretty; pretty in a different way"
    Perhaps what he couldn't say was that I'm pretty, pretty in a crippled way, pretty in a way shattered glass is. I'm pretty when I'm broken, pretty when I'm sunning rainbows on you; and you? You like rainbows. That's why you broke me too right?


  • mismagical 10w

    Perceptions are clearer than they should be...

    #writersnetwork #pod @writersnetwork @amsterdam @artsyy @dusky_dawn

    Read More

    There's a dreariness to the window.
    The mist has finally frozen
    to form icebergs of ambiguity;
    and Oh! the snowy notions.
    All I can see is
    you, me, the world


  • mismagical 10w


    And I wonder what's so touchable
    about "touch-me-nots"
    when there's a "NOT" in one name
    and "SHAME" in the other

    For I think you're just opaque
    to my transparent denial,
    finding tangibility in what I deemed intangible

    "Touch me not"
    your touch is like a slap.
    It makes me curl-up on myself
    like a hollow shell.
    So, I rock back and forth
    shivering cold,
    yet you touch me again
    and I hiss at your gall,
    afraid of your merriment.

    "Touch me not"
    for it's there in my name
    like a glaring tattoo
    highlighted in red.

    "Touch me not"
    and I'll keep this name,
    as for the other one,
    it suits you better
    for I have no shame!


  • mismagical 19w


    Hang me like a painting
    but not the pretty one,
    I want the the cracked easel
    and the canvas
    ruined by your thumbs

    Sketch me out on wronged lines,
    a rugged and raw image
    then fill the blanks
    with those empty bottles
    that have but a trace of shades left.
    Draw me out in all hues,
    bright, grey and pastel.

    Those wayward brushes
    and broken pencils,
    use them now
    on my filthy face
    but remember to place the forehead high
    and eyes tear stained

    Keep that neck slender
    but bent in burdens,
    the hips curvy,
    the arms with enough strength;
    draw me sweaty,
    draw me haggard,
    draw me real,
    draw me a fool,
    and hang me like a painting
    on your busiest shelf!


    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @dusky_dawn @amsterdam @artsyy @sereiin

    Read More

    //Hang me like a painting
    but not the pretty one//

  • mismagical 20w

    To differ in difference
    is like being the sky for one day
    and don colours every second
    and clouds of every shape,
    hanging along the horizon
    like little tinklets of love
    on a bare chest

    It's all changing
    yet nothing moves;
    a standstill we look at
    with jaws dropped,
    like a hundred scenes
    played in a single frame

    There's something about the stillness
    of waters and sky,
    of mountains sitting high,
    of pines and grass,
    of flowers and lakes

    Like a tangible painting,
    they move
    yet they don't,
    they stay
    but like a nomad
    and sway
    but like the winds,
    and it's in this paradox
    our poetries are often laced!


    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @sereiin @dusky_dawn @amsterdam @artsyy

    Read More

    //There's something in stillness,
    something that moves us to the core//

  • mismagical 20w

    I step out from the shade,
    it's been long enough cowering in seclusion
    away from the incandescent life.

    'Zip your pocket,' they say,
    'the crumbs of knowledge might fall out or be snatched.'
    'Hide your face,' they say,
    'be a jolly clown, or the freckled fear might show.'
    'Fist your palms,' they say,
    'mask their softness behind apparent strength.'
    'Lock your heart,' they say,
    'it's shyer than the touch-me-nots.'

    I fumble,
    my fear tugging the corner of my skirt
    as I cower back into the shade,
    alarmed at the list of lies,
    the words of caution
    hounding me like hungry wolves.

    Maybe the world's too cruel for me,
    a feigned reality
    I'm lured to live,
    like Pandora's box;
    it was better latent!

  • mismagical 29w


    It's not winter
    but bodies lay cold,
    frozen to death,
    a place of no return

    It's not winter
    but hearts have turned to ice,
    a glacier of apathy
    on the rise

    It's not winter
    but it's in the 'budget' alright,
    by winter they'll cement a palace
    on grounds uprooted for graves,
    by winter they would have spent crores
    on building a morgue to hail from

    It's not winter
    but i feel like hibernating
    from 'their' indifference,
    from 'their' sheer will
    to rule the dead
    while those alive hibernate
    waiting for "better days"


  • mismagical 31w

    Hope and Temporaries

    Like a feather she comes
    swirling through the skies
    to take abode on stoned hearts,
    only to have the cold winds snatch her away
    to yet another far off land

    //HOPE, you see, is like a dalliance, not meant to last long//

    Swaying with the rain,
    twirling and dancing,
    she plays catch up with my small feet
    till I cease to run
    and make peace with the ground,
    with what I have
    and what I couldn't,
    still staring longingly
    at her fading figure,
    wondering why she's such a tease

    HOPE, you see, is like a dalliance,
    you love her and want to keep her,
    like a feather,
    jingling by your window sill
    unknown she lives in temporaries!!


  • mismagical 31w


    There's nothing 'tranquil' about the way winds crash upon the rocks and stumble back,
    the frenzied sky in a whiplash
    while the sea draws whirlpools of misery
    trying to fill up the full,
    exceed the excess,
    outdo the outdone

    Yet, I'm 'at peace' here
    more than inside the walls I call home,
    the doors I stay locked behind.
    I'm at peace here
    more than the hollowed tranquil of silence,
    the giant elephant sitting in my room
    that's almost a pet now,
    now that I'm an adult
    and am told repeatedly
    to wager this peace
    with the hollow tranquility

    I'm told this is my best bet,
    to befriend the elephant
    sitting heavy in my room
    because silence, for them,
    is tranquility
    while I want to be
    at a soundful peace!!


    #pod #wod #synonyms #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @dusky_dawn @sereiin @coldplaydreams @artsyy

    Read More


  • mismagical 44w

    I splash a handful of water on my face
    and look up at the facade staring back at me ,
    though not my own ;

    I move away ,
    it's my habit, you see,
    to back away everytime
    and look at the body staring back at me,
    though not my own;

    There's too much skin,
    layers and layers of pathetic misery
    sagging down my sides
    and even the front,
    hatred weighing down my belly ,
    a bundle of skin they despise to hell

    The side of my skin is too heavy for this world to hold up,
    too salty for the society to digest,
    too unique for my kins to accept,
    so they keep damning it,
    pushing it to a corner
    like the nuisance kid made to stand outside the class

    The side of my skin hangs loose,
    like a head bowed in shame,
    as if it's something filthy
    and not a part of who I am

    The side of my skin is how I define me,
    layer upon layer embedded
    like soft cotton in a duvet,
    a duvet that keeps me going
    through cold eves!!


    #pod #writersnetwork @writersnetwork @artsyy @sangfroid_soul @dusky_dawn

    Read More