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  • my_cup_of_poetry 8w

    Oka�� if you remember me say hey :p

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    I am sitting with a
    cat by my side, she
    occasionally peeps
    into my eyes and
    then looks away.
    We are watching the
    sun go down and
    merry children
    making their way to
    homes with lotus
    lobes in their hands.

    She has stopped
    seeing a potential
    threat in me. I still
    remember the
    first time she had
    peeped through my
    front door some
    three years ago.
    I had tapped my feet
    or probably held a stick
    to drive her away and
    she had fled only to
    reappear and stay
    just like your love!


  • my_cup_of_poetry 10w

    4 years. Period.

    So four years back on August 20th I had installed Mirakee and this marks another year of my stay in the home. It wouldn't be wrong if I say that Mirakee has helped me travel a lot. Travel in time to repair a childhood home, to say the last goodbye, travel in distance to the window of my helpless grandmother, to all the homes I left without a smile, to Sunita who talked about crows and ants, to Amma who adopted every stray cat she came across and you. I have travelled to so many of you through your stories.

    It would have so great if my feed was a collection of my art like it is for many out there but it's not. It is merely a catalogue of my vulnerabilities and to anyone who has ever read me here, no words would do justice to the nostalgia, smiles and tears you have brought me. The women of my poems who are infact all real, living, brave women will be so proud of them if/when they come to know that they are all read so keenly.



    @phoenicorn holla dost :")

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    August 20

  • my_cup_of_poetry 11w

    tell me about cheap
    goodbyes, about
    flowers and love letters
    in your dustbin and
    about poems that
    witnessed your heartbreak.


  • my_cup_of_poetry 13w

    Night stands for "not so good times" here.

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    my mental health like
    a hungry pigeon keeps
    feeding on the leftovers
    of night.


  • my_cup_of_poetry 14w

    Thanks @/writersbay for the challenge! :")

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    It's 3 a.m and I can't sleep,
    my only closet doesn't know
    the address of my favourite
    blue shirt, what else am I
    missing, a call, a text,
    an article, the yellow book?
    now chuck that
    I stare at the horizon and
    listen to sparrows chirping
    in the backyard but I don't
    seem to find a perfect
    metaphor for my next poem.


  • my_cup_of_poetry 14w

    Imagine a tiny world where sunset lasts longer than few minutes, where children of all ages gather around a fire to sing, smile and write about water lilies, where nobody is chasing time and where everything is a story– shades of sky, wilted lilacs, pink men, young women and absurd poetry.

    This is the world where I entered more than three years ago and my journey so far has been no less than magical. I call my Hogwarts, Mirakee and today Mirakee has turned FIVE. Period ❤

    This collaboration is a tribute to this beautiful place and I am highly grateful to all the contributors for agreeing to be a part of this. Join us in the celebration, will you?

    @writersnetwork @mirakee @alankrita3 we love you :")

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    A Writer's Paradise



    Pale was that summer,
    Indulgent the Indian rains,
    When baby steps were taken,
    And we, our first pen names.

    Some found their poems,
    The rest their dainty prose,
    For a majority it was about solace,
    Mirakee - a home away from home.


    The myriad verses which bloom here
    Are offered in reverence
    To the souls that arrive and depart
    Yet etch with fingers an art
    That catches the sight of eyes
    In remembrance of the glories
    Left behind


    Temples and graveyards,
    Hold prayers same;
    Of love and loss,
    hope and despair.

    But I found a shrine,
    Draped in verses,
    Known by some,
    A Writer's Paradise.


    I wrote a few words
    and let them afloat,
    they drifted with the waves,
    — an unmoored boat,
    on dark and tempestuous nights,
    they saved a stranded emotion,
    but, what good is any boat
    without a boundless ocean?


    A year long ride
    wonderful writers,
    precious people for
    life I would have
    never known if
    not for this


    I've been normal since two days
    if I count yesterday
    and I think I can hold on
    five more
    a week or so
    days off
    pale blue dark red
    traced off
    I try to be like them
    on paper
    I'm sure it's time I meet
    someone like me
    it's time I write
    my face off.


    I've heard myself, I've heard myself
    Feeling this way-  Like semi-estranged -
    Learning to musically 
    Sway          Sway            Sway 
    In my semi-splendid rebounds
    In a paradise of the losts and 
    Founds .


    I am a wanderer from far afield,
    who was lost and had lost
    all that once belonged;
    looking for warmth
    on empty roads
    until I found an old firefly
    hiding under a leaf
    and it led me here,
    it led me Home
    to my adobe
    to what I call,


    I slipped down a hill
    holding a jar of clouds:
    grey and pale;
    many a twilights I passed
    trembling by your side:
    shut, silent and empty;
    O men and women,
    I do not write;
    I just fold my joys,
    my pieces, my pain
    and I sail them in this


    We started as strangers
    But that's not where it ends
    For this large group of writers
    Became family and friends
    Some were quiet and shy
    And some were outspoken
    Many penned about love
    And of hearts that were broken
    We developed our skills
    Through both writing and reading
    And we learned that as writers
    Our soul's always bleeding
    Always rising together
    Throughout laughter and tears
    Ever onward we go
    A very happy five years!


  • my_cup_of_poetry 16w

    You are more
    than a man of fray hair
    glued to a screen all year
    long. You are more than
    the deadlines you sip in
    a glass tumbler.
    In her eyes you are almost
    a clear blue sky where birds
    fly and sing in languages
    none identifies.


  • my_cup_of_poetry 17w

    Someone had once told me that a man in love becomes a woman. If you didn't understand that, maybe try reading again :)

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    where do goddesses reside?

    I often wonder,
    do they reside inside temples
    wearing floral anklets and
    bronze lips or do they breathe
    inside a craftsman workspace
    with clay hands and straw heads?

    do they reside inside ordinary
    women sweating and rushing
    to catch the local trains or do
    they breathe inside women
    smiling and crying on screens?

    do they reside inside mothers
    crushing cumin seeds and ginger
    for lunch or do they breathe inside
    toothless newborns sprawling
    and smiling in maternity wards?

    I often wonder,
    do goddesses reside inside
    everyone or do they breathe
    inside lovers who love too much?


  • my_cup_of_poetry 17w

    I am high on Ali Sethi's Chandni raat, wby?

    @tanya ~_~

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    Poems are discarded stories
    and poets are bottled storms.


  • my_cup_of_poetry 18w

    Something isn't alright?!

    @jerry_21 @jeelpatel wrote ��

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    Look at yourself,
    forty kilograms of
    flesh and bones.
    You are eating
    potatoes with guilt,
    smiling with
    loneliness in your
    dreams and typing
    errors, all day.

    Didn't you decide
    to chew rice and curry
    for lunch in
    a hill station
    where nobody
    identifies you,
    journal your falls
    in an orange
    notebook and smoke
    with strangers
    on a lonesome beach?

    The keyboard is waiting
    and your eye lashes are
    Write about birds, sky,
    pauses and silences or
    just sleep.

    // another day is passing //