/Dalliance/My sorrow effervescent briskly as arsenal in a child's nailsconflate the elision of wretched wombs.We are mad lovers, drinking to reciteour vows on top of the roof forgod to let this night stay a little longer.His presence shades m(e)osaic but what fortune is it to be painted but still empaestic?Because victim of a burnt house is always an orphan.His bones are ellusioned, it stammers for sodium in the sea, we are beleagured players crawling to an inn but the epiphany of snow counts our existence on tails of a wolf.I want the stars to fall today. Let me wish for our eternity to stay longer than stability of primary cations.It is our last dance, we are not heroes anymore, our capes now reston two kittens down the road.'Little sky, never start a sentence with but'But how could imbrications of past leadto dry goodbye kisses?But how ineffable can a star be for us tobreak and fall into the sun?But how opulent can comfort be for apoor to offer flowers at our grave?But how wherewithal our actions were to falling cascades in middle of woods?(But) How do I write about us when all we ever learned was to pyrrhic away?[But]Let me love you until the sine functionsare defined on anti clockwise intervals oftwo hundred and seventy degrees.Let me (fade away)/ let me sleep today.~never meant to be
Harshi, I am alright love, just wanted this to be out. I know you are proud of me and I love you too.@_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_[P.s.- I read both of your writeups. Wait for me to spam the comment box early morning tomorrow.]@afira_albab I miss you di, I love you.
Things I wish I could tell my mother1. I failed everything that belonged to me. I don't seem to like cupcakes now, not even the ones filled with chocolate and melted marshmallows.2. I get scared when you open the door and throw all the stuffs, I fail to put at the right place. My bag is still there on grandma's rocking chair, she knitted it for me.4. I crouch down with my knees up to my chest everytime your friends come over and you praise how well I drink integral and sinusoidal functions as if they are some aspirine shots made from phenols.5. I bite my nails everytime I hear the whistle go off at early morning as the sound of lid collide with utnesil which refrains me from recalling the aroma of brown rice my friend cooked.6. I like sound of chirping crickets as it reminds me of how coins once used to clink in grandpa's coat and admiration in his eyes everytime I told him about gold in our array.7. I am not lazy but weak. I am weak for, every spider web in corners which are abandoned since a year and for that baby lizard who grew a little tail last week.8. I eat my lips everytime dad brings up the past and you lean with your elbow on his shoulder because his knucles become weak and his voice starts to break when he sees my tears.9. He manages to score a perfect score but I am always seven places behind him. My ribs ache when you remark the fault is mine, it isn't.10. I can never trust uncle around me. Please understand why I get nervous every morning he shaves his beard and collects the extensions from basin.11. I hope you could see that my cell phone is the only reason why I am holding up because she praises me every day even if I solve only five numericals in three hours.Maa, I hope you never see this because I painted my nails today.©natasha_aI painted my nails| 25.09.21
How are you?I don't even know why people are liking this. I am just ranting.
I feel good today. I am glad I woke up early and listened to my physics teacher patiently, never knew he was this great with it and while making notes, I realised my handwriting is pretty good and maybe I should appreciate it more.Went out with my mother's friends and their kids today, I think I attended such gathering after a year or so, my social anxiety used to take best of me. I finally talked with my best friend, we were so distant past months.I am most surprised about the fact that I attended my chemistry class with utmost concentration and even asked doubts. My teacher used to say, she never knew if I attended a class or not. Chemistry is pretty interesting, by the way, I was just running from it.For the first time, my dad complimented my dressing style and I felt so confident that I think I might wear the same outfit tomorrow. Don't worry, I will wash it before.And the thing that I am finally writing after such long. It's getting comfortable, my eyes doesn't hurt anymore. I feel genuinely sleepy these days, glad I am not sleeping just to imagine myself in fake scenarios.I feel exceptionally well today and scared too. It feels too much to be mine.©natasha_a
/She wanted none of the days to end, and it was always with disappointment that 'she watched the darkness stride forward.'/-Markus Zusak, 'The book thief'Prompt(1)I tried.#smk_avaap_ch
But what colour are you, my friend?Is it auburn, my mother drinks sincedad left to heaven while saving me?Or is it red that my sister spent sevenyears in prison to repent his life for?Is it crimson that tints her cheek whenshe holds her mother unaware of you?Or is it pink that delusions a new loverbefore a hurricane abandons his home?I have searched for you in every brown in a hope that you will be sitting at veins.But, every time I step on them, the creaksreminds me, they acquainted with you.I have painted my organs with darkest ofblack in a hope that you will find me here.But seems like she really loves black that'she watched the darkness stride forward.'Is it yellow that van ate in order to raise his spirits, contrary to being cheerful?Or is it blue, the facade that still holdsmy friend's marks when she jumped off?Is it orange that sets every night to killmy favourite wallflowers by the road?Or is it green, settling on a river that once captivated 'ocean's'eyes but left.I have searched for you in every purplemy husband crafted over me last week.But it seems you hate it because every time he winces, it doesn't weaken me.I have tried every greens and blues andgreys in a hope this will fade one day.But what colour are you, my friend?I am tired of seeing myself in white.©natasha_aBut what colour|
@the_lost_melody This is for you Di❤ I cant really thank you enough for everything.@writersbay Told you I had one person to write about!/The lines in brackett are from Badr Shakir Al-Sayyab/#weekendc
She is fire in lanterns leading home,magic in words, syrah in pain. She isglimpse of paradise, soft pat at my back and shelter in drenching rain.She is courage in battles, daffodils rising at horizon. She is starlight indark, butterflies guiding to the exitand glimmering beauty of night.She is zephyr of tea gardens, engulf--ing the tress to sleep. She is groundfor autumn leaves, traces of eternityand warmth to demons that weep./Her eyes are like palm-groves refreshedby Dawn's breath or terraces the moonleave behind/She is camellia of a mothers crown, afading unicorn in heavens. She is the pink tint in rues, scars of battles andtape of bravery that hold the weapon.She is ecstatic twilight, the beautyand the voice of moon giggling above.She is an angel for devil for once shetaught him how to love.©natasha_a
@still_fragile This ones for you Fray! I wanted to say that you are very strong and I wish you power in everything.@/writersbay I still have one more person to write about XD/The words in brackett are from movie Lord of Rings/#weekendc
She is phoenix engulfed in flames,the bearer of gladiolus flox. She is the spark of ocean pearls, the crownof daisies kept hidden in the box. She has been a warrior since long,fighting to protect her fort. She is the song of willows, firefly of hopewith a bruised heart coerce of gold./You fool. No man can kill me.Die. Now.'But I am no man'/She is walking on black porcelain withtulips rising from her veins. She is ariver for quenching thirst and thestrength of kingdom that falls in rain.She is an angel with tint of madness,invites her demons to dance every night.She is desperation of dusk and dawn, the excitement in its first flight.To all the nightmares that have ever haunted her, mind your swords becauseshe is coming for you for she ain't avictim but a survivor.©natasha_a
@_firefly Here's to you!I tried my best and I know it ain't enough.@/writersbay Thanks for this. She is one of the best humans here./The words in brackett are by Farouq Jwaydeh/#weekendc
'I love her.'She is a hope in abandoned house,zenith followed by solace. A refugefor both demons and madness withfreckles of insanity that glow her face.She is warrior of the kingdom whichstand on rues of eternity. An angelof history, painted in lavenders thatgrow out of her kingdom's felicity.Her brown orbs radiate warmth as ifthe sun is reflecting on honey creakingfrom pine. She is the melody of ocean,murmuring to the other side of moon./And if devil was to ever see her, he'dkiss her eyes and repent/ She is the classics of 1870s, the soft patters of winters. She is wind thatgushes through the windows, a birdwho chirps peace to your nerves.You say you love her, but do you?The way she does,as dusk kisses the stars to sleep andas prairies who sing for dawn to keephim accompany.©natasha_a
Word of the day: Epilogue Tag and share with #epiloguec
I think we deservea soft epilogue, my love.We are good peopleand we've suffered enough.– Nikka Ursula
I'm afraid and too terrified to sleep. can someone put an end to these nightmares please?@writersnetwork
The voices never seem to leave my head, loud and clear. It feels reality has fallen apart again. Surreal. Empty. The feeling of being watched. Too terrified to fall asleep unless it's forever I swear, i saw it. I saw something. And the noise kept getting louder, louder, louder and then it stopped. My mind was trying to convince me what I saw, what I heard wasn't real but I had felt it and the sickening feeling hasn't left since. It's out there again, waiting. It's back, and it won't leave this time. It would be rude to keep it waiting any longer ig...~ j
22/10/21 (ꈍᴗꈍ) uwu depression@miraquill @writersnetwork thanks for the like bestie <3
I look up at the ethereal sky and a part of me aches. Everything suddenly hurts, from my hair to the tips of my toes, every cell in my body aches. It is sadness resurfacing I suppose, helplessly I put my arms around her and invite her in for a cup of coffee. I don't cry or wail this time.I try accepting her as a friend rather than a foe, but I hate her. I hate this sinking feeling and I can't turn it into something beautiful and poetic anymore. This sorrow feels irremediable and I'm forced to feel these unsettling emotions. I wish I could run somewhere- run away from my own self perhaps.My voice cracks as I try to ask for help- throat cold and sore. I have been quiet for so long, I have forgotten how to speak it seems, no words come out and no tears fall. I sit staring blankly at the wall and wonder if this sadness will ever make sense. I look in the dusty dirty mirror and see tired eyes, no longer blazing with optimism. How I wish I could disappear before these monsters take over, I wish I could run away and come to you. My bed's a grave where I die silently every night and yet the very next morning I find myself alive and awake. I wake up and start the day with a sigh, my longing for death continues to hover around. This world drains me in ways I don't understand, It leaves me pondering if I deserve it all. Can you understand, someone somewhere?The sadness inside of me refuses to leave no matter how hard I try, it has built a home inside of me, under my skin and in my veins, ravaging me.Maybe someday this misery will come to an end before it ends me or perhaps this is how it is supposed to be. So I'll pretend as long as I can but very often death seems easier than these unstitched open wounds.©jouska
I create words out ofSilences and darknessI brush the invisibilityWith my own colorI have no form and imageIn a world ofImage and formI give soundTo the unutterable wordsI do not care for youMy dear darling.~call_me_devil
Credits : I read a few of @samarlexis 's works before writing this. Also, Flannery O' Connor and Ocean Vuong and Qiu Miaojin.
/ Psychedelia /
But what am I ?Perhaps, a chapel of remembrances - of overdramatic monologues, of sun-streaked smiles and palliative wordsWhen I first confessed my love for you, I had preconceived notions of how my afflictions would cause me to relentHow the confession would be a rite of passage, a coming of age And maybe it was. Maybe it was.But it was so many things. So so many things. It was a second Genesis.A very un-primeval, postmodern one. It was a moment of grace, the way Flannery O' Connor taught me.I could, in that moment transcend sanctification or whittle into stripped apostasy It was as if I had impaled the sky and the blunt, burnt holes along its nudityWere a testament to my psychedelia.If by psychedelia, you mean the way I now find relics of you in everything remotely, distantly, subtly peaceful If by psychedelia, you mean the way I metamorphose words into paperback cities I'd wager for you If by psychedelia, you mean the way I imagine us - two little children running away from their napalm childhoods into fairytale sidewalks and firework skies. Untouched. Fireproof.And if by psychedelia, you mean something along the stunted lines of love. In the 3 older drafts of this poem that I have since discarded, there was this lineThat I find myself oddly attached to - "Then maybe, with all these words as splinters of wood and my life as the fundament,I am attempting to build you a memorial, a shrine of sorts, "You see, I imagine (rather optimistically) that a couple of years from nowHaving known well, the landscape of sorrow, we will slip into a mutual medium of joyAnd on a fine evening, watching the Mississippi sunsetWe will retrieve these words, words from a reticent, pretentious girlAddressed to a philosophical, tragically beautiful boyAnd you will realize how we have waited - my words and I,In dear anticipation of you - your smile and you.You came to me, very distinctly, like a staccato pitched in the dark from the westfor undomesticated wayfarers to taste You reminded me of the warm smell of ancient holiday homes on long coastlines,Of oversized, hand-knit sweaters that last a bit too longAnd of the finiteness of the English language in its inability to capture youAnd I, like light gone translucent or a waned temple bell or a forgotten folk song Rushed to mend what parts of me I could ~The rebellious, problematic daughter part,The unbothered sister part, the unattractive nerd part,You get the pattern.And what am I now ?Perhaps, a poet of ash and abstraction and I would like the poster of this poemTo say "I love you" in bold, uppercase letters with the finer print reading, "Forever. Always."Isn't this how riots begin ?Ash and Abstraction || 13.10.2021©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_
#pain #icantwritedamnit @writersnetwork dhanyavaad aapka #fireflywn
It is a new moon again and my heart remains darker than the vast expanse of starless sky. The scent of hope in the air is absent and there is nothing except silence, screaming ferociously in my ears. Hopelessness and agony festers in my blood, where once resided beguiling metaphors which are now lying dead beside the dried lilies I forgot to water. The soul of little girl inside me is hiding behind my writing table since eighteen autumns, for no one ever heard what she felt. The demons named loneliness haunt me till day, for I remain misunderstood and unaccepted. My eyes have never acquainted the sun for I live in a dungeon covered in cobwebs of melancholy that my existence brought me. A poet once visited me and wrote a poem for me and it was filled with piercingly painful tears of his. An artist once visited me to paint me on his canvas but ended up with a jet black colour oddly splashed over it. A yearning lover of mine once visited me and brought me lavender cologne which is till date kept in a wooden box beneath my shabby wardrobe. My fingernails are festooned with dejection and the little butterfly of mine is fluttering for life in the glass jar. It tells me about it's colours drawn from the beautiful rainbow and it yells at me for picking up the quill, for a poet is always born out of a similar kind of throes like mine. I am unknown of what poetry looks like, but she tells me it exactly looks like me. _firefly // Pain ~ demands to be felt.
My dying poetrydoesn't needsany of yours breathingmetaphors...©his_aesthetic_ink
My poetries isfull of what ifs.A dying hopeof breathinglifelessmetaphors...©his_aesthetic_ink
My poetry pleaded let me keep this memory.I ended upburning thebook....©his_aesthetic_ink
We're well articulatedpoets who can't convinceof our own hearts...We blot inkof regrets...©his_aesthetic_ink