kASHMIR❤ Life begins the moment you decide to be Yourself..

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  • re_ms36 1w


    Words being thoughts in a processed form,
    Travel through the heart and mind
    Finding their way out the lips,
    To get liberated and reach Home.
    Some words get a life and many death.
    They do die too, like humans, a silent death.

    Whenever they ask me, how am I?
    I no longer find words to say;
    That i am tired, falling apart.
    Not knowing the reasons,but i cry.
    I feel exhausted and want to rest.
    Rest in a way to never feel the same.
    I want to talk, and they will hear.
    But would anyone listen?
    Nevermind!.. I Murder such words,
    Burrying them in the midst of old diaries.
    And say "I am doing good".

    When they spill out the utmost bitterness,
    I no longer bounce it back.
    Though it torns my heart,
    I ask silently "why did they do it?
    Don't they overthink? "
    Ahh! there must be a reason, let it be,
    As an answer, i hold back my tears
    and smile at them to avoid any drama.
    I strangle the words myself and bury them inside.

    When i am floating in the turbulence of thoughts
    I try to calm it down with some bits of paper
    And a chaos of jumbled words altogether.
    And another time, all in all, i feel it all again;
    My reason being insecure, backspaces it all.
    All at once, it doesn't make a sense to my mind
    The memories however, cradle it all with care,
    More like a recycle bin but for a very time.
    The storm comes to an end; with peace
    Or more chaos? But it does sleep
    under the embrace of Silence deep.

    The noises of the city and the ironic silence
    Find a great rival in each others existence.
    For an eternity, the one chases the other;
    Perplexing the thoughts of living and dying,
    Of illusion and reality, of mind and soul.
    The sounds disturb the peace and
    the peace has a music that soothes.
    Infinite questions, never bothered to ask;
    Come and leave the universe of my mind.
    But where do they go? Nowhere, just
    becomes a quiet souvenir Somewhere.

    I wonder how many deaths have i witnessed(or)caused?!
    Of words, emotions, of thoughts and dreams.
    Sometimes i become a liberator and often, a killer.
    All the things, i bury in my chest;
    take shelter under the warmth of a crippled register.
    They die/live in peace there,
    And breathe freely as soon as
    the gusty winds disclose the secretive pages of it
    to the surrounding silence of the Universe.

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    All the things i never said!

    I wonder how many deaths have i witnessed(or)caused?!
    Of words, emotions, of thoughts and dreams.
    Sometimes i become a liberator and often,a killer.
    All the things, i bury in my chest;
    take shelter under the warmth of a crippled register.
    They die/live in peace there,
    And breathe freely as soon as
    the gusty winds disclose the secretive pages of it
    to the surrounding silence of the Universe.

  • re_ms36 18w

    //Where Emotions Breathe//

    I don't have a special place to write
    But that where i do, holds a fragrance.
    The fragrance doing rounds around me;
    Arousing a feeling of grand accomplishment,
    Of breaking the bounds of messed emotions
    And letting them breathe in the white shrouds.
    Solitude, holds me and my thoughts together;
    Together we create a souvenir of our Lives.
    When people surround me, they call me blind there.
    In my world of thoughts, i keep recollecting the tides.
    The place I sit at, caresses my burdens and memories;
    And gradually I began to feel a little less heavier.
    The place where i write, then never remains the same.
    It becomes a reminder of all the emotions treasured,
    And ofcourse of all the backspaced words and lines.
    When the poesies i do read in tranquility or for tranquility,
    I feel myself nowhere, but again in that Place of Universe.

  • re_ms36 24w

    Flowing with the passing moments of happiness,
    A wave of saudade often blows over me
    And then my heart yearns for a little more pain,
    So as to relish the sweet taste of Suffering again.

  • re_ms36 24w

    #december #wod

    Thankyou for EC❤��

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    Who are you, i asked?
    An eight lettered name.
    Who are you, i asked again?
    A fading ember of life.
    How old are you?
    A twelve month or decades old.
    How is your nature?
    I have coldness consumed in me.
    What about your other personalities?
    They say i make things end gracefully.
    What colour do you like most?
    I am in love with the colours of death.
    What about your physical appearance?
    I appear to be beautiful and charming,
    While i am cold and so thriving.
    I am beautified with the snowy shield
    While only kangris i invite in the field.
    What about your inner self?
    I am also a life of fragility
    with a sense of sensibility.
    Do you know how long is your lifespan?
    Some keep me alive for days thirty-one
    While others treasure me as a ghost for life.
    What have you done?
    I have robbed the warmth from their lives.
    What are you?
    I am just a nightmare of all the farewells.
    What can you bring?
    A season of beautiful cold winter.
    What are your strengths?
    I can endure the harsh coldness i nurture and receive,
    And also make others realize the potential they have.
    What is your weakness?
    I know not how to defend myself against the odds.
    I am cold,but that leads eventually to the warm spring.
    I am the end,but there a new beginning takes place.
    I am the death, but a blossom of life awaits there too.
    I am an ember, but the suffix of 'ary' comes with a Hope.
    But,I know not how to speak it out or make them realise.
    Ok.Would you now like to mention your good name,please?
    I am the Cruel December, the fading ember of life.

  • re_ms36 28w

    #start #wod
    Thankyou for EC❤

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    I am the midnight of forgotten memories
    The ones etched in the unknown diaries
    And others carved into the oceanic eyes;
    Which breathe Life only in the dark abyss of night
    after delivering the eulogies to the sun,in trade of the moon.

  • re_ms36 30w


    From seeing the reflection in water
    To staring the faces in the mirror
    To enjoying every new camera filter,
    Somehow the real beauties wither.

    The water was pure, so were the faces
    And the reflection therein with no masks.
    It was about the body and soul romances,
    Every shadow filled with elite grand poses.

    Then, came the mirror with the depth of human
    Shining bright and the hubris of man inside
    A competition started of body with body
    And the beauty of soul remain unasked.

    How to forget the beauty lend by camera filters!
    Either the blushed cheeks or no face is beauty.
    How silly the concept of beautiful we make!
    The filter becomes Me and I am lost!

    "Eww! Mirror shows me Ugly,This is not me!
    Let me switch to the world of delusion.
    There I pose with the night while having a day.
    With pride,animal faces i try,the one of human,i betray."

    Meeting the self was easy with the mirror.
    At least, it beautified the scars in the belly of beauty.
    It showed the realities, in the skin of truth.
    But now, it only annoys the definition of beaut.

    Now the eyes capture a new filter and
    Satisfies it, the hunger of novel makeover.
    Fair it makes and lovely one appears,
    Makes us fall in a grave of illusion.

    No wrong it is to admire more beauty;
    Is but to betray the soul of simplicity.
    The honest eyes discover the true beauty,
    Accepting yourself first must be the priority.

    Snap with the bright cameras but
    Never let it make you feel dull.
    Once in a while, look into the mirror
    And embrace all of it with a little more love.

    Shouldn't the concept of beauty be changed?
    The very imperfections blooms out every inner beauty.
    The shining giggles on your face, adorns you more.
    Being real with yourself will more decorate your soul.

    Nobody is perfect but our Maker is.
    He has put us all in our best forms.
    We are all uniquely beautiful because
    Of the precious gift of 'Imperfections'.

    Though selfies appear to be pretty, but those smiling souls, the prettiest.
    Though Filter looks elegant but laughing shine in the eyes,the most gorgeous.
    Though the cheeks appear clear, but the acne-full face, the most beautiful.
    Though the day of illusion looks sparkling, but the night of reality, pulchritudinous.

    //*The words in the title are of Korean origin meaning
    "You are Pretty".//

    @miraquill @writersnetwork

    P. S. : Hoping this won't offend anyone����

    Some 'not so good', some 'not so bad' but yeah, Alhamdulillah this post is 100th����

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  • re_ms36 34w

    Dancing are the thoughts in mind,
    when on the paper sleeps,
    In the disguise of words;
    Brings dawn to the eyes
    Of the one who reads
    Floating in more heads
    Along with the music
    that heals the wounds
    Of the dark autumn nights.

  • re_ms36 34w

    Out of love, a poet pours
    his most loved things into
    his poetries; hence,
    I pour Pain, it overflows
    from my words and
    i breathe in peace.

  • re_ms36 40w

    Actually wrote this poem inspired by the charm of a real Star, i see every night in the sky. (No other metaphoric meaning)

    #object #wod @writersnetwork @miraquill

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    / The Only Star that Visits Me Every Night /

    is luminuous. It shines upon me
    when most active is my mode of dark.
    I never hope for it to come.
    But when after a nightmare,
    I wake up, the only presence i feel,
    the only hopeful sight my eyes receive;
    is of that bright star, shining more bright,
    Perhaps, just for me!

    is forlorn. It wanders in the sky of
    clouds; to discover the company of same
    stars.Once it reaches the roof of my house,
    I just stare in awe. Its stiff position leaves
    me thinking, what it might be waiting for?!
    I stay silent while sharing my poetries
    silently with it and it seems to be
    understanding it all. In turn, i hear
    the beautiful music coming from it.

    is enigmatic. It is silent yet it speaks
    of beauty and mystery. Its twinkles
    collaborates with the blinking of my
    eyes. Its presence, though being afar,
    soothes my eyes. It sings me to sleep
    with the lullabies of its poetries,
    which seems, had been waiting
    for decades to give solace to
    some restless hearts like of mine.

  • re_ms36 40w

    Flowers wither, wither and fall,yet
    the essence brings spring to hearts.
    If blossom is beautiful,
    then gorgeous is withered.
    Rejoicing the joy of fall,
    they regret the bondage of bloom.
    While falling, the air of life, they inhale.
    Yet after falling,another spring, they await.

    I can travel on the paper, the
    same way i travel through life.
    While landing the quill of experiences
    in the monotonous rhythm of metaphors,
    I hear the words calling, breaking, breathing;
    Crying with the exaggerated ecstatic phrases.
    I discover the places on the blank white,
    And paint them in the canvas of colourful blues.
    Travelling through the pages of incomplete verses,
    I wander yet never get lost. More like myself, it feels.

    One day if everything stops,
    The life and the death,
    Does the ink carved through the curves
    of my words abandon the place of its abode?
    Along with the withered skin of mine;
    Would the pages wither too?
    But upon which ground would the
    words engraved there fall ?
    In the land of happiness or of sorrow?
    In both, maybe!. Again Awaiting Another Spring.