Miraquill
Again...
Thinking, that was the end to it,
I quietly turned my back and took the step forward.
But again, it knocked at my door!
Like a black soul hidden till now in a white wrap!
They say, time heals everything
But, my time, it seems, has lost its track
Or has never moved at all...
©reticentsdiary
(Read the whole poem in the caption.)
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reticentsdiary
109w
Read MoreAgain those shouts are ravaging my ears,
Sucking the peace out of my sleep;
Numbing my body, wetting my pillow;
Again.
Days pass in the dread of the night,
And the nights pull the curtain to cover it's darkness even more;
Again.
How can I turn my deaf ears to the thunders, those shadows and those whimpers?
That gave me sleepless nights when all I knew was-
"Everything will be fine in the morning";
When innocence was in ignoring what happened last night.
Many mornings have passed since then,
And few nights too, when it was not all gloomy.
Thinking, that was the end to it,
I quietly turned my back and took the step forward.
But again, it knocked at my door!
Like a black soul hidden till now in a white wrap!
They say, time heals everything
But, my time, it seems, has lost its track
Or has never moved at all...
Like a still tree at the riverbank,
I stand, again, helpless
Watching the time pass by
Without bringing that dawn on me
When everything was supposed to be alright.
Now, I know, dreams really do come true.
@writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakee @mirakeeworld #horror #night #time #chnage #fear #dream #fights #childhood #poetry -
reticentsdiary
138w
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Accept the changes if you want a better tomorrow. #change #life #me #you @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakee @mirakeeworld
Change is not chosen
Never did I like that change in you:
The wrinkles of the face,
The cracks of the street;
The crooked clouds of the torn sky,
The dried leaves;
The shortened smile of your face,
The longer hours of your days;
The bitter coffee,
The cold and tasteless food
Until I realised- that
Change is not chosen,
But you are besmeared with it,
On your way to a better tomorrow.
You are one of the clouds,
Changing with the fall of the dawn,
And I, am one of you.
©reticentsdiary -
reticentsdiary
139w
The Retreat
Too far you have gone into the meadows
Where only lights speak and darkness feast
But, your essence is still stuck in the midway
Where you alighted for an embalming retreat
The smell of your breath still infuses the air
Where millions have exhaled their cry of life
The tenderness of your fingers left their mark
On the walls where only violent "thuds" were heard
The silky black hair that you wear
Still deafens the ruffling of the spring leaves
Far you have gone, no where to be seen
But your footsteps still knock at my door
In the nights when life is still but the heart repines
For that one last retreat!
©reticentsdiary -
reticentsdiary
145w
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@writersnetwork @readwriteunite @writers_paradise @writsparrowsevenfour
Life is a continuous exertion in the heat of the sun..that never drowns.The Sun never sets
She pulled her veil a little more
To walk on the path of honour
He wiped the sweat again, dripping
From the forehead of fortune
Kids hid behind the curtains
The holes of which were the new game
Of hide and seek..
Awaited was the setting of the sun
After which, the veil can be removed.
But, I wish I could say,
the sun sets.
Drowned and enfeebled
in the calm horizon...
But the truth is the contrary.
The sun never drowns
Which is why, it comes back
Everyday, not even breathless
But with the same flare and whip
To pull down the veil,
Drape the house with suffocating curtains
And exhaust the day, still less
To stitch the holes of the curtains
Burnt into them by poverty and perils
I wish I could say,
The tiring day would pass,
And night will be peaceful..
But, the truth is
The sky is always dark.
The day is only the excessive heat of sun
Which never leaves,
reflecting even at night
In the face of beautiful moon,
A temporal peace:
With closed eyes,
but exerted mind
Reminding,
The day is not over yet!
©reticentsdiary -
reticentsdiary
152w
The Broken Earthen and the Tinker
Like the crumbled pieces of an earthen
I squalled in my Cradle:
Woven under the moon,
Perched at the window.
Perhaps prodding to bring back the lost,
Even though it was irretrievable.
But, those hands stroked my forehead gently,
Though it seemed shivering and rough,
Perhaps, after barricading the storm crashing against the window.
In the lullaby of that caress,
I found the lost piece of the pot,
And quickly resorted back to my serenity,
Hardly caring whether the hand was gone?
Or still there, waiting for my whole to arrive?
Even today, when prodding is only a childhood game,
I can feel that selfless gesture;
Stroking my wrinkled forehead,
Soothing my scald eyes,
Answering to my whimpers,
As if singing:
"The day has passed,
The storm will soon be asleep,
Loosen yourself too, in the Cradle,
Tomorrow is another day".
Only, now those hands are familiar,
Close enough to call them Parents
The eternal tinkers of my broken earthen.
©reticentsdiary -
reticentsdiary
154w
House of mirrors
In a house full of mirrors,
I want to reside;
Where what you see,
Is not what it is.
A reflection of the face,
With its freckles and pimples;
But perhaps the opposite is,
The history of fight, resilience and success.
There, the reflection of the warrior!
Standing erect, feet and fists tightened;
But perhaps the opposite is,
The weeping heart,
doomed to the definite choice
Between the child in the cradle and the nation in the hassle.
One is a warmth of possession, the other the wrench of dispossession.
Here is the reflection of the housewife,
Dressed...pretty fine;
With remains of flour and spices,
Smeared on face and clothes;
But perhaps the opposite is,
The urge to tap her feet,
Swirl her body,
On the beats of her own music,
Or the bliss in the smears itself!
In the house of mirrors,
I want to reside;
Where it is known:
The unknown is the truth,
That the first dawn is not the one,
But only the opposite of the dusk,
What is seen is an image,
What it means is a mystery.
©reticentsdiary -
reticentsdiary
155w
Happy Summers?
Like the sun of the summers:
A fierce ball of fire,
Burning every will to tread,
Rendering streets eerie,
The abode of revolting silence
Is the self:
With its essential flaws and flaunts
Lack of love and solitude
Abundance of silence and clamour
Annoying the other and the world
The sun brandishes its 'flaws'
Unabashed confident and defensive
But the self?
Drowns in the walk of shame?
Or, smirks in summers,
For a hearty grin in the winters!
©reticentsdiary -
reticentsdiary
155w
Read More
Love, passion or faith, follow anything that takes you forward! Even if it's invisible..
#journey #passion #love #faith
@writersnetwork @mirakee @readwriteuniteBon voyage!
I haven't seen the sun!
It's been years, since I first looked at you,
With eyes scintillating under your glow,
And blurted out, "Ah, there you are!"
They say, the sun is no more seen around.
But, we never exchanged a goodbye,
When last we ventured into the wild in our innocent playfulness!
Was that the last I saw the sun?
Because, we promised to meet again,
In the same moor, with the same innocence.
The next day, I buckled up
Bag laden with laughs and love,
Feet infused with swiftness,
To overtake the sun in the race of the promise!
After a distance, the sun vanished.
Perhaps plot of a play, I thought;
And continued to race,
And to run out the time.
I have reached so far.
My bag lethargic and worn out;
And feet, no more swift, but tardy;
I realised, the sun never followed me
I followed the sun.
No longer can I see the sun.
But, the sojourn has begun.
Should I turn back, I thought;
But then, the sun is never behind me. -
The leaf
Distracted from the thick volumes of anthologies
Filtered from some great minds,
I ventured out to see the sunrise
And en route stepped on a fresh green leaf
The leaf that rolled under my feet
Or defeated in the war of the wind?
The leaf fallen from a height,
The height of heaven:
as religion would have it;
Is the disillusioned human,
Fresh but fallen,
In the pitfall of lifeless suffering
Of lust, love and hatred,
Of lost battles and the destined death.
The leaf could either roll away,
Each time at the risk of death;
Or give up at the inexorable wind,
In conspiracy with the fortune wheel.
What is inevitable is the yellowing of the leaf
The shrinking of its shape,
The prominent wrinkles
And crushed!
Followed by a sharp crackle
Under my feet, the accidental pawn of destiny
But, are we the fallen leaf,
Encumbered by the dread of destruction?
Or, are we the tree,
living till the fall of its leaves?
One by one,
like the flipping pages of an anthology
Yet, gazing at the flap of the dawn crow
The fall of an old leaf
The warmth of the new day,
Calming the numbness of yesterday's death.
The answer is difficult..
But the candle is flickering
Wax wasting away
Decide before the flames smoulder...
Everything lost in smoke!
©reticentsdiary -
reticentsdiary
161w
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Anchorage is your space, where others can visit; not the other's space where you are 'welcome'. @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writers_paradise
Anchorage
You always wander around,
In search of an anchorage,
In that corner, on that pillow
In those arms, on that smile
Because anchors stabilise
Your conflicting and decentered life
But, in your wanderlust,
You forget to anchor yourself
By that stake of self-love
That is narcissistic yet not obsessive
Which harbours you against the danger
Of becoming that soluble grain
Which tastes only when mixed with the other.
©reticentsdiary
-
mismagical
155w
.
-
words are not
always rivers
that flow from
north to south,
sometimes
they are those
tributaries that
get lost in the
ruthless flow,
yearning for
shores.
/my words often go on a hiatus,
poetry gets soaked in my veins/
©therightkindofmisfit -
pen_and_paper
177w
Read MoreSun never rises in morning.
It takes an hour late.
And birds are frozen, half dead.
Trees appear like zombies.
Rain is thick and slow.
As I move on through hills in the winter.
Cattle who used to fight for food.
Are dead already, food is thrown all over them.
Grass isn't green, I forgot they were never.
And vampires suck the frozen blood.
I crave water, I am thirsty.
I need air to breathe.
I need light, I need blood.
I need warm weather and a pond.
Not this marsh, which is empty like my stomach.
How can I see my face!?
How can I recognise myself.
Till the Sun shows itself again.
It's better to forget myself.
As I move through the hills in the winter.
©pen_and_paperHills in the winter
How can I see my face!?
How can I recognise myself.
Till the Sun shows itself again.
It's better to forget myself.
As I move through the hills in the winter.
©pen_and_paper -
poetry_within
178w
Read MoreTime is dripping slowly from its glass chamber.
Starry liquid of purple void, staining my wooden desk.
I should clean it up, but I can't stop watching.
The sharp edges from its broken case, creating points from which to fall.
Its dark beauty, contoured by the gentle light of my desk lamp.
It doesn't sink into the wood, it just sits in its smooth liquid bubble, eternally.
Its effortless perfection is the only thing I concern myself with.
This serene experience, a small Nirvana within the chaos of my life.
I must go.
I must study.
I must crawl through the expectations of my existence, a small nobody.
But existence can wait.
I only wish for this moment.
A small glint of beauty in a monotonous reality.
The most perfect storm,
a peaceful dream.
©poetry_withinSlipping into Infinity
-
embracewabisabi
194w
Read More•••••[
Vocab:
Augury: a sign of what will happen in the future
]•••••
I was writing songs of augury
Under the sky of lust,
When I saw it changing itself
In the shades of red.
Uncovering the ashes of reality,
I transpired the conspiracy of my vicinity-
Trying to seize the fortune of its enemies and
Waxing their fullest into halves.
Adversities kissed their swollen lips
To drag them down and
Filled them with the smoke
Of uninvited apocalypse.
Storm, that was brewing in the dark abyss
Of their homes and cities,
Fed on their agonies like a
Vulture feeding on the decayed corpses.
Unleashed and executed its avenge
For the disruption in its hour of need,
It had changed its color from bleeding red to melancholic grey
Just like a snake shedding its skin.
Now, that the fire is out
I'm still burning in my skin;
Crawling on my knees,
Reaching for a saving grace.
©embracewabisabi
@mirakee @writersnetwork
#EWSFAVFrom Bleeding Red to Melancholic Grey
"You don't see what you possess,
a beauty calm and clear
It floods the sky and blurs the darkness like a chandelier
All the light that you possess is skewed by lakes and seas
The shattered surface, so imperfect,
is all that you believe."
~ You are the moon//The Hush Sound -
An enthralling evening
As the sun sets,
different shades of smiles
mistaken for the curtaining
rays of light scatter in the sky.
They are the smiles of triumph,
the sense of gratification
every tiresome soul reflects
by the end of the day.
The horizon, it holds all
hues of happiness and
hopes of better tomorrows.
Forgetting the melodies of sorrow,
minds, the meadows of memories
dance in line with the swaying leaves
and flowers to the tunes of gently
blowing wind.
The dropping dimmet, regarded to be
a beautiful ending in real is an incentive
start for anything and everything.
The vibes of this evening,
they are enchanting...
-Nivedita
