Dead Souls is an unfinished work which Nikolai Gogol couldn't complete. I have no explanatory words for this poem but I think we all know how hard it is and has always been the surviving battle for writers. Such that many literary artists have to leave their art of writing. #art#wod@writersnetwork
Saffron today are you Dipped in scald hues No blithe faces No mourning cries Silent like nothing is born Nor dead, only worn Are we solving mysteries Of leaves not battling the wind Of wilderness forgotten in histories Of eyes so blind To the unpublished realities Trees stand in condolence Our minds travel in resilience Tracking down the patchwork of clouds While our hearts lament for those wrapped in shrouds Congruent pictures of sky and horizon Of life and death, crisscross frozen Shores of uncaged imagination A bent pole and wired branches Sing melancholy in attire of rock band Tons of talent in youth But parched throat of avarice Has shut all phone booths Of success and prosperity Left with ceiling of scald sky Are we burning in ashes of hues. -Samiksha ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @mirakee@writersnetwork You are UNFORGETTABLE @john_solomon sir It's the scald sky burning and breaking but you will always be remembered as a person who always gave us great intellectual lessons and as the haiku king as @lovenotes_from_carolyn ma'am rightly crowned you as. Lots of love to @john_solomon❤ P.C. to the rightful owner
Like a dove, flying heedlessly in the ocean of sky Strolling on the road less taken was I If clouds were kite I would wish to fly them If Maktub was hand written I wish to hold the pen
Like a sandcastle my world was washed away Holy words leaked from heaven drifted my soul to sway
What shall I grief about in my poetries dancing with shadows on the walls And why shall I mourn in the dark For the forgotten people who lost my cards.
What for shall I pick my tormented pen to bleed the syllables of distress and burning agony
When all is written in stone words on the manuscript Of life, sorry no editing could be made alive Knitted in actions is the next chapter of the saga Before promising your lovers my friend
Hold your breathe and promise to yourself The words "Ala Rasi"yes make it written on your head. -Samiksha ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ #languageart#wod#pod@mirakee @theinkdomain back for sweetie ❤ @virtually_real can't resist reading you after coming on mirakee for a quick sneak peak.. Ala Rasi: anything for you - let's turn to the other side i.e. Self Love... anything for our own well being first.. Love yourself first, before falling for others❤
Who am I? In this Bright Darkness amidst Still Winds under the Heavy Lightness of clouds listening to Myth Realities veiling my skin in shrouds of Sugar Sorrows Filled with emptiness is the heart the unanswered questions Opaquly Transparent, Difficultly Simple standing like a Giant Insect WHO AM I? am I a Wealthy Beggar hunting for answers in modern world of Uneducated Literature?
Who was I? that drowned in burning flames and flew in Stationary Waves on the soil of Rained Droughts and days of Laughed Cries, trials of Innocent Crimes and rivers of Unholy Shrines WHO WAS I? was I an Adult Child solving problems longer than my own height?
Who I used to be? I used to stroll on the walls of the past sticking pictures on Stainy Clean albums wearing a naked skin of Demonic Human during sunset in Pristine Drain I used to mirror myself Purely Contaminated in Silenced Anger, Colourfully White I used to be. WHO I USED TO BE? do you know? would you care to unearth the Irrational Reasons behind my lively death, find me behind the scenes behind the curtains with no stage to perform an act of life would you reopen the locked album where I am Smiling In Grief, Long lasting story so Brief woukd you weep your Happy Tears that you didn't in so many years once I am gone.. would you Forgetfully Remember me For who I used to be For who I was For who am I half baked and Deadly alive because this is Not the last goodbye.... -Samiksha
Yesterday, I was floating as light as feathers Roaming in solitude splits collecting shells from the ignorant shores of Mumbai Nobody was sleeping and so was I Up! Like an owl of midnight, Wolf of an opera house in forest. Was trying to fill my lungs with the lights of the city of light, the smell of its spicy street foods bloating my belly, the Indo- Saracenic beauty calling to write a farewell note on the walls. But I had to leave soon, my baggage stuffed with CHILDHOOD. With the dools and rags I collected.
Today, I am broken looking at the golden sky of the city of joy The taste of its festivals and the thriving theatre art caged me like a lone spectator The careless whispers of folks reached my ears and my lips hummed their language Unknown to the indeciphered meanings Time flew by like fireflies of the marshland The previous baggage that I unpacked Was to be done again This time My baggage had the scent of dahlias and cosmos I grew in spring From seed to blooms Like I metamorphosed here I was carrying a piece of Kolkata In me And so was the city breathing an ounce of me My echoing voice of arguments and cheers for my friends.
Tomorrow I will be in another uninvited city Remembering my journey I will be scribbling some journals About the worn out walls On which I became the painter I am Writing on the walls And a family picture Broken from the corner Like each of us, tired with the baggages Yet I would carry my bagpack and pipes Tuning the music of my past life Of highs and lows Of gains and pains That each broken window pane gave The vibrating stories of my grandparents in air Will always be in my baggage The scent of the cities I travelled Will be smelled from the artefact memories I carry from their abode. I will carry the baggage from earth to heaven. -Samiksha
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ My father has a transferable job and it is always a story of packing and unpacking.. from Mumbai to Kolkata to Delhi to Neverland... #bagpack#wod#pod@mirakee@virtually_real PC : Pinterest
WHAT IS A HIJAB? // Only if you knew I was a silhouette of you//
A gift of scarf am I from the shops of Prophet. Embracing your curious head like sky over earth, stitched to you inseparably. Never rusted or dusted in the racks of almirah but shining in glitters of silk, for you keep me treasured as your mother's last memory.
The songs of innocence and your radiant smile keep the quest of love unempty. You were a five year old seed of your mother, when inquisitively you asked " what is a hijab Umi?" Her trembling fingers touched your head softly as if searching for the answer on my fabric. I whispered softly with the tunes of wind and she replied "a hat of your faith".
Oh women of all age don't condemn me and the embroidery of gulmohars in red weaved, as a hindrance to womanhood or your marches of liberty and freedom. I will be a companion from cradle to grave, a protective halo and a crown of ethereal ethics. When you will be a 'wandering lonely cloud' I will be your 'golden daffodil' 'fluttering and dancing in the breeze' Not a chain of patriarchy but a bliss of feminism am I. -Samiksha
No offence to any body Have I had more time may be I could have portrayed better. Will read to my mirakee friends amazing composition soon. See you all soon today! #concrete my first attempt of concrete, if not clear it's a hijab ( a covering scarf for head) #clothing#wod#pod@writersnetwork@mirakee
All of a sudden, I miss the songs of Luthien, Bilbo Baggins, the dwarf, the mortal, and the elf. Aslan and Lucy of Narnia. Anne Frank; the children in 'To Kill A Mockingbird' and The Kite Runner. The women of the Brontes and the Austen. Also the younger years when I first read Tom Sawyer. When I first fell in love with poetry (Std IV) Times I kissed Maupassant and a bunch of Short story writers. Also Neruda. Also Bohemian Rhapsody
In andheroñ ko koi aake mita deta hai Silsila yaad ka ek deep jala deta hai Raat ke paoñ me ghuñghroo se khanak uthte haiñ Jab wo geetoñ me mere raaz mila deta hai Kya koi jaan gaya aag-e-wafaa ke maane Kaun is raat gaye mujhko sadaa deta hai Maiñ bhi kehta hooñ wo dushman-e-jaan hai lekin Mere dil ki na kaho, dil to dua deta hai Kam nigaahi tera jaadu hai bada, bada jaadu hai Par tabassum tera taqdeer bana deta hai Kisko tu dekh raha hai khuli aañkhoñ se Ye tera rañg-e-gazal kiska pata deta hai
Har nigah veerañ hai dhundh si faza me hai Kya taraf-taraf dekhuñ zindagi khalaa me hai Aañsuon ka nazraana phool ki qaba me hai Raat ki kahani me, subah ki faza me hai Is bahaar ki rut me phool paat peele haiñ Kis tarah ka zahr aakhir aaj fiza me hai Saahiloñ ko mat taako, kashtiyoñ ko mat dekho Baat kuch bhayanak si zehen-e-na-khuda me hai Uske jism par bhi hai kya tanaav sochoñ ka Ek shikan ubharti si be-shikan qaba me hai
In the glistening silence I caught vibrant fireflies Sipping some rose wine under the timid snow moon Oh, what a cozy night! with lacey lullabies Awaiting morning with scintillating smile My mind is at peace, such bliss My heart is a September lilac blooming in a sun's glory My everyday is a sunset yellow with a dewy petrichor aroma Painted with saffron morning So as my joy is fifty shades of pink and a pastel rainbow of golden hope With honey roasted sugary plum the sweetest taste of happiness
Knuckles turning white, I knew I had to face my fears The atrocities were immense, Wounds digging deep into my soul, Yet I never gave up, Dreaming a better tomorrow Where I will be all ears to others' fears Once I had conquered mine.
Shushing my inner trauma That threatened to spill out, Whispering 'Psst' to Courage And miraculously earning back a hi, I tried to calculate my moves, Soft yet undaunted steps; Each one at a time, I knew I had to face my fears.
Amplifying determination And blending it with persistence, The recipe I made was sumptuous, Cooked and eaten in due time.
In times to come, The girl who faced her fears will be etched in fragile hearts, And everything they lack will be exsanguinated from me, Morals transferred to their hollow souls And at once, Warm hearts will be pumping determination So as to face fears.