Miraquill
No more Frail February
I used to call February
Frail
for not having 30 or 31 days
For having longer nights
and shorter sundays
Until I realised
I am the same
With less perfection
In bones and faces
But the womb of February
Is a womb of a woman too
Giving brith to flowers
And nourishing the nature
Less of fear
And fight
Even if we are less
With days and nights
We always put up a fairy smile
As the harbour of the faith
Of love and warmth
Of scars entrenched in our skins
But not to darken our hearts
Not for once on the face of earth
But everyday for everyone
For ourselves
We are living (February)s
But no more frail.
-Samiksha
©samswan
samswan
B - R- A- K- E
-
-
samswan
49w
Read MoreDead 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
Thank you so much @writersnetwork for the humble repost❤��REQUIEM
The purple hibiscus fell
No phrases and idioms to sell
Pen a dry river bed
Wailing tears left unshed
A phalanx of words
Forbidden at the threshold
Of the pages creamed vacant
Birth of buds
Yet no flower bloomed
Obsolescence of unfinished works
never completed by epigone
A tenant of life
thriving as "Dead Souls"
on the shores of art and literature
Who knew the rent would be so extravagant
that words would befall from pages
like autumn leaves
The converging sky
Macerate meaningless sentences
aborted by the ghost writer
Writing in the dark
Verses all tarnished by the dust of time
No rhymes to be sung
When breath left lungs.
-Samiksha
©samswan -
samswan
51w
Read More
SCALD SKY
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To the unpublished realities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
Thank you @writersnetwork for the kind repost❤��SCALD SKY
©samswan -
samswan
57w
Read More
MAKTUB
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❤
@writersnetwork Thankyou so much for the repost ��❤��©samswan
-
samswan
59w
Read More
WELCOME TO THE ETERNAL FLOWER SHOW
Unveiling from the carpet of leaves, pure as divinity monochromatic JANUARY'S JASMINE a gift of serenity.
Drenched in little drizzle of unpredictable month
the hues of FEBRUARY'S FREESIA smile for once.
Spring has come to our threshold
Sweet zephyr rushes as MARCH holds MARIGOLD.
Dancing with the music of sun light
Fairy lavender APRIL'S ASTER shines so bright.
Whispering birds in the shade of numb trees
play with MAY'S MIMOSA sailing with the breeze.
The dripping sweat, quench for calm water
JUNE JONQUIL upright as plinth, summer's daughter.
Hefty cries of storms and somnolent flood, when night
comes through JULY'S JABOROSA stretches its might.
Obliterating stained face from past's, from valley
of weeds to garden comes AUGUST ALYSSUM'S gallery.
Yellow is the colour of happiness for all poor and rich
Gazing right into sun, SEPTEMBER'S SUNFLOWER pitch.
Shedding their skin, worn out weather and leaves
all skeletal, OCTOBER'S ORCHIDS form jars of fragrances.
Love in a mist, bees flattering the petals
Novels of NOVEMBER bookmarks NIGELLA settles.
Not the end, but the beginning of new
Butterflies scout on DECEMBER'S DAHLIA, flew.
-Samiksha
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
#flowers @mirakee #wod #pod #alliteration #ceesreposts
PC: to the rightful owner
The show must go on....
Flower show on the face of the Earth!
@writersnetwork THANKYOU soooo much for showering your love, for the consecutive reposts��❤WELCOME TO
THE ETERNAL FLOWER SHOW
©samswan -
samswan
60w
Read More
NOT THE LAST GOODBYE
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
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
#oxymoron #pod #wod #ceesreposts #goodbye
When I am half baked and deadly alive!
PC : to the rightful owner @mirakee
THANKYOU SO MUCH @writersnetwork for the repost❤��NOT THE LAST GOODBYE
Would you reopen the locked album
Where I am smiling in grief
Long lasting story so brief
Would 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 I am
Half baked and deadly alive
because this is
Not the last goodbye....
©samswan -
samswan
60w
Read More
BAGGAGES TO NEVERLAND
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
A BIG THANK YOU TO @writersnetwork for the repost��❤BAGGAGES TO NEVERLAND
I will carry each part of every home
an inch of every city
from the languages to the songs
from dresses to food
I will live each one of you
like you smoked me...
A baggage of sorrow
A baggage of happiness
A baggage of laughter
A baggage of tears
A baggage of fears
A baggage of success
A baggage of growth.
©samswan -
samswan
61w
A KITCHEN STRIKE
Down to the never ending trails
drain of invisible bruises on her face
drenching kitchen and broken ceiling maze
distrustful life no less than a jail.
Adding the spice odyssey
acromatic fragrance of pepper and salt,
Agony and tears all mixed in meal molt
Ashen skin of her is all we utensils see.
One step of his inside
Obedient she runs to hide.
Over the running pages of history,
Of he is the assassin of her happiness mystery.
Is she of stainless steel?
Why is it one of us kitchen cutlery thrown
like a baseball to her?
Are we to applaud his bravery masculinity?
Or shall we mourn the humanity with nihilism?
We are mere objects to our creators
A throwing piece at weaker
A bowl to spit in abuses
And break our limbs when run weary.
But now we break the silence of the breaking dawn
For violence is not what we were sculpted of.
Melange your emotions and grind creativity
with the essential ingredients
as we serve a happy meal
and not scars on a beautiful face.
©samswan -
samswan
61w
Read More
With the voice of 13. #superstition #wod #pod @mirakee
13 Reasons Why - title inspired from the novel of the same name by Jay Asher. @virtually_real @loverenay #ceesreposts
@writersnetwork thank you so much for the repost! Much love to you����13 REASONS WHY?
1. You thought not global warming,
not evil spirits of corruption sharpening
but me a two digit number thirteen (13)
would be the harbinger of extreme
apocalypse of 2012.
2. You skip me
from the tally of your building floor
so that you don't fall
and shut the door
to thwart your sinful (mis)happenings.
3. You're haunted from holding my position
when you dine in with faceless being
fearing you'd be in vision,
in disguise of Judas betraying
the lord Jesus's decision.
4. A flip of tarot card XIII
brings a shiver to your spine
that you'd be biting the dust beyond grave
blemished power, no longer are you brave
face all tarnished from shine.
5. The night's skyline
embraces the grace of twelve full moon
but so soon
why is it the thirteenth me seen
as an ominous digit on the calendar's screen.
6. You can't bear me
when my shades coincides with Friday
from dawn till dusk
bannered under the flag of 'unlucky day'
contained in the vessel of doom and gloom.
7. In your 'unconscious' mind
with the vision so blind
you muse not your greed
but my thirteen breed
fosters economic misfortunes.
8. Remember you folks
not always am I unlucky
for Jews I am the seed of maturity
in lads, having young hot blood
running in their veins.
9. I am the forgotten constellation
of zodiac, christened as Ophiuchus
Crossing the sky westward
as the Earth spins in the universe
and yet I am no child's sign.
10. From the map of roads
I am the number not taken
for you believe
I am the recipe of disaster,
an author of your tragedy.
11. The righteous Knights Templar
of the holy land, gave me a scar
which people all condemn
for I was the year of their fatal death
But it was not in my hands.
12. The pages of the past
paint me as a pitcher plant
engulfing lives yet I chant
what matters is livelihood
and not those woods burning superstition.
13. You won't ever end
the saga of my evils
but I would pause my poesy
"I am no fickle finger of fate
but unsettled mind state."
-Samiksha
©samswan -
samswan
62w
Read More
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 @mirakeeHIJAB
A halo above you!
From the heat of
summer to the fr
-eezi I will
-ng be a
win scarf
-ters. of
your faith,
~ laughing along you
~ in sweet winds
~ wiping your tears
~ in despair
©samswan
-
Travellers
. , , .
©_ -
ckfilvan
11w
Read More#remember #ceesreposts #soulraabta #writersnetwork
Remember me when you read this. #filvantopz
Also NOT to read as a stone does, but rather as does a dove in the late afternoon. Give a voice to it.
Let a glass rich in dark sediment reminds you of me.
Let the May wind cry my name when you walk home alone.
©ckfilvan
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
Do me a favor if it is worthy of repost.REMEMBER ME
I write these lines to the ghost who haunts
Dark corridors like an invalid on a wheelchair,
For I expect not my obituary on Sunday paper
But in the heart of my departed parents
And the loved ones I have to leave behind.
I have like spiders haunted abandoned houses,
And I hang on the walls like neglected weeds;
An underrated poem sprinkled with dust on an old shelf,
A song that you fail to fish out of the hollow of your violin.
And now, I want you to remember me,
Remember me as the first cry of your child,
A girl whose carelessness bears a special charm,
A boy whose whistle beckons the breeze on a summer day;
Also do remember
The apples of my cheeks to the sunset of my face,
From the deep sea of my eyes to their winter
When Father Time harvests snow on my head.
In the world of romance, let my soul live
In a body which complements yours,
Let me be a humble freshman and a wise senior;
Let me be the repetitive crime committed by you
If thinking of me is one--let them catch you
Embraced in my arms which requires one
An age limit to have access to the scenario.
Yet when you remember talks of true love,
Let me remind you of the Bread of Life.
Remember me as the father who smells
Of tobacco and salty sweat
Who leaves no stones unturned for his children;
As a mother whose tender care has no end
For her children e'en when her heart seems to wrinkle.
Yet, if there's a talk of scandal on the streets,
Let me be the kiss you receive in the dark
Just to know as soon the lights come I was
A smoke of ghost that has left you blushing
Among gentlemen talking politics and businesses,
And women sharing history about their new neighbors;
Remember me as that mysterious kiss
You hide from your lover until you spill it
To your grandchildren on your death bed
That you'd spent your whole life
Looking for the owner of that lips.
Remember me as the voice that rings
Among the valleys of the poor, the hungry and the oppressed;
As the cry that prays for justice,
As the fragment of strength in the hearts
Of the soldiers in a war zone fighting for their homeland,
As the low deep roar of a lion imparting peace and justice
To his friends and families as gentle as lambs.
Yet again, remember me as a sinner like any man,
A man with many flaws by which
He humbles himself when he is raised to another height.
Let me remind you little or nothing at all,
But let everything beautiful remind you of me.
Let a glass rich in dark sediment reminds you of me.
Let the May wind cry my name when you walk home alone.
And if you (a lover of poetry) read this poem,
Let it straddle your brain and ride your mind
As you make love (private affair)
With lexicons and metaphors;
Let mountains and vales, clouds, sun and shower,
The beauty of a woman's frame and the love of a man
Remind you, remind you terribly of me.
©ckfilvan -
⭒THE SUPERNOVA PIECES LEFT IN ME⭒
I have been chasing feelings where I'm fleeting
Cause all of it seems empty likewise missing
But then I remember that stardust manages to float
Trying to remain existential even after dying
©miss_silentlyweird -
whitebell
26w
Read MoreIn 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
~a f i r a //tabassum.
-
whitebell
13w
Read More
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
–afira//tanhayi.
-
FAIRY
Freely flies the fairy
Found with flowers often
Faith guides all of her days
Frail and tiny in form
Fun-loving and carefree
Far, her dreams may take her
Fear not, she'll come again.
©lovenotes_from_carolyn 3/2/2022 -
anjusuryavanshi
17w
❤️
तुम याद तो आते हो बहुत
पर आंसूओ के साथ ।
©anjusuryavanshi -
dishang8614
13w
Read More#happy @writersnetwork @miraquill
Thank you so much for your kind repost @writersnetwork ❤❤
Painted happiness
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 happinessMy 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
©dishang8614 -
dishang8614
13w
Read More
#two #wod @writersnetwork @miraquill
In the fields
of melancholic
winter crocus,
she's a lost
autumn FLOWER
with the scent
of poison ivy,
FAITH
is the strength
to awaken
her wilted
spring petals.In the fields
of melancholic
winter crocus,
she's a lost
autumn FLOWER
with the scent
of poison ivy,
FAITH
is the strength
to awaken
her wilted
spring petals.
©dishang8614 -
wordsturnedscars
13w
Read More#two #wod
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.
//O, but what if I was wrong?
Gravely wrong?//
_____________________________
OHMYGOD! This is my first POD�� Thank you so much. Forever grateful❤️❤️ @miraquill @writersnetwork
Thanks a lot guys for all the love and support
��❤️In times to come,
The girl who faced her fears
will be etched in fragile hearts...
©wordsturnedscars
