Miraquill
A Valentine's Day With Our Own Self
It's a day of roseate hues that strikes your heart to caress the heart of your muse. Wondering where your muse is?
Well, go and stand in front of the mirror and your eyes will catch the glimpse of the person who survived thirty polar nights, thunderous days and trillion heartbreaks.
Therefore, it's a time that :-
• you gift yourself the Aurora's warmth package containing spectrum of self love.
• you pick up your clogged paintbrush,or that dormant mic, or your buckled feet to manifest the magicality of your talent that makes you happy.
• you open the petals of your bleeding heart to soak the mellow rays of your imperfections that make you unique.
• you melt your favourite chocolate and use it to garnish the velvety cupcakes of passion.
• you felicitate your mind with a crown made of rosy pearls of peace.
• You promise to never slice your soul even when chaos dips you in the bucket full of melancholy.
Because you are the one who stood for yourself in every thick and thin of your life.
©san_wordzz
-
san_wordzz
19w
Read MoreREMINDER :-
"Self love contains the depth of ocean and tranquility of waves that helps you to rise high during the storm also."
Therefore, you are your own VALENTINE!!
~san_wordzz
Happy self love day to you all♡
#valentine'sday #selflove -
I am a tripped tale of tyranny, for I let the conflict of chaos settle for the peace in poetry.
~from a parched poet's death note
©san_wordzz -
san_wordzz
23w
Read More
DEATH OF (IM)PERISHABLE BOND, BIRTH OF A PAINTER POET
In the midnight of choked September,
I picked a rather rugged paintbrush,
To stroke the deceptive autumn you reciprocated
For the springs I grew
on your bare heart,
When you were a crippled vagabond,
Fighting to break
the presumption of
your penumbra existence.
The brush soaked in
the countless minutes of our broken
archaic tales,
the 'bruised expectations'
Of a 'forever camaraderie',
the 'melting sunset' shading the night of betrayal
To paint the silent yet troubled emotions.
But alas,
Cataclasymic pigmentation is all that it's bristles had,
Which made my painting
An allegorical strangulated version
Of Frida Kahlo's
'A broken column'
That screams of untamed desolation irking my happiest dream
Which tingles my verbosity
And ties it to a clinical winter,
Whose melting floes finally give birth
to a rather shy and infringed poet
Who finds her
soul mate in poetry.
©san_wordzz
Seasoned sunset in Background refers to the experience I am getting at the end of every day
PS:- I am on writersblock since a very long time and this is a failed attempt at #painter challenge. All I know is that I am trying.
Do share your honest feedbacks :)
Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��More than the canvas, it is my brush that captures the brew of breathing emotions painting a solitary scenario of seasoned sunset of my life.
~ san_wordzz -
san_wordzz
25w
Read More
After a very long time I am posting something :)
Here olive branch means symbol of peace.
#question #wod @writersnetworkThe transcendental love flowing from Shakespeare’s sonnets that heals all his tragedies;
the firmness with which the night sky drapes the stars unaffected by the presence of moon ;
the unwavering fragrance that Jasmine carries for being ornamental on women's hair to being an olive branch at the graves;
the undaunting faith of growth in Autumn for hugging the fallen crimson leaves;
the persistence to carve the questions of life into enunciate caves of victory;
are the fillers of a void that humans secretly adorn.
©san_wordzz -
san_wordzz
32w
Read More
Wrote something after a long time. Please share your honest feedbacks.
Reference behind writing this piece :-
People often term themselves as spiritual but they always judge people on the basis of appearance, their financial status and all the other materialistic things. Therefor this piece f they feel free to judge others then they should also feel free to be judged for their mentality coz spirituality teaches us equality and neutrality not judgemental quality.
#monostich #wodRacial Mindset
Hermitage built on the land of prejudice tends to store only darkness, for the walls with a weak foundation stone can never be trusted to light the lamp of spirituality.
©san_wordzz -
san_wordzz
39w
Read More
@writersnetwork Atleast keep a check instead of giving them reposts and encouraging them to plagiarize even more����
To the people who think they can grow by copying others words, you first need to develop your own coiled up senses.
For God sake, stop copying others words just because they are being polite with you.
Just came here to be back but then saw my words being copied again despite several warnings.
PS :- Don't think you can befool a person in her absence. Don't worry even if we do not say anything to you, karma will approach you back. -
san_wordzz
45w
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Writing has left me.....
@theinkdomain Since you wanted me to post this one.Even when I take a sip of 'our dead camaraderie' every night,
I want to reincarnate my mornings with the dew drops of 'our lost memories'.
©san_wordzz -
san_wordzz
53w
The distance in our relationship was, the only step of loyalty which he refused to take.
And now the dangling forever lies estranged on the wall waiting to fall like rain and transfer the sorrow of its separation.
©san_wordzz -
san_wordzz
54w
Read More
A FAR CRY OF DESPONDENCY
Oh dear zealot of Kenopsia,
I wish I could tell you that ,
I have a hippocampus pouch of miseries hung inside my heart,
Which stores the secret of my fading appearance,
Propelled by my saliva containing the explosives
Of your sweet axioms,
That sabotages my emotions,
And transforms the magnanimity into the sapphire icebergs.
I wish I could tell you,
How my Sundays do not feel the same anymore,
After the scorching sun burns the paper of my rights,
After which the discriminatory cirrhosis scars my mind,
Paralysing my very thought
that the chasm between haves
And have-nots will
be sealed with
Mutual respect for brotherhood.
To grow your hydrangea,
You trample my tulips
As they stand last in the list of aristocratic flowers,
Although both could be grown together
to concoct an orchard of heterogeneity,
Instead of plotting
Shallowness on a sun -baked land.
I wish I could tell you that,
The trousseau of occhiolism
that you carry,
Unloads the small box of rationality,
And makes you a
Graveyard of stereotypes,
That becomes oblivious
To the equality
That the azure nimbus sky,
And verdant field distributes
Within all the humans
By manifesting them with
the same five elements
And filling them with
The same crimson.
I may not be able to tell you all of that,
But I know
A rebellion of sanctity will surely reincarnate one day,
To change the system of first among equals,
And that day Karma will befall you,
And invert those seven colours
That you claimed to be yours,
Into the white light,
That was supposedly ours,
from the prism of utopia.
This is a POV of a person who belongs to a secluded section (poor, untouchables, servants) of society.
©san_wordzz
Note :- Hippocampus is a part of brain.
And cirrhosis occurs in the liver. Yet they have been used with different body parts to convey how disfigured things are. Also they have used symbolically to explain certain things.
Read this in a figurative manner and you'll understand what it tries to convey :)
I know this isn't good, but I still tried for you @theinkdomain
A lil busy these days. Will read you all soon ♡
@themoonandthesun Here you go!!
#temp #farcry
#wod.
©san_wordzz -
san_wordzz
55w
Read More
Autumn warbles the,
Songs of countless emotions,
Through its diverse hues.
Cocooned vividness,
Through Chrysanthemum's petals,
Reveals its radiance.
Rustling crimson leaves,
Quaffing sunrays to gain glow,
Glossed o'er poet's snow.
Tangerine dewed orb,
Soothes the harsh sizzled summers,
Concocts paradise.
Autumn's kiss, An ode;
Resurrection of dead hopes,
Breeze of aster blows.
©san_wordzz
Glossary -
Glossed o'er poet's snow ~ Here poet's snow means his/her frozen heart. When he sees the beauty of the autumn leaves, his heart melts and thus composes a poetry
Breeze of aster ~ Aster is a symbol of love , wisdom, and faith. Autumn brings together all of them to revive the dead hopes and teaches us the importance of growing these values in our life.
Wrote haiku for the first time.
Writersblock ://
Hope it makes sense :)
#autumn #wod.
-
woodsorrels
15w
Read More#start #word #writersnetwork #miraquill
Can't thank you more for this.
It's always happiness, to get your recognition
and it will proceed to run on, it's been an integral
impetus for me to keep going and keep writing.
Endless love and respect ♡ @writersnetwork
Also, a bunny hug to all peeps who keep popping up.
*sending you all my love*When I Am An Old Woman
When I am an old woman
I shall wear wrinkles as bangles
And my aged grey hair like silver
Laugh loud with all my heart and
Blush like a forenoon red rose
My cracked heels won't stop me
From walking in stilettos
And I shall still don yellow pyjamas
And my favourite emerald neckband
I shall talk more and wise, and often
And not abide by a dumb fish
I shall prove them wrong
When they say wisdom comes
Only from staying silent
I shall be a mute swan
Read Pablo's darling sonnets
And blow sky-high when
They say love keeps an age
I shall dance to light beats
Eat big and sleep extra
For being old doesn't mean
You fast and kill your cravings
Nor waking up with the birds
Has to be the order of the day
When I am an old woman
I shall live more and worry less
I shall ride to the station and
Visit fun and freedom
And book no-stress
-wds -
Flower Haiku
Bumping up early
by a roadside strip of grass
harebells hop to horns
-wds -
thread_broken_kite
17w
Read More03.03.22
#miraquill @miraquill
The wardrobe clanged open,
giving me the sight of 2 hemmed
T-shirts, one beige, one porcelain.
Then, I was a small innocent brain.
Nothing could beat their allure,
and I wore them as long as I could.
As the clock ran along the river,
Some new joined as awards.
I bought myself some new, and
Few came as gifts to grace the view.
None stayed for long,
Few changed colours, and few fitted wrong.
As I matured with time, with
Level headed acumen and spine.
A lot,
Was not,
What was required any longer!
A good fabric was in fact, the need of the hour.
I picked my dress,
Pure and pressed.
None glossy, none knitted.
Good for the soul, and well fitted.
And still, through the journey, I tore a few more
Few were lost, and few ignored.
The beige and Porcelain are still there,
Along with a few more from those gone years,
The only regret I bear now,
Are the favourites that were damaged somehow.
Maybe someday I will sew those frays,
Wear them boldly till my last days.
©thread_broken_kiteBeige, Porcelain, and a few more.
©thread_broken_kite
-
thread_broken_kite
16w
Read More
09.03.22
Thank you @writersnetwork for the appreciation ��
#miraquill @miraquill
Dollop: A shapeless mass of something.
Motley: A variety of colours.
Dalliance: A casual romantic relationship.A Cup Of Life.
Slurp!!
I sipped a dollop of life,
From a cup of my Span,
Dipped there, a sachet of love
and two tiny cubes of fulfilment.
Aah!!
Ain't no better start of the day,
As the world smiled back at me.
I looked at my sky to wish him a 'hello',
and everything swivelled upside down.
The footsteps of the rainbow,
along the edges of the clouds,
The hickeys and the motley
Love bites were all public now.
What a shame! The world knows,
The cloud and the coloured band,
and their controversial dalliance.
What a shame! The world trolled.
No more romanticizing the rain and
its long relationship with the bow.
No more promises of Love as its
heirs are the ones to show, infidelity.
The sip tasted bitter and the
Love reeked of unfaithfulness.
The melted cubes reformed to
their state and the life declared its
Fulfilment.
©thread_broken_kite -
Rats in hats and schrodingers cat
I stir a soup pot in which im the main ingredient. Rain, a crumbling face, tiny traumas and a giant dream make up the rest. At first extravagance was the norm now simplicity spoiled my tasters(yes tasters) buds. There's a rat in every chefs hat.
Its watery, salty and at times things float to the top in bubbles. Inside these bubbles there are thoughts. They come and go like showers over a desert. No matter how many thoughts rain from my clouds, my soup is always dry.
I keep tasting the soup every decade. Bunch of nobodies, few somebodies and only one everythingbody took a spoon and made faces. Faces are laces that bind traces of grimaces together to make sure everyone around you feel like you're riding aces. So i masked the taste and my face with a pungent facade. People never stopped to smell what im cooking.
While boiling this broth, seasoned with boredom and some drizzles of laughter i postulated recipes, theorems and even looked for schrodingers cat. Many times my soup feels that way to me. I put an abstract lid. Some see a dead cat while others see a purring poem.
Hubris would be to add expensive but bland ingredients. So i keep it simple nowadays. There are bowls in every paragraph pathways. It takes an average taster 4 minutes to tell me if its good but sometimes here it takes 4 seconds.
A thin soup will leak out of your spoon. A thick one will stick to your palette and leave a bad after taste. How do you get the correct consistency some younger self stirrers asked?
Here's my advice : Stir your pot. Low flame. High flame chars you and your soup. Throw in your ingredients. Remember you're the main one. Handful of your hippocampus essence, spoonful of your sentience, pinch of poignancy, crumbs of comedy and criticism and overall make your soup YOU.
Others may not like it. But that doesnt mean you deactivate your flame. Your soup need not please every taste bud. It will never do so. But be open to add ingredients. Repetetive ingredients make your soup monotonous just coz some taste buds praise you without tasting.
Ps: elisabetkiss, your taste buds love all kinds of soups. A bot is always near all your pots.
©clichepenname -
paperwhites
18w
��
It's high time. Please withdraw the collars of
Gogh, Picasso and Monet ( I recollect one of my
good friends @woodsorrels lent the consideration once, then one well-known writer shuffled it like Sunday's black tee and since then everyone keeps switching Monet like the other too). Prolly, most of the people here don't even perceive ki inn sabke kya contributions rahein hain aur kis mein rahein hain. Tou bina jaane aur baar baar inhe apne qisse mubalghon mein lana inki sarasar tazleel hai.
Jokes distant. You can school your impressions
and compose competent without using their names.
My eyes are sick now. I request you all to let them
comfort in their respective worlds of art.
And muscle up your brains to be a reference
yourself. Thank you. -
Hoarding
Powered with writersblock technology , here's constant appreciation of vocabulary , try our services of " scribbling " .
I'm a scribbler , are you !!
|| |¢| app available on metaphorshop || -
childauthor_345
17w
Luminescence
Loud lullabies
Looks lustrous
Lapped lovingly
Lotus lies low
Long layers laminate
Loaded lavender
Lubricating love -
childauthor_345
17w
Handy ant , appreciates elephant unknowingly
On one's own
an adhesive armour
Whose skills keep fluctuating
But never skips the duty of inking
sinking in the red bucket
Full of bucket lists. -
First fire for fiercely flowing faltering flock
Framed feistiness for fascinating flamboyant
