Miraquill
And then, there are those love stories that have no beginnings to begin with; in the very first place. They're born only to be buried. They leave in heart a reminiscence that was once there but it never really was. You can't blame it on fate or time. They're held on to only to let go. The love stories where your heart whispers a name but your eyes have learnt how to lie.
©thelogist
thelogist
A day that's darker than the night!
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thelogist
2d
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thelogist
2d
It's the last time; probably
When I'm meeting you
In this lifetime
But hearts, you know
They don't understand that
They cling on to false hopes
They're designed like that
3 years with no name on my lips
But now it smiles at yours
It's not meant to be
It wasn't ever
But you're a reminder for me
That love still exists
Somewhere, within me.
©thelogist -
thelogist
3w
i'm not someone you'd love for long.
a mere pause. a mere stay.
no matter how you put it, something's
never change.
_too tired to believe
©thelogist -
thelogist
3w
Oh! the sadness
in your heart
it'll last long baby
for you haven't learn
how to let go ;
©thelogist -
thelogist
3w
at times, I think I'm a liability. to everyone around. even to my parents. even to this existence and timeline. so I squeeze myself in spaces, corners and nothingness. to burden them less. with my presence. i reduce myself. by retreating. muting myself. reducing the space. in others life.
_Being Burden -
thelogist
3w
The loss. Has been a part of my existence. Or even before. Yet the familiarity of it, even today meets me like a stranger asking for directions in a new city. I bear it like trees mother leaves even when they know it all. Know that it's not gonna last. But somehow you've learnt to hold it as long as you can.
©thelogist -
thelogist
3w
One thing,
I think,
I won't ever be
able to tame is-
My heart.
©thelogist -
thelogist
4w
Sacrifice
You love me with all your blood and soul
How can I ever question your worth
But do you remember how it rained
The day I was born
The sky wailed and flooded the roads
Two lives at stake, only one could be saved
But we made it
Though I wish I hadn't
It would've been painful for you
But easier for both of us
Sacrifices written down your spine
And stretch marks, testimony of your selflessness
How your eyes still remember
What you want to forget
How your heart still has the ability to care
And still able to hold it all together
How you've done it all mom?
And why you've done it?
Because today I stand
Unable to understand
Who shall I sacrifice
The you in me or the me in me?
©thelogist -
thelogist
4w
At times, my mother makes me wonder. How has she done it all, all these years. Without expectations or reminders. Dreams she crushed so silently that no one heard their shattering. And yet manage to make me believe that it's all worth it. Even today.
©thelogist -
thelogist
4w
That's what happens with daughters whose fathers have never been there for them. They become their own hero. They become their own strength. They become their own father. And by doing so, turn their hearts into swords. Which displays no compassion even onto themselves. Love feels like blood, good only when it isn't theirs.
©thelogist
-
love_whispererr
2w
Read MoreYou are so vulnerably haunting; Your eeriness is terrifyingly irresistible.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
#Letter #fromalostdiary.
Gulmohars and goldfinches
of your megalopolis know my metaphors
more than your elflocks, clavicles & betrayals.
//You are so vulnerably haunting ;
but your eeriness is terrifyingly irresistible//
©Bidya B. -
whitewings
3w
I never wanted to be the strong independent woman who doesn't need a man. I wanted to need men. I wanted to need my brothers, cousins, my father, uncles, friends, boyfriend. I wanted to depend on these men. I wanted to trust them. But I was failed by every single one of them at every step. I was left disappointed. I was left to protect myself and provide for myself. And also defend the ones I love and cherish. I was forced to be a man, while my soul yearned to be the woman it was born to be. And therefore, my independence besides being a portrait of my grit, resilience, perseverance and determination... is also a picture of cowardice, lack of integrity and empathy in the men in my life.
©whitewings -
love_whispererr
3w
Read More
Lovers, Lunatics and poets are made of same stuff.
_Bhagat singh
#poet
Thank you so much @writersnetwork ��About a poet
...
a poet she is
gulps cities, skies, seas
stars, sounds, smells & sights
as her metaphors and syllabifies
summers, soapworts & strawberries
while brewing iced mocha with scars.
a poet she is
springing on the sycamore of
naivety, nights & night jasmines
while embroidering the corsage of
snowflakes with her solitude,
smiles, similes and serendipity.
~of paradigm, paradox and poets || bidya -
whitewings
4w
Read More
Love is an emotion.
But loving someone
is a long and demanding process.
It is dedication, devotion and consistency.
A test of your resilience, faith and honesty.
To delve into the deepest fears, insecurities
and wounds of someone,
their childhood, youth...
the first time they were bullied,
the times when they felt lonely.
The things they like
and the ones they despise,
how they like to spend their Saturday nights
and why,
what broke them,
how many times
and how they healed
without a mentor or guide.
What is their relationship like
with their parents, friends and relatives.
Who is the person
they trust enough to confide in.
Whether they prefer tea or coffee...
their favorite dish, their favorite sports team.
To know why they tremble
at the thought of public speaking
and how they need to be held
and reassured
when they're breaking.
Loving someone
is opening up the fibers of your being
and knitting a warm quilt
by interweaving
the threads of theirs and your story.
I don't know how people do it...
how they fall in love
for the second, third, fourth and fifth time.
From where do they gather the energy...
to do all of it all over again.
How they bare their bodies
before strangers
and bathe in the heat
that doesn't brew the broth of their dreams
but simply burns everything that has meaning.
I don't know how people hug someone
and don't wither
at the thought of losing them.
Don't they feel empty...
after throwing parts of themselves at so many.
Don't they feel scattered...
in the touch, sighs, whispers
and sweet nothings of so many.
Is it really love what they feel
or a compensation of sorts,
for their inability to commit
to the truth of their own being.
©whitewingsDon't they feel empty...
after throwing parts of themselves at so many.
Don't they feel scattered...
in the touch, sighs, whispers
and sweet nothings of so many.
©whitewings -
poets
...
many of us
are not brave enough
to gulp heartbreaks with wine
and scream in forlorn nights,
but more than enough to paint
faded rainbows with allegories
and furbelow the solitude with
metaphors of a crowded street ;
you name them also-rans but
i portray them on
the palm of my diary as
p o e t s.
©Bidya B. -
whitewings
6w
The sweaty palms, the snoring,
loud peculiar laughter,
the annoying sound made while chewing...
they wrap it all up...
first in skin
and then in a casket.
So many stories,
so many memories...
a childhood, an adolescence,
lonely nights unseen,
struggles to establish a legacy...
they wrap it all up silently.
When a person is gone,
so many things are lost.
An entire library is either burnt or buried.
And the ashes float in the cosmos...
lightweight, free...
for eternity.
©whitewings -
whitewings
23w
Placing my hand on his hand
while he's driving
as we head to our monthly ritual
of grocery shopping.
Him handing me
the jar of spices
just the moment I need it
while cooking dinner.
Bringing his favorite dessert
for a surprise celebration,
to mark his first success
at a new career endeavor.
Him wrapping a shawl
around my shoulders
as I stay up late night,
writing poems.
Romance isn't always
roses and diamonds.
It's finding magic and bliss
in the mundane and struggle.
It is in being vulnerable,
letting go of all pretence.
It's the way two souls communicate,
even in silence.
©whitewings -
whitewings
23w
More terrifying than your abuse,
is the lack of remorse in your eyes.
I wait for the night to pass.
So that in the morning when you'd smile,
as if nothing happened last night,
it'd be easier to tell myself...
I should not hate you.
©whitewings -
whitewings
13w
Read More
You take away their dolls and teddy bears
and give them toy cars and guns.
And when your sons
grow up to be men
who chase money and power,
you call them insensitive and corrupt.
You tell young boys
to be strong
and not shed tears.
And then years later,
a woman struggles
because her partner is emotionally unavailable.
You teach young men
the language of lies, ego and lust,
instead of honesty, soul and love.
And then label them a womanizer
when they break hearts
in their hunt for pleasure.
You send them out in the world,
still naive and young...
to fulfill responsibilities and earn,
instead of asking them about their dreams
and helping them dispel
their insecurities and fears.
Most men are young boys
hiding behind
cigarettes, sex, whiskey bottles,
work and inappropriate humor.
That's the best a lost kid could find
to hold onto perceived sanity,
in a testing life.
©whitewingsMost men are young boys
hiding behind
cigarettes, sex, whiskey bottles,
work and inappropriate humor.
That's the best a lost kid could find
to hold onto perceived sanity,
in a testing life.
©whitewings -
whitewings
17w
Sometimes you miss someone.
And that's the beginning and end of it.
There's no desire
to talk or meet.
No hope of any kind.
No resentment, no pain,
no emotions buried alive.
You just miss them...
like you miss your childhood,
your college, your school,
your hostel room,
that trip you took
ten years ago in June.
All the things that have been left behind.
Things that will never return into your life.
©whitewings
