Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it. ⚡️❣️

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  • therightkindofmisfit 43w

    You keep wrapping a bandaid one over the other
    on a wound that no longer deserves your care.
    It can heal faster if you leave it unattended.
    it can cure more if you speak to it less.
    Wounds are not destiny that you keep returning to.
    Wounds are not trees and you are not water.
    Wounds are not periodic tables and you are no science nerd.
    Wounds are unsoldered wires with running electricity.
    Wounds are power cuts and it is morning outside.
    Wounds are pieces of you that DO NOT make you whole.
    Wounds are obsolete playlists and dead roots.
    So if you look at it, you either need to bury them deep or carry them above,
    There is no in between.
    @mirakee @writersnetwork

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  • therightkindofmisfit 45w

    This short poem series is called
    ‘the grief of being a writer’, it is from the POV of a writer suffering from prolonged writers block.
    1. I am not able to write
    and it hurts.
    Hurts being a shadow
    when you first hand understand
    how being a candle feels like.
    2.Protracted battles
    are always draining. More so when one-sided.
    Especially when you are fighting
    3. The voices in the head become
    so convoluted/messy/noisy/indecipherable,
    it comes out like
    a murmur,
    a screech,
    like long nails running wild against satin.
    4. It is like being uprooted from a planet altogether.
    5. It is like knowing what to say but not knowing what language to say it in.
    It is like being dumb. or deaf. or both.
    6. Being a butterfly. But half.
    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod

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  • therightkindofmisfit 56w

    Notes from a sad diary

    1. If I leave my silence alone for a fraction more of a second, it might start howling.

    2. How do you deal with a heart of yours that knows nothing but giving,
    how do you deal with those to whom you have given unfathomably?

    3. Oh how not knowing the art of manipulation sucks!
    You feel like a puppet in the hands of a street smart world!

    4. What do you make of the clay of regret?
    You make tears. Bitter and plenty.
    Enough to drown the city of your heart. Still not sufficient to let it sleep.


  • therightkindofmisfit 59w

    आशिक़ तो कई मिल जाएँगे इस करोड़ों की भीड़ में,
    पर पहले हम खुद को चाहे, तो ये बड़ी बात है।
    चाँद तो अपनी मौज में है, कभी दिखता है, कभी नहीं,
    पर हम चमकता सूरज बन जाए, तो ये बड़ी बात है |

    ग़लतफ़हमी में जीते है लोग की खुद से प्यार स्वार्थ है,
    पर अगर हम जान जाए की ये स्वार्थ हमें निस्वार्थ बनाता है, तो ये बड़ी बात है।
    कहना आसान है की हम खुद के फ़ेवरेट है,
    मन से ये माने और खुद को अपना ले तो ये बड़ी बात है।

    भीड़ में खुश और अकेले में उदास,
    अगर इस सोच को बदल ले, तो ये बड़ी बात है।
    खुद के साथ बैठे कभी तारो के नीचे,
    कुछ खुद की सुने, कुछ खुद को बताए, तो ये बड़ी बात है।

    दुनिया मरने की बात करती है किसी दूजे के इश्क़ में,
    हम खुद के लिए ख़ुशी ख़ुशी जीतें जाए, तो ये बड़ी बात है।
    - therightkindofmisfit

    #pod @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    needs it
    today! ❤️

  • therightkindofmisfit 61w

    I used to think that art is a profession people choose when they have nothing more concrete on their agenda

    Till the time I realised that people choose anything but art when they have nothing on their agenda.

    I used to think that art is a solution to monotony

    Till the time
    I realised that for some it is a treatment, a therapy, a medical prescription, a coping mechanism, a necessity, a compulsion.

    I used to think art is dressing up in red for your date

    Till the time
    I realised that it is falling off the terrace of your lover just to catch their glimpse on your way down.

    I used to think art is well behaved rain that falls so immaculately on your window tip

    Till the time
    I realised that it is the acid rain which drowns entire cities.

    I used to think that art is what people make on papers, on canvases, on stages

    Till the time
    I realised that it is that poet who died when he drunkenly attempted to grasp the reflection of the moon in the still waters of a lake.

    I used to think art is like buying the entire stationery to create art

    Till the time I realised that it is Vincent Van Gogh drinking yellow paint to make sunflowers.

    I used to think art is knowing when exactly to stop writing a poem when it reaches the crescendo

    Till the time it became metromania- the compulsion to write poetry, marking the atlas of my existence with crosses of fire.

    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #art

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  • therightkindofmisfit 65w

    Short love tales/ when they ask me why you?

    1. Goethe once said,
    ‘One loves one person throughout his life.
    Those BEFORE or AFTER are either
    a search,
    an escape or
    deception. ‘
    It kind of adds up now.
    I was looking for you
    in everyone prior to you.
    And hey, there is no ‘after’.
    2. Your name is the most tenderest
    set of words that my lips have ever touched.
    I shiver every time I utter it.
    3. Your fragrance near the nape is
    that of green apples in a ripe orchard.
    I have lost half of my poems
    in that aroma.
    4. Your skin is caramelised tiramisu,
    your eyes a pristine continent,
    your mind- ah, desert rains.
    I don’t think it is possible
    for anyone to not love you.
    5. If you keep two cats in a home together,
    Chances are they already love each other. The real challenge is the home.
    Home is where they have to survive, persevere and flourish.
    6. My poem for you is eternally
    under development. Whenever I think
    I know you, I get to know more.
    I don’t want my poem to ever finish.
    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod

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  • therightkindofmisfit 66w


    Tonight, we unzip
    our words like they are
    the most tender
    yet the most dangerous
    weapon in our
    otherwise harmless armoury.

    Tonight, we don’t go to
    shrines to pray. The shrines
    come to us and seek answers
    that our absence asks.

    Tonight, we listen.
    for once. To hear if
    silence speaks.

    Tonight, we grieve.
    Like people with closed arms
    at the funeral of someone
    who wasn’t supposed to die.
    This early.

    Tonight, we don’t speak.
    We mumble.
    Beneath our tongue.
    and regret how our tongues
    are tied to our hearts.

    tonight. we rest.
    and observe.
    if our hearts are capable
    of singing a lullaby and
    put our brains to sleep.

    Tonight, we don’t eat.
    We devour.
    Poetry that we might not understand.
    Art that we fail to appreciate.

    Tonight, we don’t just exhale.
    We breathe.
    Tonight, we wage a war against time.
    And see who wins?

    @writersnetwork #pod @mirakee

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  • therightkindofmisfit 66w

    A poem about outgrowing friendships.
    I have outgrown some friendships,
    some friends have outgrown me.
    What is outgrowing you ask me?
    When you fall apart or drift,
    not because you fought but because
    that is how it was supposed to be.

    As a child, I felt that friendships
    are meant to last forever,
    but life is different and it is
    not always about experiences you gather.
    Sometimes I am not the priority,
    sometimes you are not in the list.
    That doesn’t mean we hate each other
    but it is what it is.
    Sometimes I give, give, and give
    and receive nothing in turn.
    sometimes you extract so much,
    it makes me feel like a cavern.
    All the emotional labour,
    sometimes you undergo, sometimes I.
    I feel so used and to the
    end of tears, I cry.
    You might too, and I am sorry.
    But let’s accept it had turned awry.
    You got so invested in others,
    I also chose my way.
    Till the time you don’t regret me,
    I promise I am still here to stay.
    Quality over quantity,
    New memories over past,
    Nobody is mean but let’s
    just say there was some love lost.
    I know it is exhausting and confusing,
    However I know, we would
    be happier if left going and growing.
    Sorry friend, we had to part,
    I wish you smiles with an open heart.
    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #tailrhyme #wod

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  • therightkindofmisfit 68w

    हौसले कभी डगमगाए नहीं, मैं डट के खड़ा हूँ,
    जंग कितनी भी हो कठिन, मैं अडिग अड़ा हूँ।

    रोके मुझे कोई भी, मैं किसी से ना रुकूँगा,
    जवान-ए-हिंद हूँ, मिट्टी से, मिट्टी में, मिट्टी का रहूँगा।


  • therightkindofmisfit 68w

    फिर तुम मुझसे पूछना कि
    सर्दियों की धूप इतनी प्यारी क्यूँ लगती है,

    मैं कहूँगी सब आँखो की बात है।

    फिर तुम कहना कि जब साथ होते है
    तो वक़्त ठहरता क्यूँ नहीं।

    मैं कहूँगी की सब पल में सदियाँ जीने की बात है।

    फिर तुम कहना की मिलने के बाद ये याद कम होने की जगह बढ़ क्यूँ जाती है?
    मैं कहूँगी सब मन के असीमित होने की बात है।

    फिर तुम पूछना की ये मुस्कुराहट कैसी
    मैं कहूँगी ये हमारे साथ की बात है।