Miraquill
Mashed storms and love
And I draw my knees close to my chest, clench them and then softly pat on my back which is rising and falling like a storm, but it's not enough, because they are my own hands, hands of the person who is the eye of her storm and how does one finds solace in their storm, in their destruction.
But take me to him and I'll forget that a storm ever touched me, because he is all the light people talk about, which resides at the other side of the tunnel, and my dark tunnels always crave his light, his touch.
©thousand_splendid_thoughts
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-
Paper hearts
One day we would no more find our ways back to each other, one day we would fall apart and I would for the last time row my boat to your land, walking my way to you while gripping each particle of the sand stretched under my feet as if wanting to leave all of my sanity in them as if wanting my footsteps to be the memoir of a love which hadn't any tags of couple goals lined up but I knew if I had to die for you today, or on a Tuesday morning or any other day my lips wouldn't have twitched once. The universe holds its breath as I stop in front of you, the stars swinging down stop midway so I don't wish upon something they can't fulfil, 11:11 shies away and I'm left standing there with you as everything good and me as a forever bye. Goodbye. You look like a poem I wouldn't ever want to complete because you're too good to end. You don't hold me this time because you know I would otherwise forget the paths to the ocean waiting to walk me back to my land. You hold me through your eyes instead and I smile, you forgot that eyes leave the imprints of longing on your soul more severe than hands on the waist would. But people stay to leave, so I left and never turned back.
The separation you see would squeeze everything out of you but love. Separation is hated more for the quench of the lover it brings to your already thirsty heart than it is for taking the lover away.
~ love as my only weapon and
love as my only defeat.
©thousand_splendid_thoughts -
thousand_splendid_thoughts
48w
Read MorePs- I'm glad this post reached till the purpose it was wrote in the first place for.
Hii to the new writers of mirakee, hii to the writers who are taking baby steps on this platform, hii to the writers who have learnt walking on the mirakee roads and hii to my oldies who have built a home here, either breathing or abandoned.
I hope the skies have been kinder to your side and if they aren't they would be soon, okay?
No fancy vocab or lines, gonna get straight to the point.
Reach, delicious amounts of likes and reposts, flowing followers, admiration. Everything you will get from here isn't gonna stay forever. But mirakee sharpening your writing skills to that point where you would start feeling a soft proud for the writer side is something which is gonna give you a forever writer, a forever friend to you. This is a kind of reminder to you to not stop writing based on the likes and admiration you get because I've done that and it gave me nothing. But when instead of getting insecure about myself, I used to keep on writing, the soothe it gave to me was of another level. Reach would be a hype for a lot of time for you but with time you would start falling in with how mirakee works, how it goes. No offence, I've seen the stupidest of one-liners getting hype and the most reasonable posts getting ignored. So many talented writers sitting back. And I am counting myself in one of those who aren't supporting talented people here because I haven't been much active here, I want to be but ain't able to but whoever is reading this I just wanna say one thing that please if you ever get the chance to support someone, to appreciate someone, to help them here it would mean a lot to them. If I wouldn't have got support in my past, I wouldn't have been here writing this. I don't want to delete my posts with fewer likes but God made me a human and now I've human swings which often lead me to doubt myself. But then I tell myself that these words should stay here, these words which were carved by my mind, these words which were chosen and placed together so carefully, this post should stay here so that whenever someone goes through my account they don't feel like writers need to have more than 100 likes to make their wall look beautiful.
Please never stop writing, please don't back off, this admiration of work may not stay but being able to write down confused emotions, getting yourself clear out through words, it's therapy. Free therapy and therapies are a rope to climb the most difficult mountains, not meant to be a reason for being tied around the neck.
Thank you for reading.
©thousand_splendid_thoughts -
thousand_splendid_thoughts
48w
Read More
And then she breathed out words from the same mouth with which she worships his lips, "you can't easily forget a person who had a promise clenched in those hands which looked like they were made to hold yours, hands which were sculpted to love but not for balancing forevers, hands which had the lanes of 'almost' crossing them but still a promise eloped those lanes and ended up in my heart. A promise of hearing the silence of my love over the volume of goodbye."
~ ©thousand_splendid_thoughts.
-
And I want to look like one of those cities
whose broken windows reek of an
astounding history and strong ceilings
are ready to home one more war.
©thousand_splendid_thoughts -
Weeping collarbones
painful butterflies in the stomach/roasted panic attacks/anxiety attacks making out with my breaths/ tears raining on my barren cheeks and submerging in the ocean like collarbones/sleepless nights where the moon is no healer and sunset Ambre evenings where skylines are drowned in as much colour as I lack/5 sunflowers looking like 5 bright suns emitting too much yellow that I choose basking under blue and 6 novels sitting in my shelf having either too much romance or too much depression/ 2 hope notes per month and irony clinging on my bones saying people who don't know how to heal themselves always end up healing others better/ 385 pictures of the sky which maa feels is just an act of unnecessary filling up my phone's storage and my eyes silently telling her that these are to remind me of the days when skies made me smile and I didn't feel like I'm an unnecessary thing taking too much place in the universe's storage.
©thousand_splendid_thoughts -
.
-
thousand_splendid_thoughts
49w
Read More
'Of love becoming God'
Loving you is like leaving for a temple and ending at your doorstep, loving you is like preaching prayers and ending it in your name, loving you is like telling my favourite colour and ending up imagining your eyes, loving you is like answering what makes my life beautiful and ending up describing you, loving you is like searching Amrita Pritam's poems and ending up reminiscing you in every line, loving you is like standing in front of the mirror and ending up looking at myself through your eyes, loving you is like looking at the sky and ending up tracing your initials in the lilac skylines spilt all over the sky as if celebrating my love for you, loving you is like cutting out my heart on words and ending up becoming a broken prayer finding meaning among the gap of your lips, loving you is like imagining home and ending up thinking about the last time your arms were holding me in a fragile grip, fragile enough to let my love breath and gripped enough to not lose me when fate knocks on the door.
- ©thousand_splendid_thoughts
Inspired by some very talented Instagram writers. I hope I don't delete this now..
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vivenne
39w
Read MoreShe's the chaos
She's the academia
She's philosopher's discovery
Frangrance of red sangria.
Shes the outright burst of laugh
Shes the mystery of bermuda
Shes ocean containing rage and calm
Her beauty signifies Gianni Versace's medusa.
-vivenne
Theres so much more I wanted to pen down but words just dont seem to provide the right justice to your persona. You're living example of dark academia beauty. And trust me on this, none of what I write about you is ever fictional. The only reason I can write about you is because you are actually so suitable to be someone's muse. You contain every quality what an artist's art should hold. I remember how special you made my birthday. That penguin, those memes, you stayed with me the whole day. WHO DOES THAT? You. Love you so much supriya. I miss the times we used to talk consistently. Happy birthday love ♡♡♡
@thousand_splendid_thoughtsHow's the day going, pretty?
-
thunderclap 45w
Read MoreTo one of the most genuine people who wear their hearts on their sleeves @manasaa
Happy Birthday Manasaa. I don't think there is an extra a in the end?! Or is there one?
The bg is a reverse acrostic ��
I love the person that you are. You're rare and precious and unique. I wish skies, hope and smiles in your way. ��
Siddharth has exams till 12th July so he won't be available.
Happy birthday from his side as well ��
---------
This one's for you(hope you like it)—
With flaming wings of a whimsical unicorn, wearing a crown of benevolence, jasmines tied on hair loosely, an armlet of safflower; a halo of sunshine hovering above her head, she flies away into the land where unicorns exist and so does magic.
Where the sky is a chandelier adorned with hanging ribbons of hope and candlelit dinners are celebrated with blabbering teacups and dancing spoons.
Where fleeting auroras stop for a moment in their path to gape at her, a sunset with sunshine clenched in her little palms and nails painted with shades of lavender. She wears a marigold necklace gifted by winds and an anklet of a poem that clangs as she scampers to search for sunflower in a garden of roses.
She’s a firefly and her father is out there somewhere in the welkin sometimes proud tears in his eyes twinkles as stars watching his daughter grow into the brave and beautiful lady who has always been a synonym for optimism and hope and kindness.
As the dawn breaks in, she sails back into reality in an attempt to transform it into the magical land with her words.
©thunderclap
10 July '21Uni-que
Mending nights into glittering froufrou
Attaching subfusc stars into a pattern
Nights illuminating a patchwork of graffiti
And pastels scenting lemonade magic
Sewed with sanguine syllabic tango
Agape ribbons and scattered letter
Abendrot sunsets turn into fiery amalgamation
©thunderclap -
hafeezhmha
47w
Read MoreTark-e-wafa ke gham mey madhosh hai ye raahi, qamar ki roshni se ek toot ta sitara usey nazar aata hai. Beyqabar, wo hokar, chala uske peeche.
Sabr ko hatheli par lekar, nikla wo apni larzishon ko manzil dene. Shikayatein toh bohot thi apnon se, par aaye nahi lafz labon par, guftagu yaar se wo kar na saka.
Jo lutf intezaar mey tha wo ab duniya ki aab o hawa mein reh gaya. Mashgooli-yat toh itni thi ke bhool gaya ke kuch lazzat sa tha bhi uske intezaar mey.
Mohabbat ke jamaal par toh likhe kaee'
Ash-aar mashaaikh ney, par zaika-e-shikast koi bayan na kar saka.
©hafeezhmha
#kabhiurdulikhakaro
@siddiqua_ hi :')Kai fi yat
Tere intezaar mey
meri ibadat qaza
ho jaye
Reth ke zarron ke
maan'ind ye saahil
kinaaraa ho jaye
Musalsal keh rahi
aaj ye siyaah
khaamoshiyan
Ke aaj aasmaan ke
tabe'y ye sitaara
ho jaye
~h -
Read More
poetry is the art of the poor
the rich rarely have a flair for it
the ones who are stricken with
a dark life, who rummage their
pockets but don't find a single
friend, who are neck deep
in lonliness even while smiling
this art belongs to them
it is their only inheritance
it feeds their starving souls when
the world denies to help
and in december when the
winter gets so ruthless and slits
through their bare wrists
poetry covers up people like
a mother hiding a child in her shawl
when everyone looks down on their existence,
poetry hugs the untouchables
hsuya.
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Read More
The rose petals in my journals have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now. They keep growing in dust and I in melancholy.
Your photographs are polaroids of memories I am too afraid to open too afraid to name love.
Smiles have been fading and my wounds now ache in love and whisper your name every time they bleed. They have grown sour to all the memories that rot inside,
It stinks like a reminder of not being enough.
The mirror on the wall is old and I sit staring at it in long breaths and cold hands.
Nose too big- Check
Lips too chapped- Check
Eyes not pretty enough- Check
The heart is too broken - Check
No self-love - Check
I keep whispering it like an LKG rhyme again and again for I carry too much hate for me and too much love for him. I remember things I shouldn't and love people I don't want to. Oh, but do they love me back? They don't, they never did.
My mother calls love a sin, maybe I am a sinner but what good am I if I don't even get him to love me back.
©sereiin.
-
Before the birth of a poetry
The
zephyr
from
your
megalopolis
the
last
sunset of
November
the
first
snowflake
of winter
some raindrops and
many heartbreaks
Still I'm waiting
for a single metaphor
to brew
a poetry
inside my diner.
//waiting like a raindrop
while bidding farewell to summer's hot breezes
and to jump on the bamboo leaves and to dangle
waiting like a golden-yellow daffodil
to bathe inside the courtyards of spring
and to bloom inside the meadow of euphoria//
Mongrels
are barking
nightjars
are chirping
And I'm again
silencing
the hymns
of heartbreaks
while
paralleling
my thoughts
near a graveyard.
B I D Y A -
/ Qaafirana /
The clefts between my fingers have frozen
Hardly a foot or two away from a tongue that ate fire for breakfast
Someone brushes past my shoulder
And tells me I reek of gasoline
And I hope they're right
There's nothing I want more than to gaslight myself
And half of her with me
I feel like a fugitive from a highway love story
With a half-ruptured liver and a heart you would not like to use for transplant
I wish I had a shotgun down my throat
But all I can think of right now is the steak knife in my hands
I raise it to create the impact I will need
Someone grabs my shirt from behind
It's a little girl with a tiny muffin in her hand
I call her Snow in my head (after the cold in my spine obviously)
Tears stream down her doe-ish eyes
As she puts the cake into my war-torn, huge, glum hands
I want to tell her but she advises me to get a manicure
And runs away
I was only trying to cut my hair
I sound like cancer trying to hold civil conversation
I feel like maroon trying too hard to be red
I lock myself in my room and quietly nibble on the cupcake
It tastes of hair ribbons and a half-diploma in the alphabet
That is exactly how it always begins
Right in the middle of thunderclaps echoing
A lifetime lost to vodka and regrets
And it all comes down like
The midnight wearing away at 12:01
Like the rain I secretly drank and called rum
Like the corpse of her lover the day she became a nun
Like a single memory and a disposed off bandage weighing heavier than a tonne
Like heaps of skin soaked up in bloodshed, wailing for the sun
It all comes down
It all comes down the moment you look at yourself crying in the mirror
There is a weight in unshed tears, my darling
But the moment you peel them away
Is the moment you know it's been there
And that doesn't make you any lighter, does it ?
To think how Atlas would feel if the Earth were to be
Thieved from his shoulders
I have tasted wet arteries in broken writers and in cheap cigarettes
I have fed crows on wet powerlines and worshipped violent ravens
I have taken song-soft girls and sung hymns into their pierced ears
I have shaken my fist at trembling children and asked them to leave
I have felt close to Lucifer the day he became Satan
I have wallowed blankly at the death of a stranger and
Written song lyrics that I sung to no one
I have basked in tantamount disrepair
I have travelled
I have lost my way back to the shore
And if you're reading this, maybe I have returned home too - a vagabond (no more)
This maybe an unpleasant climax,
But, I want to forgive the wild fangs in me
I want to tear my lungs open one last time and take a step away from repentance
And kiss my one-year-ago self's grave
I am done shrinking for reciprocation
I know, mine was the kind of love that steals the glory of religion
I know, I was the kind of escape artist that could have drawn heaven
And God would step down to live in my portrait himself - all drunk and in love
I know, I was the kind of beast that gave off starfire when you kissed me on the forehead
I know, I crumbled
I know, I belittled the poison in your lips and grazed you everyday
But sweetheart, you pressed "self-destruct"
The second you turned away
And if you still don't see,
I'm jumping into
This chlorinated pool of loathe and almost-holy water
And you're coming down with me -
_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_
48w
Read More@writersnetwork - thank you.
*goes in a corner and sings*
TUNE KANDHE PE SAR JHUKAYA JAB
JAISE DARGAH PE BANDHE DHAAGE TAB
BINA MANGE HI MIL GAYA HAI SAB
MEHERBAAN HUA HUA
MAEHERBAAN HUA RAB ����/ Confe-Shun /
Sometimes I just want to see
You weeping for me
Bawling your intestines and every bloody knot
Out the scraped and bruised walls of your throat
I want every dirty ocean, every half-alive lake, every erosive river and every pond by the road
To be summoned into your eye
And have the death notes in you cry
Till every nook in the world is dry
I don't enjoy crucifixion
But I want you to have a storm wreck the insides of you
I want you
To be turned upside down and completely, utterly destroyed
Within
And then lie there with almost suddenly, certainly- nothing
I want you to reach the lip of the tipping point
And drag you back to the abandoned, haunted valley of the (almost) living
And then you must learn to upturn your mouth into a crescent
As the world unclothes you
As your raw, ugly wounds come unstitched
So you're sitting in a pool of old blood - the only supposedly healed part of you
And you're not allowed to scream or shriek
Let pain befriend you, and love the infinite throbbing ache
I want you to feel like a stranger to everyone
To everyone you thought you loved
To everyone you thought loved you
Like you belong nowhere, to no one
You're not a son or daughter
Or a friend
Or somebody's partner
I want you to feel unrelated, detached to every possible entity you lay your eyes on
I want you to look at leather boots
And feel like the snake that was butchered for it
I want you to open your fancy hardback journal
And find me in every page and try to burn it down
And burn your hand in saving it instead
I want you to lock yourself up in the bathroom
And bang your head against the wall - the Greystone, old, bloodthirsty wall
And bruise and break your thought trains
And then pretentiously wet your clothes
And come out and lie about having slipped on the dam(n)p floor
I want you to watch romantic movies and run out the theater halfway
Because you can no longer think of love and smile about it
I want you to see my face in 4d when you go to sleep
The fourth dimension being a failed ceasefire
I want you to dream about us and wake up just when we were about to hold hands
And feel betrayed and try very hard to fall back to sleep
And then learn baby
To stare at the ceiling and pick flaws in its architecture
And then start crying out
Because you're not sure if that was a dream or exactly what happened in reality
I want you to bring a hammerhead and crush your nails
And feel like you deserved it
I want you to look at pretty pictures of me
And think this is what you once had
And then look at the nothingness gaping through your fingers
And think this is what you do - now
I want you to realize that I sculpted a statue of me
From the rock boulder of marble in your heart
And cut it out for you to call your art
And nobody in the world can fill that hollow darling
Nobody can have the same skin and lips
And nose and thighs
And even if they did, where would you find the replacement fingerprints?
I want you to have 9 good days in a row
And feel like you're over me
I want you to get into architecture, and geography and music
And feel like you never needed love
I want you to start taking photographs
Of you
Your collarbone and coffee
I want you to learn to write and avoid getting distracted by me
And then look at the brown earth one day
And think of my eyes
And then my jawline
And then my hips
And realize I wasn't the distraction
Everything else was a distraction from me
Honey, we're back to where we started
You're curled up in a public bathroom
Silencing your crying with toilet paper
Curled up on the very floor
I wrote this poem on
And I'm sorry
I don't want you to go through any of that
I would rather inflict it all upon me
A thousand times over
A thousand times over
But I didn't know of any other way
To tell you
Look what you did to me
Look what you did to me
Greystone architecture || 17.06.2021 -
Look at yourself,
forty kilograms of
flesh and bones.
You are eating
potatoes with guilt,
smiling with
loneliness in your
dreams and typing
errors, all day.
Didn't you decide
to chew rice and curry
for lunch in
a hill station
where nobody
identifies you,
journal your falls
in an orange
notebook and smoke
with strangers
on a lonesome beach?
The keyboard is waiting
and your eye lashes are
drooping!
Write about birds, sky,
pauses and silences or
just sleep.
// another day is passing //
©my_cup_of_poetry -
barasiya__
47w
Read MoreThe little cup of after death.
When I die, do not cry.
The pages I kept,
Unnamed
Will rise from ashes that beholds desires.
When I die,
Will you look at me?
Will you hold my hand
My desires,
That I hid in the untitled journal,
Addressed to you?
The half burnt dreams
Which I laid under the wooden bed
Will you tug that inside the little girl's breast
Who cries in bare eyes at night under the streetlight
Who after extinguishing the fire of her husband's stomach's call
Sleeps in a bed that protests dreams in the loudest language.
The colors I kept
Between Jane Austen's novels in the bookshelf
Scatter them away in the sky
And watch the widow collecting them and draping them around her white skin
Who at dusk, kisses the coffin of her martyr husband.
The bottle of tear
I kept in the closet
Address them to a poet's pen
And watch him whisper a hope note with every drop of tear
Inking in the whitest paper.
The courage
I kept under the Attic
Give them away to the kid
Who drapes his dead mother's blanket at night
While waiting for him father to come back home
With the food
He sold his meat for.
The peace I stored
In that wooden box
Give them away to the old age home
Where the mother cries over the son's return
Who rides in his world of money.
And the remnants of my agony
My pain, my jealousy
And the lies and selfishness
Burn them in the pyre of my death
Let them drape my whole skin in the fire I lit
Burn all the pieces, burn them to ashes
In the fire of my pyre.
~
Barasiya.
Inspired.
@writersnetwork @mirakee #pod
@aastha_bhowmik @starrdust.
