Mirakee
It's been so long,
In between that time,
some questions are asked,
And some answers are buried.
But in the end we all wonder
In existence of our lives.
©acrystalgirl
acrystalgirl
this place had been home. (●♡∀♡)
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acrystalgirl
3d
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acrystalgirl
12w
I don't know anymore
why I'm here or
how long I'm gonna be here. -
It hurts
Every breath hurts. -
here we go again with the
fake smile and stories of life. -
Winter is my favourite poetry,
where I inhale your words at 3am.
©acrystalgirl -
what's more sad,
feeling lonely or
realising how lonely your feelings are.
©acrystalgirl -
you're like a sad melody,
stuck in my heart.
©acrystalgirl -
hit me with your words,
I will paint you in my poems.
©acrystalgirl -
acrystalgirl
16w
Read More
Things can get pretty ugly
when you're in love with
the idea of being in love.
Let me tell you the
truth about the truth,
it's the most alive lie, which
can hurt you so deeply.
I don't understand this,
the way I'm letting my
own feelings hurting me for
the person who has gone
from the story of an incomplete ending.
Most of the days, I will wait
for things to go wrong
and hurt myself to wake me up
from the delusion of
living myself the way I want.
I learned people never
changed it's our experience
which make our thoughts evolve,
a person always stays the same.
The person can be dead but
the emotions of deep sadness
leaves behind in the heart
of others can't go.
I am feeling lost,
lost in this big world of isolation,
and I don't know how to live there anymore.
Loneliness can be dangerous,
once you embrace that world
you won't care to let anyone in.
Our shallowness is covered,
with a very thick layer of happy smile.
I have this feeling,
I don't know how to explain it,
it's like a melody
of a song which makes you feel good
and scared at the same time.
©acrystalgirlThe dying part is easy, what's hard,
knowing the feeling of wanted
to be dead and living with it.
©acrystalgirl -
acrystalgirl
17w
love can be hard,
it can give you pain,
it can betray you,
it can make you mess
but will never leave your side.
©acrystalgirl
-
ग़मों का मुसलसल कारवाँ है क़रीब मेरे
मुझको तन्हा मत समझ ऐ हबीब मेरे
©neha_sultanpuri -
jeelpatel
3w
Read More#homosapiens_j
#humans
It's long. Thank you for your kind read.
THIS TIME I AIN'T SURE. May be it doesn't make so much sense.
THANK YOU �� @writersnetworkHomo Sapiens - 17.0
(Existentialism)
Homo Sapiens have gotten kind of life which is having fundamentals of laissez-faire. Harder you try to control the trajectory of circumstances or patterns of different ideologies according to your flexibility of moving through it successfully, greater the intensity of bereavement occurs. No matter bereavement of self improvement, of love for this life, of optimistic look towards predicaments, of generosity towards ever increasing human population. Humans and their perceptions to nullify or give friction to their peer pressure; concepts for orthodox or modern rituals, events, occasions; proclamations about their ongoing construction or bulldozing in this lifetime is different according to their individualism. It's like unseen, unheard permutations inside the wiring of their brains, strategized by their neurones intertwined with respective experiences for the ultimate goal to live this life through healthy struggle. Only at the time of execution curtains will be removed and light will be thrown onto the microscopic glass to observe what kind of pattern they have created out of whatever life has given to them. Transmission of diversity is worldwide, throughout life all you learn is how to understand the meaning of acceptance for these different views in the form of criticisms or compliments or positive feedbacks or setbacks. Knowing different trends and people's views isn't enough to survive as a social animal for domestic life, but understanding them, working on their views, mixing own and others' passions, matters more than just knowing. In any aspect whether in relationships, economically, ethically, industrial way adjustment with different mindsets is needed to make things work out in a best way, don't compromise with your own tactics or axioms for particular task but never stick with self righteous when it comes to learn, working together as a social crew. It's an art to grow together in a beautiful way by challenging your propensity and your self soaked senses.
Life isn't about sophomore album which can be recorded again with vintage theme, in your favourite part of classical hometown where still mulberry silk like long hair threads wait for their platoons in combat boots to get roses tucked above their ear lines, so fragrance of love stay within them when platoons leave 'em. Life is all about that healthy yearning which makes your heart go bananas, about those failures which lead to almost but not complete success; which exasperatedly pours gasoline for your small ignition of insomnia, about stubbornness to bear thousands unafraid suicides over single survival, about little things for which you can get ready to break yourself beautifully, about laughs and cries which label the Polaroids of persistence. Homo Sapiens ain't inborn Saint or murderer. They ain't inborn like the way they are now, eventually many external factors contribute to mold them that way. Biological factors and genetics always there to play their roles in both somatic or psychic way. But it ain't necessary that if you are born by criminal paternity with caramel coloured caffeine in their hands, abusive words on handicapped tongues then you would have just bombings and indifference for every house you would come across. Every day, from your first step out of your door till your last step at your doorstep you are inputting new things inside your brain, heart, body if you be mindful nigh to your surroundings, people and observe it; just like that you're outputting according to how all of these work and bring changes inside the rhythm of your life by leading it's note high into graph or just towards the downfall in its self expansion. It's about with how much intensity your doggedness you put after suffering and survival of homo sapiens' life by being grateful to have every bit of it. Every day of it.
Homo Sapiens lives ain't limited to just this materialistic world or to saying of any clairvoyant. Nor pier-end palmists can write exact verses of their future - poetry. Millennial cycles of their lives have been there, innovating and establishing the unknown from their own lives, and that's how unknown of past centuries are being known to this century. There is no confines to their ability. But since past few years, worldwide we have been watching toxicity is consuming external environment and humans' inner environment too, it's not like every forest is now being desert and every human is being corrupt, losing morals. May be, magnets inside us getting attracted to pole which will make us feel stuck, anxious, inept, robbed by rampage, even though there are lot of ways to stay healthy, detoxed mentally and physically too. Time comes and that apathetic behaviour lingers, you cut social contacts off, rumination of fears and worries happens, pessimistic side rises above horizon, feeling to be on the end of time or soaked in overwhelmed days, all of these seem like one part of your homo sapiens life. Lately, every other person is suffering from these kind of phases in their lives. You can't escape from it like bobcat through dense trees. But you can go through it, you can find the keys which can help you to deal with that kind of phases on temporary bases rather just dwelling with melancholy and reading bold line of catastrophes. Every homo Sapiens ,searching for sophrosyne - healthy state of mind, state of true happiness, fully awareness inside other person, or by having desire to have something which they haven't got till now. We, overlook the things (not talking about good or bad just moments, or things) we have, we have to make something out of them to add one more experience into life's journal; rather we waste time, peace of mind, our energy in things we don't have. That's how you start to take bad sides of everything, cease to learn, show your back to battles, compromise your dreams, and don't cultivate your potential to go through life.
Take a look, see how much fortunate you are by having this will inside your body, by getting one more day to live and one more breath to breathe, suffering don't go in vain if there is satisfaction to endure it. Be grateful to have this lifetime on this orange shaped planet Earth as a homo sapiens. For, it's mystery as it's solution. Open the doors, hummingbirds writing happiness, clocks on high towers singing to "trust on ticking trigger", and homo sapiens are living in confusion, in cosmic hopes, one more day, dusk till dawn.
©jeelpatel -
mirror
4w
Read More//hasrat
(desire)
on most days
i don't write
but every time i do,
i kill something inside.
i fear my words
so i avoid facing them on paper
and choose to cry them out
as i feel them trickle down
wondering if muffled sobs
are as satisfying as screams
typed in capitals, out of words
that don't add up but echo of my disparity.
i talk but i don't say things
assuming that the world
doesn't contain the heart
to listen to the feelings
that i don't have the voice for
lowkey hoping for one heart
to hear me out.
so i let my art run astray
waiting for it to bring back words
as souvenirs
from places that reek of estrangement
and don't make me feel as less of a human
but whenever these words add up
a fear comes to life
sentences start making sense
and i let out a sigh and cry
holding the nib against my neck
mourning every reason as to why
i dont write
because every time i do
i kill my voice inside
wishing if it could have just talked me through
and made things right
©mirrorhasrat
©mirror
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branthan
4w
Read MoreHow do you tell someone that you want to die? Would you write few lines on a white sheet, ink stained against your skin or would you leave without a word?
On a cold December night when no one is talking, when the world is silent that you can hear yourself clearly for the first time in a while. Or maybe on an autumn eve when the sky bleeds away into the ocean for the last time. A tranquil kind of solitude.
It isn't sad, death is death, an end is an end. Nothing more nothing less. Yet, we carry certain things that don't belong to us a little longer than we are supposed to. Like, stories of someone that made you smile for no reason on a night like this.
Do you think about death too? I wonder.
I have learned that we have to make peace with the mortality, the fragility of existing. One day you're here and then you're not. But, there is happiness, around the edges of your favorite book that you keep coming back to, warmth around the curves of someone that made you feel like something more than this, this mere existence where you struggle to wake up.
I think what makes life worth living is death, the unpredictability of existence. You don't know when the story ends, you don't know the destination but you walk through days with a hope that there is a tomorrow to wake up to. It could be your brain playing tricks on you yet it feels so real, feels so personal.
I think when we comprehend this unpredictability, we will realize how important every moment makes you feel because maybe this moment is all there is. You don't know if this moment is your last, the last kiss, a hug, the last poem that you're ever going to write, last meal, last conversation, the last smile, the last moment where you could feel the life. A few moments on this tiny planet, alone but never lonely.
I know people but I don't. It's a contradiction. Maybe the right thing to say is, I know part of them, some pieces from broken conversations that I can barely remember. I wonder they know about me too.
@mirakee @writersnetwork.
-
_scas_
5w
Read Morewhen i was in my early teens
i came across this feeling called love.
a feeling that can make or break a person
because nobody told me it could be rough.
-
i would imagine the future in which i was in love
a future in which i was truly glad.
a future in which someone's happiness would be me
and with my jokes i would never let her be sad.
-
i would imagine waking up next to her
just to feel an angel love me for i was.
someone who would listen to me and love me
without any ulterior reason, without any ulterior cause.
-
i would imagine cooking dinner with her
and laughing at some silly inside joke.
someone who would stick by me no matter what
rich, hungry or broke.
-
i would imagine holding her hands every time we went out
just to show everyone that i was the luckiest man in the world.
and the woman next to me was no ordinary
but someone who had absolutely made my world twirl.
-
i would imagine loving her to bits
giving her all the love in my coffers.
and not even thinking about anything else
but to put out everything i could offer.
-
but i do not know where it all went away
when did i completely forget how to love?
when did this void in my heart became so big
that all my affection I had it shoved.
-
i question myself everyday if i will ever find someone
to love me, to listen to me, to hold me through thick and thin.
or if settling is the only option for everyone and love
love is just a deception from some writer's bin.
-
it's said we come alone, we go alone
so is love a complete myth?
or do connections mean anything at all
and we only love when we see fit?
-
maybe this is what growing up is all about
being alone and having only pillows to cry.
and so i sit here asking myself the question
when did the hopeless romantic in me die?
-SCAS.©_scas_
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sereiin
6w
Read MoreI am broken dream of a mother in her late 50's who sings herself to sleep every night.
She sings lullabies of girls who lived brave shaming the patriarchy of her beloved.
And yet unknown of how I sit cowardly with scars on hands and broken tongue unable to speak anything but dumb love.
I drape 30 yards of what they call sacred which was only meant to be abuse.
I am pale flesh of her blood and genes that flow within, that screams every night of nothing but failure.
I store hopes and smiles from the strangers outside and place them down my spine wishing they'd grow back the wings he cut off.
I am child screeching at the windowpane every night dreaming how peaceful it would be to wake up dead draped around those same sheets he made love to me last night. I have lived and relived death between his blood and my screams a thousand times more than you'd imagine.
I am sorry Ma, I am not the same daughter you raised. Who outspoke her dad and sneaked out late every night. Who dreamed not to conquer the whole world but live with hopes she'd one day.
I am nothing but the flesh of blood and pain with a broken heart and soul which hides behind those smiles.
- Radhika ��
IB by @poeticgirl ��.
-
Depression: 2.9
My body is awake with my mind.
I fart a lot on a daily basis & people
Are telling me it's a gastric ulcer or
Something serious. But.... But... Hey
My plants don't have ulcer or something
Do they? They aren't feeling malise like me?
Cause they are dying slowly.....
I wake up every morning, I water
Them and I go back to sleep thinking
One fine day I would not be here to
Water them anymore. May be, then they
Would stop being morbid. A new hand & new
Warmth would be available. Life would
Alter another life & I will be gone for better.
Or may be, I sleep a lot because I don't
Like my eyes to see what I see. My body
Bore decades of suppression. My mind
Has observed minute details in everything.
Yet, I am unable to get up and brush because
I am feeling something. I am feeling that I'm
Drowning in my own bed. I can't understand
Why is it so hard for me to get up. But I keep
Farting, complaining, groaning, moaning,
Crying, sleeping so smoothly. Yet, I can't
Get up & drink or eat. The ulcer
People are complaining; it's my mind.
Damn, I can feel the formation of a vile gas
In my mind. It's clouding my reality.
I do talk. I do! But I can't speak. I feel shy.
So I keep lying down in an empty sea of
Rotten emotions. This bed makes me feel
That I am gone long time ago. But the weather
Outside makes me believe I am breathing,
Wasting oxygen. As a human of flesh & blood
I should always feel morose. That's what we
Are; disgrace! But do you feel it too?
Or the ulcer that is in my mind & stomach
Is eating the subconsciousness? It's foggy;
My vision. I burped & laughed with my
Sister. She said I am funny. Am I?
I keep wondering what if I do not laugh
Anymore & still people feel I am funny..
Would they understand how much life has
Eaten me up & left me to survive on my own?
Or perhaps, I should get my ulcer treated.
©grotesque -
Do You Know Him?
Tell me, have you ever felt it-- that scary moment when the lightbulb on the ceiling above flickered and you knew that it would be out soon, leaving you in the dark, and yet you couldn't help it?
Tell me of the time when you were calling out for help, or trying, as your voice filled the void with desperation, in an attempt to be heard, but overcome by the gusts of wind, as the avalanche mercilessly swallowed you whole.
Tell me of the day when you were alone in that new city with absolutely no idea which road was going to lead you home.
Or perhaps you could recall one of those moments when you looked at her, and saw her smile, and it struck hard that you weren't even close to the reason of her happiness and that she was never going to be yours. Hm?
Your vulnerability is, oddly enough, an open book. So, hearty welcome to The Complete Idiot's Guide To Indefinite Helplessness, my friend.
You see, there are barely a few factors that constitute a person's unique identity--the one by which we know them. But, uh, they are enough. And these 'real' identification marks are what makes them truly vulnerable.
Do you think you know your roommate just by his taste in women? Or by his city of birth? Huh?
Have you ever tried getting into his skin? Do you know which song he hums when he thinks no one is around? Do you know what he thinks just before he forces himself to sleep every night? Or about that itchy memory that still makes him form a lump in his throat?
Have you wondered why that girl on the table across always puts a little extra chilly on her oh-already-so-damn-perfect pizza? Or why your well-to-do professor wears those same torn pair of shoes every day?
Do you know why your father hates Crime Patrol that much? Or what your mother is most passionate about? Do you know of your best friend's needs?
Fuck.
Tell me about you.
Imagine you are on your deathbed and your whole life is flashing in front of you.
Do you see those teeny-tiny moments that blink repeatedly? Why are they blinking? Are they moments of some significance? Yes?
But you regret not having acted when there was still time? Or perhaps you acted and you wish you hadn't?
Tell me, do you regret being more than enough hard on yourself sometimes? Or too slack? Do you regret not having been able to achieve anything valuable enough, make your country proud enough? Or even your parents?
Tell me, do you regret not having read enough, or traveled enough, or seen enough? Oh, tell me my friend, do you regret not having LIVED enough while you were still breathing? (Hey, you're still on your deathbed)
For let me know what's enough for you, anyway.
Hell, do you even know what you fucking crave for, really? Could you even make a guess?
©godofsmallmusings -
Things that resemble petrichor “
Thick burned skin under chiffon cover, uncovering phases, pages by pages. Paragraphs of painkillers to keep flow of ink, indulging each drop, fell after numerous sniffles. Under the grave of moonlight, there lives a sky, who sing petrichor like a lullaby.
Ladder to reach the cloud, holding a hammer to break it down. Dipping myself into myth of soil. I was muddy but dried with sin. One time for the soul and two times for the soil of my skin, my hands started to break blue beneath the hills. It rained and fragrance of melting away glow up my chin. I became petrichor or I was one, from the very beginning?!
Cracks of wall started to talk about my rhymes. On the rhythm of cracked up heart my pen took thousand classes of sewing. Threads were filled with black veins but stitches were holding crimson patch. Colourblind pebble drew grey rainbow, I was turning into tears of droplet falling from semicolons. My earth stopped rotating to stable ocean which was overflowing. Those cracks were now merged, clouds and ocean became one. I were that fragrance all along, soil of myth bloom for life. Those chiffon covers worn petrichor from core”
© thenicestbitch -
laus_deo
9w
Read MoreLight leaks from the leaves of the
sugar apple trees after feasting on
fresh fruits and touches the morning
petrichor sungazing on the ground.
The holiday lights snore unapologetically
as the hustle and bustle of the busy
city is added as a preservative in the
jar of January juice being served on
the first Sunday of the calendar year.
Twenty minutes have already passed
in the hunting of the novel I left unread
on Pg 243 last night. I am wandering
helplessly in the woodland of my house
with arrows shooting from my eyes,
hitting on the kladeoscopic titles
resting on the bookshelf and weapons
oozing out of my hands, digging the
scattered clothes and littered table.
Giggles slice the silence in the air
and crash on my ears. I peep out of
the window in the garden to trace
the source of its origin.
Winter wearing blue sunglasses is
sunbathing while resting comfortably
on the chaise longue. Laughing hysterically
with joy, holding a hot mug of coffee
in one hand while other clutched on
the novel which was the treasure of
my hunt. I cannot calm the fury
down while screaming it's name.
©laus_deoWINTER'S LEISURE
©laus_deo
