bashful_wordsmith

www.instagram.com/aergloenchantress/

Here I am with my vulnerabilities, my imagination and messed up emotions. | She/her | 20 |

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  • bashful_wordsmith 9w

    I remember dog days and the sweat on my back as the cotton my clothes clung to it. Tell me, how many of these stars are sun? Whether I can burn my midnight with their incandescence?

    I say I remember dog days and the sticky popsicle dribbling down my hand till my fingers turned orange and the ice turned to water and games I played on the ground by the temple continued the next day.

    These days I feel like there is a stone set on my tongue which I can't throw out nor swallow it. It gets caught in my throat and I feel so fragile under its weight. My loneliness feels like a tar wrapping me in its thick embrace. I don't know how to hug back. I have been trying to write about its shape and how it looks and sometimes it gets a page long and other times the blank page looks at me with half-lidded eyes.

    I'm trying to remember people so that I can remember me. The incessant bounce of my leg as I try to focus, drifts me away till I drown everything else but the story of these fictional people who burn bright and bright and bright. And by the time I come back, the screen in my front is utter black. These days I'm afraid of this silence, you see.

    I bite my tongue to choke down the crudeness that I apparently have. I am relieved when the bathroom mirror is fogged. The evening is calmer. Cooler. My skin, dryer.

    Myself, farther.

    I try to feel the heat from that incandescence I said I don't have. I sleep too much. I half-heartedly smile as I see the familiar grey where the orange and blue meet. I see the bugs flying in the distance which I thought have gone way.

    I see the lone star shining. I chuckle and say to myself, “Kar lenge.”

    //sometimes my train of thoughts give me a whiplash too. //

    #thesedamnwintersagain #writersnetwork #writing #writers #writersofmirakee #spilledink #poem #prose #loneliness #writing #poetsofmirakee #writers #writingcommunity #readwriteunite #pod #readwriteunite

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    “I'm trying to remember people so that I can remember me.”



    [Read the entire piece in the caption]


    ©bashful_wordsmith

  • bashful_wordsmith 17w

    Yesterday I saw a crescent moon glowing orange and I wondered how summer nights turn to autumn mornings but the wind still had the heat which makes me smile.

    (I) Some days, I'm a leaf glowing gold in the sun and I fall in love with green. I remember watching a show months ago where a girl smiled warmly and looked at irises, recalling the story of her name. And I wondered then, what a beautiful thing it is to be named after flowers, before I caught myself and laughed stupidly at my irony. You see, this is how we forget about beauty when it is ours.

    (II) Some days, I wonder if there are threads which I could pull to understand the movement of my hand or the way my fingers burn down as my nails pierce into my flesh; if there are some songs which I can scream out loud to understand what horrible sounds my heart wants to make; if I could learn how to swim in my tears which I flood too much on those days; if I could have a faith which will take my loneliness away.

    (III) Some days, I see Jupiter and Saturn grin at me like pearls from a bracelet whose beads I have scattered across the sky. It is said that there are asteroids pulled by the gravity of these planets and that's how we are alive here on Earth.

    And then I wonder about the mortality of us and how we might be the only people capable of loving. How we are the people who have seen and named specks of dust of clouds and gases light years away from us Heart and Soul nebula. How we have divided the sky into these constellations; all these billion little stars who are light years apart come down together by our sheer imagination and spin themselves into these stories and tales which are passed down from generations.

    How we are just tiny specks of dust in this universe who cannot even comprehend the vastness of it. But even so, we have made these skies less lonely. We have left traces of ourselves in this expanse of space.

    How I am alive, and so are others. How many have been and many will be.

    How at the end there are little things that will connect me to you and to everything.

    And on those days I'll remember that I have seen butterflies and dragonflies and the joy it brought me to just see them flying. I will remember laughing. I will remember the flowers and their colours and the oranges we shared on the dining table and how I came to know stories about my grandmother and I'll try to remember the good in us.

    I will remember the world full of this yellow, bright sunlight and the green leaves of the trees swaying in the wind and I will cry when I will see the stars and I will be warm. And I'll try to remember this warmth when winter comes.

    It's easy to love the world on the good days. These days I'll try to love it on the bad ones too.


    ©bashful_wordsmith

  • bashful_wordsmith 19w

    We are both witches on a gravel road under a sunny afternoon. This building murmurs the prayers we sigh with our eyes shut tight in the morning. Our God is different now but there are strings which criss-cross and knot themselves around our fingertips. The leaves under our feet are golden and swirl around the bark of these brown trees, hopping from one bench to another. You whisper a spell and I believe in magic even though I don't know what it is. You are my dusk flowing in autumn winds like the smell of Halloween. These days I wonder how stars would taste like; whether I'll glow if I would swallow one. You worship the moon and so I try to memorise her movements. She knows too much history about you and I get jealous. We are ten again and you tell me a story and I listen. You close your eyes and take me to a place which I'll forget after a decade.

    But the magic you showed me stays.

    ©bashful_wordsmith

    #poetry #poetsofinstagram #writersnetwork #writing #writers #writersofinstagram #spilledink #nostalgia #poem #prose #readwriteunite #mirakee #writerscommunity #pod
    #autumn

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    You whisper a spell and I believe in magic even though I don't know what it is. You are my dusk flowing in autumn winds like the smell of Halloween.

    ©bashful_wordsmith

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  • bashful_wordsmith 20w

    On some days hiding in corners is a hard thing because here's your body expanding and trial rooms are caves which echo my reflection with a physics which I don't know how to not let it pierce my heart.

    My corners unfurl themselves into a wider place and I step out to see that my summer days have shortened into a loop where my mother carries a guilt which I tell her to shrug down while my chest clenches with a pain of carrying a weight which I don't even know is my to carry. But you know, that's what happens when your reality takes away something from you which you don't know how to shape—leaving stains on your fingertips and a smell whose nostalgia will weigh you down on some days.

    Sometimes (read: most) I hide myself in second person and let others carry my story. I drop down the I from I love you or I miss you because the vulnerability leaves me a bit too open than I'm ready to be. Other times I take my comfort character and see the world through his eyes and let him live my memories. Some days I'm a walk on a long road with a laughter and songs and silly dances which I don't remember because hey my heart is cold. So, do tell me what do I do with these frozen moments stitched to my heart?

    There are nights when I look above and realise that once you start familiarising with the map of the sky, it gets hard to ignore the urge to know the cities and continents of it. Some days I laugh at this. Other days I want to forget the constellations and just look at the sky like I am staring at anonymity—just billion little stars and galaxies looking at me back knowing nothing about me.

    #writersnetwork #spilledink #poetsofmirakee #poem #write #pod #writersofmirakee
    #writers #weirddays #writing #poetry

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    There are nights when I look above and realise that once you start familiarising with the map of the sky, it gets hard to ignore the urge to know the cities and continents of it. Some days I laugh at this. Other days I want to forget the constellations and just look at the sky like I am staring at anonymity—just billion little stars and galaxies looking at me back knowing nothing about me


    ©bashful_wordsmith

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  • bashful_wordsmith 23w

    My skin glows red when this itch inside of me crawls all over and if I am saying it poetically, it is just me wondering where my words go when I am not pressing the keys with my fingertips shuddering in the vibration. Otherwise, it's an allergy which I can't place.

    Sometimes I miss the thrill of my incoherent outpour on this glowing screen.

    Tell me where do we go when from the spaces between your bones, you find dreams and fears placed tenderly? Or how in the back of your mind there are echoes of the songs you used to sing.

    These desert skies split apart when the rain stops and sometimes in the dusk it looks like the clouds are on fire while the land is still overcoming from the humid kisses. My heart is still trying to understand the shape of the skyline of my soul because when I look above, I imagine these constellations telling me their stories. The other side knows all too well how these are nothing but gases burning and glowing.

    What I am trying to say is that I too am sometimes split apart like my desert skies. In this heat which I am cradled in, I have learned to bloom and so I laugh when July comes but when August steps her toe in this incoming pool, sending ripples across with her touch, I find my eyes blurry and my lips whispering to her to be kind to me.

    She says she will be if I am too.

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #readwriteunite #pod #writersofmirakee #writerscommunity #poem #poetsofmirakee #poetryisnotdead #writers #august

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    What I am trying to say is that I too am sometimes split apart like my desert skies. In this heat which I am cradled in, I have learned to bloom and so I laugh when July comes but when August steps her toe in this incoming pool, sending ripples across with her touch, I find my eyes blurry and my lips whispering to her to be kind to me.

    She says she will be if I am too.

    [Read the entire piece in the caption]


    ©bashful_wordsmith

  • bashful_wordsmith 28w

    Your own words sometimes eat you up;
    crawling onto your throat from inside,
    Stinging your skin at your fingertips,
    Only to smirk and back down.

    You remember the past month where memories played in frantic rhythm till your own heart betrayed you and then the sky grew pink and then orange and then blue and this devastatingly beautiful hue which made you grow weak just like when you were seven and twelve and now twenty.

    You don't know the art of a lover nor their aching happiness but this sky has always cradled you so you pretend that it's your face which is being held and what escapes from your lips is fuck. All of it is beautiful.

    It always goes in a loop with your sighs competing against the wind and then you wonder whether this air itself is the collective exhale of all the lovers-without-the-art-of-love like you who are seeing the same shy crescent sun.

    And it is in moments like these where you would take the life as it is: The green trees rustling in the wind, the tender plants you just gave water too, the flags on the nearby temples flurrying in the wind, the little girl in her chipped white house giggling. You will only want to exist and think, “I am feeling nothing, but it's okay.”

    And tomorrow—

    Tomorrow you'll take your half-composed poems and chew and swallow them up. Telling your words that you still have time to tell the stories of branches and flowers and letting go and being kind and the secrets of the summers.

    You'll let yourself be what you are and let this vulnerability unfold slowly—one finger at a time— because I know there are songs which had built you up, bone by bone, and you keep them locked inside your ribs. You have this fervent desire to keep them safe and hidden because the rhythm of your heart is made up of their notes and there is this selfish part of you which you want only to yourself.

    Because I too have these verses that make me shudder and hear the shattering of the fragile things in me; there are words of love and healing I have read which are holier than the gods I am sitting in front of, the fragrance of the incense sticks burning the room while these poetries light a wildfire inside my heart.

    We'll flood in pieces; every drop overwhelming.

    We'll say,

    “Come, July.

    I'll eat the world as it is; raw and bare.”

    “Come, July,

    I am becoming.”

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #readwriteunite #pod #writersofmirakee #poem #poetry #poetsofmirakee #optimism #julypoetry

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    Because I too have these verses that make me shudder and hear the shattering of the fragile things in me; there are words of love and healing I have read which are holier than the gods I am sitting in front of, the fragrance of the incense sticks burning the room while these poetries light a wildfire inside my heart.

    We'll flood in pieces; every drop overwhelming.

    We'll say,

    “Come, July.

    I'll eat the world as it is; raw and bare.”

    “Come, July,

    I am becoming.”

    [Read the entire post in the caption]
    ©bashful_wordsmith

  • bashful_wordsmith 30w

    I want to smile fearlessly, you know?

    Like a goddess drawing on her cheek with her fingernail, the power glowing on the trail. I want that glint, you know? The light that can only be golden and bright enough when it's dark. All dark.

    And when I'll smile, I want that sharp glint of the moon as I'll slowly bare my teeth.

    I want to smile fearlessly, you know?

    I want mercy to be drained out till its shards are almost non-existent in my glassy eyes. The crinkle on my skin as I stretch my lips should know that forgiveness shouldn't be given out like charity.

    I want to smile fearlessly, you know?

    Redcrimsonscarlet, I want my lips smeared in a shade that'll resemble blood.

    Because it knows the crooks and trenches of our body— the darkest pits as it flows through the thinnest of veins and capillaries—and still when we bleed, it comes out red.

    I want to smile fearlessly, you know?

    Of course, you know.

    Because you want to too.

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #readwriteunite #pod #writersofmirakee #smile #liberation

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    I want to smile fearlessly, you know?


    [Read the entire piece in the caption]

    ©bashful_wordsmith

  • bashful_wordsmith 30w

    Wrote it around March end.

    I want to be more active here now. As much as I cringe at my earlier writings, I miss the time where I used to write often. I'll try to keep this account more updated.

    Hope you all are staying safe.

    EDIT: I got so fucking scared when I was about to post but the message said that I need to buy premium services??? I thought that I would have to leave Mirakee now...



    #writersnetwork #mirakee #readwriteunite #pod #writersofmirakee #angst

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    (i) A gust of wind thudding the windows till I could hear the raging fall of the leaves outside.
    Inside, I am scrambling for air. Throat clenched and the back arched with memories till I am nothing but guilt slammed in my chest.

    The wind outside is still blowing.

    (ii) There are apologies on the tip of my tongue but inside I am an apology myself and then everything swirls and break down till I don't know how to differentiate the two. I am sorry, I want to say to myself. For wanting to apologise for being myself.

    (iii) On some days I am afraid that my words will leave me. That one day I'll have nothing to spill out—no way to spit out the hurricanes inside my head. That one day I'll be out of magic which I try so hard to believe in.

    I so much want to believe in it.

    ©bashful_wordsmith

  • bashful_wordsmith 43w

    Wrote it around August last year for specific characters. I found it in the notes today and thought that I might as well post it here.

    #lgbtqpoetry
    #writersnetwork #mirakee #readwriteunite #pod #writersofmirakee #love #poetry #thoughts

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    (i) It begins in summer. And what's more a perfect time to love than when the world is young and laughing and the days stretch lazily from dawn to dusks?

    (ii) Let's make prayers out of ourselves, they whisper to each other. Let's make words flow in a rhythm, in a language which only we know; a wish, a desire with which we live. Let's make ourselves those dreams.

    (iii) Iridescent:
    /ˌɪrɪˈdɛs(ə)nt/

    adjective

    /showing luminous colours that seem to change when seen from different angles./

    They are bubbles floating in the space, and gods, when the rays hit them, a blast of colours covers everything. They are there in this collision of colours, a river running wild. And have you ever wondered about it, child? Have you ever wondered what it will be like to swim in colours?

    (iii) What's that? he asks him, pointing to a horn.
    It's the Gabriel's Horn, he replies. It has a finite volume but an infinite surface area.

    His hands are in his hair, trailing down the spine while the other threads his fingers in his locks and pulls him closer. There are smiles on their lips and love in their heart and in that second, they are like that Gabriel's Horn. They are finites covered by infinities, their hands and souls and lips discovering every new thing.

    (iv) There are days when one burns too bright. The world turns into ashes. But they've had created their own faith, baptized in a light they've made—they were never carved and nailed or bounded by holiness. So when the hellfire sings destruction, the blue flames charring the skin of one, the other burns too. Stripped of fear. Devoid of agony.

    Let's meet in the ashes, they say to each other in the burning summer sun.

    ©bashful_wordsmith

  • bashful_wordsmith 44w

    This emptiness makes me think about afternoons because afternoons are made to think. I'm trying to taste the memories of sitting in heat with the low hum of the fan above me. It's supposed to be sweet. I'm trying to remember the time where a phone didn't call this rush of adrenaline. I'm trying to remember this place a lot fuller than it is now— both with people and their anger they held for each other. I'm trying to remember the words I had within me two days ago. I'm failing.

    But I do remember an evening where I thought that sometimes it's almost a race with yourself to reach the memory and tap it open; the winner gets to choose what lies inside. The truth breaks into segments till you can't put it back and make out what the moment was because once the time has passed, all you are left with is an illusion to decipher.

    The memory no longer belongs to you if you lose.

    #writersnetwork #mirakee #readwriteunite #pod #writersofmirakee #nothingbetterthaneveningangst #life #poetry #thoughts

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    ©bashful_wordsmith