Reiterated celebration of art through expressions...

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  • eirene 4w

    Self acceptance is the key to every fear that stands inside. Once you understand what it is and try to process how to combat your fear against it, it becomes powerless before you.
    Loss is my fear, but I accept it as a frequent visitor that comes and goes and accordingly I have grown out of it, making myself better everyday to deal with it, with life. So battle with the demons inside you, your insecurities are your demons that never let you bloom fully. Accept everything the way it is so it will be better for you to deal with the external cataclysms that won't deprave you internally. Make your fear smaller by growing with full knowledge and understanding of your own self and the world around you.

    @phoenix_in_ashes @hafeezhmha @phoenix_luna @the_speccy_outsider @suranjana__ I missed you my fellow writers! Glad to be back. Just excuse my creative slump but hopefully you will like this.

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    The Visitor

    The quotidian sunset was not always comfortable;
    I have an occasional visitant by the twilight,
    Whom I have befriended for over few years now.
    When he comes, he brings his wife named Gloom;
    He greets to take away one of my dearests from me,
    My dearest accompanies him.
    He is Loss.
    Loss doesn't smile, has a crooked face and a lopsided body.
    He is shabby and is stooping with a haggard soma,
    And comes here to pluck the water lilies that I nurture with tenderness.
    Loss served his purpose on many occasions;
    Made me feel like a stooge and I took shelter in a pothole;
    I felt like a lost little child accompanied by Gloom,
    She sat and looked at me with pitiful eyes.
    Lying fetal I was spooned by memories of my dearest,
    Whom Loss took away and left behind his wife till the next sunrise.
    He took me through the abandoned vandalised streets,
    I felt depleted of souls whom I wanted to hold for some more,
    The night throughout I sang elegy of the times spent with the lost soul
    That departed through the door with the habitué.
    The next daybreak still had the morning-after
    Of a heavy heart, swollen eyes and a body beaten with soreness.
    What is it? A pastime that Loss recreates him with?
    Does he love to play this with me?
    — the reiterated questions that crowned no answer.
    So now I plant asters in my garden,
    For I saw him again, walking with his wife, crossing my abode,
    But this time he was chaperoned by a stranger,
    Not from my lilies but plucked from another's.
    I saw him knocking at other door—
    Came outside a young man whose mother stood crying at the door,
    Gloom went inside and embraced the bereaving woman,
    While Loss left with the lily of that bereft mother.
    I know now Loss isn't my visitor alone,
    But a passer-by for all folks,
    To greet Loss is fated;
    The cycle of life goes by—
    Lilies that you nurture will wither with time
    Or on purpose,
    What matters is the souvenir seated of a person in you,
    And how the walks have you taken with the one.

  • eirene 14w

    Finally found you:

    Unlit demesne with abstruse surroundings,
    I feel like I’m eternally lost here.
    Walking with droopy shoulders and a long tiring mass of flesh
    My debilitated eyes fall upon you.
    You are sitting with your back resting on the scabrous trunk,
    “ah it sure is hurting your back,” that’s what I first mused looking at your morbose body.
    You seem to have reconciled with the pain to be your home.
    Acceptance, that what seems to you as welcoming as the last kindled hope of survival.
    I drew myself near to you to have a glance of this castaway face;
    The moment I glanced at you, my heart oozed a stream of intent-
    Vehement in fervour of desiring you.
    In those chapped lips and flaked skin,
    The dolesome eyes invited a sense of belongingness.
    I leaned forward to run my fingers across your athirst hair,
    And looked into those distraught eyes,
    Kissed gently on your parched brow.
    Inquisitive to know what leads you to here,
    I asked, “Have you lost your way? And why do I see you here?”
    You replied, ”the dawn has not yet cracked to welcome the new world of hope.”
    “Your thread is lost, but I have a spun”–
    It escaped my lips like the caged dove that was
    Imprisoned for ages and wanted to make home the castle of air.
    You looked up at my quiescent eyes with a tacit pain that is
    Shrouded over the catastrophe which dismayed you for years,
    Castrated you of the thought of being welcomed and nurtured by any benevolent soul,
    Made you impotent of your own understanding of self,
    Amputated the faith that love can bring back what all you need
    To germinate into the wholesomeness of life.

    My plumes have been plucked
    With easy cruelty that costs cheaper than the weighing sober human feelings
    That one finds hard to brew in a heart for long;
    The mind gets distracted by the ravenous temptations
    And it seeks to murder the innocence for the experience,
    That is how souls like us are frauded by another and
    Loiter in the void reigned by numbness and tormenting silence.
    In a whole where remnants of my corpses of different episodes
    I see are feeding the mites of Time,
    And reeking of musty meekness ravished by deception and guilt,
    Could nowhere lead me except to a cavity where I want no human
    And a world devoid of love.

    But why then I see the old buried love has won the heart of Osiris
    And arrayed your spirit to make my soul its home again?

    Does it want to return?

    Will I be able to give refuge to this stooge and not send it back to the Golgotha again?

    I really had no answer.

    Laying my arms forward, I palmed your face and stooped to land a kiss on your forehead,
    Made you stand on your feeble limbs and ran my hand to alleviate the soreness of your back
    That laid rested on that rugged trunk for God knows how long.
    The tinge of smile peeking at the corner of your lips with an abundance of silence in your fearful eyes
    Said it all.
    I gasped under my breath,
    “Finally I found you, the reflection of my self after years of distress,
    I think you are my endgame.
    So here I stop and here I resurge to mend us together,
    I will consecrate love as it was never before this beautiful and candor,
    And speak of You and I henceforth.”
    Your sapless voice fertiled with hope, shook,
    And your eyes sparkled as you cleared your throat with a gust to say,
    “Dawn has cracked,
    Phoebus stand here before me to uplift this heart of palsy,
    All my days will hereafter be a resplendant glory,
    So I promise you, and you to me that
    We will walk into the palling night together and
    Make not Time the decayer, but make it trill our saga for eternity to come."

    #pod #positivity #life #happiness

    P.S.- it's a metaphorical rendition of my first rendezvous with my beloved. The day was 13/01/2019 and since then there has been no looking back. Thank you @ari7ra for everything that help made me who I am today. I love you to infinity and beyond.

    @writersnetwork @writersbay @mirakee @mirakee_ki_daadima

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    Finally found you

    Just like this speck of light you entered into my dark and niched out my way to this world again... The woman you built for yourself is a real chimera —some parts from the past, and majorly composed by you.

  • eirene 17w

    Hola Mirakeeans!
    I hope you all are safe and fine.
    I apologize for my late post.

    This composition is basically a reverie, and as y'all know, a dream doesn't have any definite directions. You may also visualize the oddest combinations in your dreams. From a long time I was proposing to write something on my grandfather, for whom words won't suffice to express how I feel for him. Few days back was his death anniversary when I actually quilled this poem, but failed to post it. He was the only one among the world full of people who agnized the writer in me when I was only three or four.

    Therefore, this is an ode to my grandfather in the best way that could be possible where I kept my two best writers in one frame- William Wordsworth and my grandfather.
    I wish to have this kind of dream everyday though ��

    *'Lyrical Ballads' is the collection of poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth, and has been the landmark anthology till this day and it marked the beginning of English Romantic Movement in literarure.*

    Also, it's Coleridge's 'Kubla Khan' that inspires this particular rendition.

    P.S.: My favourite writers, I wanted to make the comeback with my post, and now I will one by one go through your posts to delight my senses.

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    Ode to my grandfather

    Hear the melody,
    Luna whispers to the Sylphs
    To sing the swan song for the day,
    And strinkle triazolam to valedict the nychthemeron,
    Thusly the humankind drugged to sleep.
    The chimes start dancing to the zephyrs
    As the casement greets the mistral gale,
    That placate the senses;
    Demulcent timbre of the tinkling tintinnabulum
    Activates the vision of my subliminal eye.

    Hear the melody,
    Primrose, the face of spring,
    Is calling me;
    I rise from bed and stream through the nosegay trail
    To look out of the window.
    The darling buds of March sway with simpers
    Dancing gaily with their freshly sun-bathed bods.

    Hear the melody,
    The primrose garden overlooks the dale of pansies,
    The gay morning light shine on the Master,
    Ay, Wordsworth has Lyrical Ballads on his hand
    Reposing under the Oak tree, he kept reading his own verses.
    I scamper to catch his presence,
    For I drink romanticism from the Viceroy;
    He starts reading a verse to me—
    Arcane to others,
    But familial to me.

    Hear the melody,
    The verse smells of candor
    Naught from the Lyrical Ballads
    Yet transpires through them;
    My grandfather is the lyre of this song,
    It perforates every stream of my senses
    And I am laundered in his memory.

    The foresayer, who kissed the heavens when I was six,
    Could sail across the sea that stretched to infinity.
    When I made dolls my folks and scrawled on the walls,
    He could voyage through my sea of fate and foretell
    That I bear a bard's mind—
    That seeks to escape to the fancy
    And rests under the canopy of the mind's eye.
    He saw the romanticism spirit
    In the maiden who now leaps over oceans of musings
    And escapes to the other world with her wild stallion.

    Hear the melody,
    The grandfather—
    Who sought the vale of pansies as a getaway
    When clamped within the concrete enclosures,
    Breathed through his verses;
    The precursor of my acoustic fancy,
    Descried beyond the three dimensional world,
    Liberated himself from the rapacious manacles,
    And warbled dulcet symphonies seated in emotions.

    Hear the melody,
    Wordsworth finishes the verse,
    And bids me adieu with the prezzie—
    The verve of my grandfather
    Implanted in this self.

    The effect of triazolam fades,
    I wake up,
    Cynthia is skimming in the dory sky
    Welcoming the Sol to be her counter monarch,
    I approach my quill and indite
    The blitheful colours I imbibed through the revery,
    And bring forth what You and I call
    A grandfather's memory.

  • eirene 20w

    Do I stand grey at twenty five?
    Who am I?
    An entangled soul imbued with simplicity.
    I touched the brink with an eye,
    Devoured loss,
    Throttled by dejection,
    Gagged by fear,
    Serviled to guilt,
    Misery quelled me to befriend loneliness.

    Albeit unlit caverns made my life their mistress,
    Oracular forces kept me upstanding in the abode of distress.
    Now worn-out that I am,
    To school myself with hope and sweet dreams;

    I say perspective is nature's whore,
    The bride of transience that crowns itself in each mind,
    Can make all-embracing acerbity kiss with gentleness one's sentience.
    The Good Samaritan lit no candle,
    Instead I was hammered into the pitiless walls with a crandall.

    Low ebb questioned me —
    "Why open-minded perspectives,
    And deferential to human sentiments?
    Why value a mortal's worth?"
    "Wisdom is perilous", quoted I;
    What if I put the world at no mercy
    From my cunning juxtaposition of self-pity and collective hatred for all?

    The raging fire topsy-turvies the world in my doleful eyes,
    Succeeded by rain benevolent to my screeching cries.
    I gradually succumb to enervate, my vision fades,
    And I renounce the masticated self
    To repose on Nature's lap,
    Beseech the Mother to sing me a mellifluous lullaby
    And I flake out with her gentle strokes on my shriveled hair.

    Then come these morns,
    When I wake up to find
    Raindrop impressions of a Vulture on ashes.
    I look up at the azure heavens
    That clad me with invincibility,
    And I become sure-footed to pace the path,
    Prepared to face the world again.

    @writersbay @readwriteunite @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    Life's Veneer:

    Vulture thou shalt be,
    The cleansing of soul and restoring harmony in life, is what thou shalt seek.
    It's time to right all wrongs and break free from the shackles of thy hubris,
    Because there lies a world beyond to apprehend and to be apprehended.

  • eirene 21w


    I see myself surrounded by tall pine trees,
    Moonbeams peering through them,
    I regaled my vision as I turned my head in an arc;
    I spotted a hoary arctic reindeer standing on my left,
    His pacific eyes summoned my hapless self.
    I went close and touched the cherubic gem;
    Ah, I mellowed out.
    With the onset of his saunter, I tailed him.
    Reaching the edge of the pine forest
    My eyes stumbled upon the Mediterranean blue lake
    Upon whose heart the cascade oozed itself into the oblivion,
    Moistened honeyed scent pervaded in the mist—
    Hyacinth on the edge of the lake copulated with the silver waters;
    Oh a beatific reverie it was from the outlandish Happy Valley!

  • eirene 22w


    Waking up to a masquerade ball
    I found gleaming masked visages frolic and jangle,
    Sombre masks cast dismal countenance with temple bowed low;
    I turned my head around feasting my senses,
    Overjoyed with the different fashions and fancies of expressive masks,
    Umpteen in numbers I muddled to choose the right one for me
    'Cause masks would mean to suit your temper or colour of the core.
    I heard a muffled voice suppressed low coming from behind
    Turned back to see a stooping effigy trying to kill another.
    The fizzog sent chills down my spine that hailed the homicider,
    "Ah, that's a happy mask", exclaimed the terrified me!
    Pestilence driven, is he?
    I looked around to find that pestilence stricken the ball is;
    I scavenged for the happy masks, or what if the pure souls?
    The search took a score and a five
    And here I stand with a handful of masks only to condole.
    The masquerade derides the sanctity of hearts, the temper reigning minds,
    With imposters and beguiled dupes,
    The masquerade coverts the naked souls;
    The lesson I learnt is to smirk upon the whole
    So with masks till my death knell
    I became one from the folk;
    For it doesn't matter of what colour the mask is
    As it celebrates the heart's baroque
    And becomes its cloak.

    #pod @mirakee @writersbay

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    The illusion you carry
    because you
    want to
    believe the
    face as
    the voice
    of the heart,
    but it's
    always not
    the case.

  • eirene 23w

    She has hues on her,
    Her painting on me,
    I am a canvas;
    The scintillated eyes dim the effulgence of diamonds,
    The eyebrows are like the arc streamed bushes,
    The nose stands with grandeur, sharp but dainty,
    The two petals of rose coaxed to pose her cupid lips;
    The rubicund cheeks invite a lover's kiss,
    Her portrait captures the rainbow through her coyish smile.
    This bewitching mistress has the place of Aphrodite
    In the heart of the portrayer
    Whose sulking love found no sceptre and a crown,
    The one-sided leman to whom his fate frowned.
    The lovelorn child of mercy has me in his room
    To behold the poise of eternal youth his darling reflects,
    For perpetuity is where I belong
    While she to Mortality will genuflect.
    I have her summer's grace to celebrate in eternity,
    While her bleak winter will invite
    Time's will never yielding to continuity.

    @writersbay @writersnetwork @mirakee @mirakeeworld

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    Sempiternity is art's another


  • eirene 23w

    On my days of both rise and fall, I invoke my father’s effigy in my head. He brings with himself my cognition to establish him as an influencer who feeds my maturation as a human being in the true sense of the term.

    Often the coral sky invites me and I like to sit down by the window, look outside with an intent to behold the sapient star for filling my bosom with its affection and when its gilded rays kiss my face with warm exuberant orange light, my senses are drawn towards remembering my father. This association of my father with this unruffled sheen picture of the setting Sun calls for because he is the one who made me realize so early the beauty and mystery of life in itself.

    Whenever I reminisce the early summers of life, the memories that bloom are warm and rosy because in the cosiness and tenderness of love, amidst those encircling waves of care, protection and the responsibility undertaken for the best nurturing of my soul and wellness, I grew up.
    I remember how I was being taught the nuances to breathe life and take it in as one’s own, so much so that it is impossible to run from it amidst the most suffocating hours and instead, embrace it with that calm sigh.

    Often said that childhood is labelled as days of innocence, therefore, lamb as I remained, those times never made me hear the still sad song of humanity.

    The clock ticked and the seasons passed by with a cascading effect only to make me realize some day that I am an adult now, contending battles that life has to offer. With his wisdom as the halo and lessons trapped in his wings, my father unravelled to me the enigma of life. I came to personify Life as a conjurer who has tricks to perform every day, with a sheer zeal of sagacity. My godfather under whose canopy I breathed life for so many years imparted the potent to me to take up maneuvers when life grins a cruel sneer.

    My father has inbred to envision life, he has been a soul of strength for me and has been the seed of making me a bundle of something. He has weaved this beautiful tapestry that depicts each scene of my life, with or without him, but always carrying his feel in my being wherever I have showered my presence. When people say that I follow his footsteps, it makes me worship him with more ardent consecration.

    It beckons a platitude for upholding my father as the best Dad in this harmonious whole, but it won’t have the same undertone when I say for such a life that has been bestowed on me, my fate and the colour of person that I am, nobody else would have been more proper than my father to hold my hand and take a walk alongside me to show the journey of life that awaits.

    The widowed line can, therefore, be the summation of his glorification as the most invincible valiant hero of my life who taught me that men are also the beautiful creations of God, the one who taught me that folly doesn’t lie in genders but in minds.

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    To my soul bearer, Dad!

    To my left, to my right,
    There's an aura of you that lingers;
    You have helped to create my something called Identity...

  • eirene 23w

    The stringent soul often loosen itself in emptiness...

  • eirene 24w

    Once left stranded on the shore,
    I was looking at how the crashing waves mocked mercy upon the sullen shore.
    When suddenly I heard someone calling out to me,
    It was a new voice;
    I looked up at the sapient star with apprehension in my eyes,
    He was beaming and nodding with an approval—
    My eyes sparkled.
    I then noticed that the waves were caressing each grain of sand to embrace them as their own.
    I turned back,
    And there you were!
    My new Home...