15 posts
  • _nida_ 12w

    Shattered in pieces,pieces that I heal in poetries;poetries broken enough to lie under miscellaneous commands that turns the rage of blood flow ,pursuing the loneliness in bunch of cozy metaphors to HEARTH that burns and ashes sings glory of darkness held in Epithelial note in red
    ,confined love in thousand million words wasn't your name enough.
    //And those screams aren't melody that costs million,you say"A master Piece" but held them all together to you feel to fall for words which merely speaks numb, after all it's a shattered pieces of a broken heart//

    Look at the calendar,it's month you betrayed ,and a breath that asks ,if it wasn't a month among those twelves of a year,you loved my smile,you took it away,away where I want to be now from your remains ,in those hollow sedent memories that I dip in wine,to ink where it smells like smokes,into lighters over those midnight and you took all of those toxic air in lungs,and live like it doesn't Kills
    //And it's breaking to choke you in metaphors,when I breathe poetries,//

    Over the terms of hatred you were again a demon that pays angels to care, about the life I lived to your life where I was pushed, and between I swayed by the path back and forth which never took me to myself again,and those journey is all yours footprints crushed over canvas i print those lines of fate with my pen to lend you a sin, in proses I see a hymn
    //Let me be the darkest secret, that you don't run away but stay to hide them in your viens//

    Dew drops on greens turned into lithophytes
    And those yellow autumn brezze dried like rusty margins drenching the sorrows in abstract painted in hue of dalliance mirage that lost memories in swirling sand dunes,and buy me a coffin warbled in rhymes,and soil that burry me in shallow deeper wounds stabbed of you lies
    //Sky mourned and lullaby echoed,and nights stared and ended with rhythm of sighs,and those sad cassette are n'ever lost in fragrant CATHARSIS that stayed longer than time//

    Where the garden is bloomed in with thorn bed beneath white roses and scars embraceing darkest of you with unsaid words in metaphors with your voice in rhymes, served with a rotten eulogy to life,and CHIMERICAlL chorus sung with a sore throats with SUBFUSC bar over destroyed strings of chordophone,loving you wasn't enough nor letting go could held the night and I realised falling in love isn't a cherished mistakes but a planned crime for yourself, where sin takes the blurred metaphors to worship immortal poems!
    /And those hollow memory fanthom me in numbness that slips in demise ironically hallucinating in hailing torments of guilt parting domes of regrets at the shore of calm seas with WAVES rising to dive in high tides,and silence of hurricane core revolving with recluse violent streak of it ends like deduced paradoxical contempt//

    Ps:- I don't write long posts coz i can't help it being dark!

    @fromwitchpen @someone_alive here you go; a long post:')
    First long post,last too maybe

    #wavec #subfuscc #chimericalc #hearthc #catharsisc #jozako
    @writersbay love uh:")

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  • the_speccy_outsider 13w

    We often find ourselves in the middle of nowhere. What'll happen, is the prime question our mind holds. I feel, our mind is the more pragmatic one. And our heart has the vault of emotions and desperation. Desperation of finding a place to hide when it is pitch black out there and a dazzling rain is pouring. With the sound of thunder calling and intimidating its predators.

    Perpetually hoping that this rigmarole is ephemeral and that the iridescent hues of rainbow will shine its optimism onto the little fighters. As failure is the last thing one expects after going through this tedious fight with our inner demons. We do fail, sometimes, but not always. And those sometimes are hard. Remembering the kind of situation we are in during that phase, our body starts to shudder.

    It ain't an easy task to face failure. But there are various stress busters that help us cope up with this. A catharsis it is, allowing us to bare our soul and ask for a silver lining. A saturation point is nothing less than a daunting nightmare.

    However, in the middle of this, our heart yearns to rant about this preposterous situation life puts us in. And how correct it is, a true cathartic procedure to rant about our opinions, feelings, emotions, thoughts, etc.

    Maybe the night won't let you sleep today, or even tomorrow but you can't keep going like this. The only person you are hurting is you. The day does arrive with everything that is merry and scintillating. It is the night that calls for a showdown. But listen to your heart and don't give anyone this power of snatching your happiness, contentment and harmony.

    Ranting, through words, written or spoken is effective. It is an art though, and hence few are able to handle it. This helps in releasing the unnecessary doubt and chaos. Making us crave, not just for a bright sunny morning but also a peaceful night.


    #writingcontest #creativearena #picturec #rainc #ephemeralc #quintuplec #dazzlec #heartsaysc #catharsisc

    Picture credits: To the rightful owner.

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    A catharsis is only possible
    If one knows the art
    It ain't an easy task
    For the ranting heart needs
    To agree on the same

  • rekhuu 14w

    Do you think you were perfect or were you pretending to be one? Perfection is a lie, for it definitely doesn't come to flawed people like you.

    Had you been a perfectionist, I wouldn't have been entangled in the endless loop of your empty promises. Perhaps my heart would've been warm and intact, rather than how chilly it has become now. I'm still on the lookout for myriad strings to stitch the thousand pieces of my heart. My heartbeat plagued with catharsis now sings poems for you, my perfect muse. .


    #bingoc #catharsisc @writersbay

    (Words used chilly, empty, loop, promises, perhaps
    poems, strings, thousands, heartbeat)

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    Perhaps the walls in the empty room on chilly nights have witnessed what the loop of broken promises could do. .


  • bitterxsweet 16w

    I'm not yours, I'm mine ~ #picturec #catharsisc #selfish @writersbay

    Is it selfish to say, I was doing just fine before you entered my life. Is it selfish to say, I don't need you to be my happiness, I cultivate my own catharsis. Is it rude if my solitude is more sacred than your company and I'm not afraid of losing you. Are my manifestations aligned, that I picture you leaving, for a higher power is removing what's not meant to be mine. Is it mean to shrug my shoulders, unfazed and unbothered.

    Is it selfish, how I'm choosing myself every day and putting my needs above yours. Is it wrong, if you don't serve a purpose, or benefit in any form; I'm throwing you out the door and keeping my circle small.

    Is it villainous after searching for a knight in shining armor, I realised all I needed was the sword.


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    Watch how many people leave,
    when you start choosing yourself


  • leena_afsha_ishrot 16w

    16-11-2020 2:00 p.m.

    I just want to communicate, no matter he or she is
    All I want a listener to hear my words with excitement
    To vent out my thoughts
    And then I create an account on Mirakee
    Where zillion of people are alike me
    Who have thousands emotions to share
    Where we can share without being judged
    We all are ramblers
    Searching for the one who has quality like us
    But we find them as more adorable as compared with us
    We all are void in some way or another
    But we feel happy
    When we see them content
    This is not only mine catharsis
    Every artist uses catharsis in different ways
    To relax his mind

    #leena_unsaidwords #pod #wn #creativearena #writingcontest #catharsisc @mirakee @writerstolli @writersnetwork @writersbay @poetryhub

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  • wilmaneels 16w

    -Blooming in your own skin-

    It was a process
    Of letting go
    Trying to do this on your own
    After not doing it for years
    Catharsis sometimes feels like it takes forever
    But look at you
    Blooming in your own skin

  • 300roses 16w


    My career has never been
    smooth sailing.
    While my peers have bright
    rosy paths,
    mine is a dimly-lit narrow road.
    As much as I envy them,
    I know I have to accept
    my reality & persevere
    in my own way.
    Writing is a catharsis for releasing
    the frustrations within me.
    I write on various themes,
    not necessarily
    sad or painful pieces.
    Regardless of the topic at hand,
    as my lines are being penned
    on the screen,
    my frustrations seem to
    flow away with them.
    Each time I complete
    a write up,
    a sense of achievement
    embraces me,
    which generates feelings of
    positivity & provides some form of release.
    I guess this would be my catharsis.


  • mush_r00m 16w

    Purging of emtional tensions through art or music.

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    Happy Diwali

    The reason of my fall was, i use to listen everyone and believe but when i followed a blurr hope left in me over all kind of miseries before blackout.A festival of light ignited in me like our favorite DIWALI.This Diwali look inside and burn yourself for self-love and truth to light up the universe and fill with joy,happiness and wonder i.e catharsis of concious cause life force is a rhythm of frequency.

  • colourfulgreys 16w


    Every hit strikes for a day or two
    Before I can admit I am out of the blue
    By blue I acknowledge it's myriad shades
    A new one brightens as the felt one fades
    I can't remember dates and facts
    Just random scenes and small personal acts
    The holding of hands that stopped at almost
    To boredom and ennui I raise a toast
    A pain somewhere felt everyday, just a little changed
    Misogyny and sexism fail now to hold me enraged
    Each day shrouded in clouds of sadness
    Raining and drowning in trickling madness
    Memories sour and hopes anew
    Acquaintances millions and friends so few
    A repetitive pattern on my emotionless face
    Blows and hits I'll take with grace
    For money and validation I have stopped to chase
    Realising that this suffering is not just a phase
    It's a lived reality, moment to moment
    With charity and meaning I'd keep redolent
    In writing lies my only friendly catharsis
    A slow push from this decaying stasis.

    © Harfkaar 14-11-20

    #catharsisc @writersnetwork BG. One of my favorite singers, Ashe.

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  • h_yuki 16w

    My catharsis.

    This catharsis is mine.
    A feeling filling mantras.
    So fill your cup with wine.
    And let me be your enchantress.

    So this is the first layer.
    You find an Iron castle with a dragon spewing fire to any intruder.
    So be carefull for you could burn.
    So I call this feeling ash and iron.

    The second layer of the fight.
    Is like a sun that shines too bright.
    You here laughter but can't really see who or what is laughing.
    That is why this is the shining laughter feeling.

    The third layer we dive deep.
    As there are oceans of the tears we wheep.
    Alone in an ocean with unending depth.
    So I call this feeling tears of unending depth and breadth.

    The fourth Layer you can already hear the sirens.
    Because this is the land of burning fires.
    Where sirens try to lure you in to the colorful fire.
    I call this feeling the burning Liar.

    The fifth you better leave the lights on.
    It is dark with every monster seen or made in the head of my own.
    Fear is what you breathe.
    So I call this feeling where the sword of fear is unshield.

    The sixth layer is where we feel things we shouldn't.
    The feelling of pulling the trigger where someone else couldn't.
    The lust that needs to be kept hidden.
    That is why I call those feelings the lust of the forbidden.

    The seventh layer be sure you won't get lost.
    It is a pitch black layer with blood red mist.
    In the middle you see me sleeping like a fetus.
    So this feeling I call my own quietus.

    #writersbay #catharsisc #writersnetwork #layers #mirakee #beyourself #pod

    Picture credit to the rightfull owner

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    My catharsis.

    Kindly read caption.

  • say_me_krish 16w


    I wonder that Shakespeare's antique poetries are fit into the innocent voice of that pitiful munchkin who knows nothing but cramming those rhymed verses in the misty hope of some extra four marks to cross the borderlines and escape from his ferocious English teacher. I want to whisper in his ears that those verses whimper to be savoured like that Blueberry pie his mother made for his grandfather's 99th birthday out of sheer affection. Shakespeare's sitting contentedly at the corner of the bench because his sonnets quarelled that they would not be attending his funeral that day, and today, he feels he's a mother who planted mere existences called poesies which respire his air and amplify his voice. He isn't crying for not being understood this time, he is in halcyon by visiting his museums and journals in the larynx of that child. I feel like a nature poem.
    //A poet is a  "r u s t i c  d i a r y"  who births his majestic poetries through his womb of emotions in another//

    I saw a potter thrashing his child for breaking his pots, the sole source of his family's meal for the night, while playing cricket with his friends who knew nothing but having fun. Feelings and words which take solicitude and affection of years to construct gets destroyed by allegations and breakage of myriad emotions in a minute; I have felt it. I rather asked the potter to pick those broken fragments, make a mosaic and sell those for a penny or two, despites knowing that splinters don't find consummate fittings since their existence is based on being shattered and not getting fit to originality despite having a heart to. I feel short like a haiku.
    //A poet is a  "p o r c e l a i n  p o t"  who is broken yet joined without his knowledge to make stunning mosaics//

    My mother never used to slumber until her ears hearkened her favorite song, "Lag Jaa Gale". I always echoed her mind with an interrogation if she liked the composition for the strains which warmed the air, and her answer made me fall in love with poets. Her saccharine smile accompanied with words: "I love the song for the lyricist who found those eleven words which echo eleven million times in the heart; catharsis for the one who has another on the side, and disconsolation for the one who has shed autumns. He sets his own tunes, and he is proudly, a poet" were enough for me to hum some verses and have a peaceful sleep like Mr. John who sleeps happily, without stress overpowering his peace. I feel like a blithe rhyme now.
    //A poet is a  "m e l l i f l u o u s  b e r c e u s e"  who soothes with tunes and saddens with rhymes simultaneously//

    Sometimes, it makes me feel that stitches and needles are an inevitable part of everyone's life. Fall in love and then stitch her name to your heart, fall into woes and darn your lips to your cheeks to resemble the face of that girl in your street who smiles the whole day, fall into loneliness and embroider stars on your scars which are enough of looking murky and petrifying. Some emotions sew cozy mufflers like my grandma made out of hardworking love, and some machine-stitch mere words to poems. I want the ones in wayment to knit their yarns of illuminant hope around their sorrows which are poison portions killing day-by-day, like me, and I see those people complaining for the shopkeeper for having no silk threads to sell. I'm an elegy again, miserably.
    //A poet is a  "s i l k  t h r e a d"  who sews simple and broken words to wonderful and deep metaphors//

    I go through the arteries and veins of that poet who was mocked of penning blether, and I find blood rushing in great pressure; I couldn't withstand it. I heard their strident voices which coerced the thews of his hand to pick up that knife which cut fruits and pierce those evil nerves and get their enemy bad bloods oozing out in gallons. The world has failed to grasp and taste the complexity yet beautiful meanings his phrases hold, they have failed to a bad extent. I too want him to cut every axon of their bodies and peel out their skins which hold sins for accusing a good human. His triumph will be marked with bloodshed in his so called complex poems. I feel proud of being a poem which speaks of bloodshed and war in which metaphors emerge victorious.
    //A poet is a  "s e r i a l  k i l l e r"  who cuts every nerve of his woe and is yet bound to no legal objections//

    So the next time you meet a poet, know that he is a carcass who has been killed for his wordplay but still breathes phrases which are enough to make you feel ethereal.

    ~S r i K r i s h n a P S | Nov 14, 2020.

    Fuelled by the pieces of @my_cup_of_poetry, @vantab1ack and @theultimateinsane ❤️
    { @phoenicorn Special tag ��❤️ }

    Thank you for the repost @writersnetwork ❤️ (53, 8)
    Thanks for reposting @writersbay (9) ❤️
    #skp_writes #pod #catharsisc

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  • harshad09 16w


    Written in a syllabic pattern

    Somewhere on the internet , this form with 60 syllables in all , it's referred to as carpe diem form , but I couldn't find the authentication for the same , still the grace of the form compelled me to write one


    @writersnetwork @writersbay #catharsisc

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    Let Light divine triumph again
    defeating evils stark
    killing each dark
    Let's hope
    Joyousness to be the eternal gain
    for each
    one amongst us
    Let's spread smiles ,weaving thread
    without bargain , instead of tread
    A catharsis , for , we won't live again


  • the_moustached_poet 16w


    as I walked alone
    through the streets
    drenched in smiles,
    lit by lamps of
    prayers and delight,
    the chaos served
    as the catharsis
    to my melancholy!


  • bonitasarahbabu 16w

    Music, writing, and crying,
    These are forms of catharsis for her.
    From being manipulated by her family,
    To losing the love of her life
    She is a ball of stress, sorrow, and anger.
    Music helps soothe her soul,
    Writing gets her thoughts on paper and out of the head
    And crying, crying helps in letting the pain flow through her eyes.
    A form of catharsis is needed for all,
    For without it, we either fester in our emotions
    Or we explode and involve others in our problems.

  • writersbay 16w

    Word of the day : Catharsis

    Examples from Classical Literature
    Evacuations by venesection and catharsis, and then by the exhibition of opium.

    Tag and share with #catharsisc

    Happy Diwali. ��

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