1075 posts
  • queerchildzw 4d

    Not just a house

    To some you're not quite enough, not beautiful, not strong just four ordinary walls
    They do not know your extraordinary life, the power that you have to protect human lives.
    Tell them your story.
    Tell them how you watched us children grow and protected us everyday from the harsh world outside. Tell them you are the safest space we've ever known. You're warm and familiar like a mother's embrace.
    You carry all the scars of our childhood and all our memories.
    When we learnt to paint and write and left you looking a mess, It was art and you didn't seem to mind and when mom asked who had done it you didn't tell.
    You've always been the best secret keeper.
    Do you remember when I told you about my first love, you listened and didn't judge.
    I loved a girl and you're the only one that didn't reject me for it.
    I think between all the toy cars and boys' clothes you knew more than anyone this day would come.
    That's why you'll always be my first love, you know me inside out.

  • the_lesser_known 4d

    The Hospital Room

    I have seen countless people staring the changing colours of the sky through my small window all day, all night.
    I have seen their courage to battle and the lost hope building inside.

    Heard them laughing out loud and screaming with tears in the eyes.

    Their faces longing for someone or something makes me want to take all their pain away.

    But, I know it's impossible for me. Because I'm the room, I have to be hollow inside.

  • writerwithin 1w

    #writingchallenge #writingcontest #creativearena
    @mirakee @writersnetwork
    P.S. Didn't want to write about Jane's grandma's demise. Hence something out of the box. Not a premium member so not participating in writing challenge / contest...but do comment if you like the long post of short story.

    Read More

    Love Lost

         Jane walked through the gallery smelling like a leftover tragedy and went to her grand mother's room. She knelt on the floor and lifted the lid of a glass jar kept in the corner. Letters tied with jute threads, dried roses and old photographs filled the jar to the brim. Some colourful handmade greeting cards, a friendship band and even a few empty chocolate wrappers were concealed in that pile. Jane carefully removed the jar from under the bed. This was her safest hiding place. As her grandparents were quite old and weak they could never reach under the bed. She quickly took the jar to her room so that she could reminisce the bitter sweet moments as she went through the contents of the jar and cry over them.
         This had become a routine for her from the last few months. After returning from college, she would isolate herself from the world and take solace in the memories. She had read the letters almost thousand times. Henry was definitely a Nicholas Spark, when he wrote to her. In this era of Facebook and Instagram, they had maintained their pious connection in the most old school way possible. They had met 4 years back at a museum in London called the Keats House. A chanced encounter between the two literature fans had started something that was going to last for years. What initially started as discussion on English literature led to their whole day together. Though Jane had come with her school buddies, she stayed back. They spent a wonderful evening together before catching their respective buses from Victoria.
         Jane was from Bath and Henry from Birmingham. He was a few years elder to her, but there literary age matched. Their love for English made them do something very odd. Instead of exchanging numbers, they exchanged addresses while departing. They wanted to be penpals and this insane idea started a long series of letters. They didn't know when the initial friendly letters were slowly replaced by love letters. The exchange of friendship band was substituted by heart shaped greetings. Henry even hoped down to visit her thrice. They spent full day together every time and those were the best moments of her life. By the time, Jane started college, she became sure that Henry was her soulmate. She had saved even the wrappers of the chocolate they had shared on his visit or the red roses he had bought for her. She was head over heels in love with Henry. He was now teaching literature at the Birmingham University. She would also try for a job at the University after graduation and then they would have a happily ever after.
         But, then tragedy struck. His letters stopped suddenly a couple of months back. She waited and waited. Even her anxious letters weren't replied too. Now owing to their stupid pact, she neither had Henry's phone number nor knew his last name to be able to contact him on facebook. She just had a few photographs of them together taken during his visits to which she clung for life. She was getting depressed with each passing day and spent hours worrying about him.
        Today was one such day. She couldn't take it any more. The anticipation was killing her. Early next morning, instead of going to college she took the first bus to Birmingham and reached the address which was by heart to her by now. As soon as she closed the door of the cab, she heard a playful shreik of a child. When she turned around, she saw a girl in her early twenties rushing to the kid. As she picked up the baby, their eyes met. There was a melancholy in her eyes, which reflected in the form of dark circles on her pale face. She looked worse than how Jane was feeling. But still she gave a kind smile and enquired with Jane whether she had come from the University, while ushering her into the house.
         Henry had never mentioned any relative living with him and hence Jane was slowly trying to comprehend the situation, when her eyes caught the memorial on a piece of paper lying lazily on the table with Henry's name on it. He was smiling brightly in the picture with the birth and death dates written below it. She was on the verge of collapsing when the sad lady started talking about how her husband had contributed so much of his life to the university. He never had time for her or their two kids but always was absorbed in his research for the University. Jane had not only lost the love of her life to death but more importantly to a stranger who she didn't even know existed. Henry had not only lied about being married, he was much more older than he had told her. Even though Jane's world had shattered, she didn't have the heart to ruin the memories for the widow, who was still recovering from her loss. At that instant, Jane stood up and affirmed that she was from the University. She gave her condolences and asked if there were any letters addressed to Henry from Bath during the past months. She said she wanted them as they were official ones and need to be taken care of. As soon as Jane was handed the sealed letters, she murmured her good byes and rushed out.
         She cried all the way back to her home. Although Henry was not honest in love, she had loved him dearly. For him, she was just an assignment to improve his letter writing skills or a teenager to fool around with. But, the cruel Henry had indeed taught her love. What she had felt was real. On reaching home, she went down to her grand mother's room, got the jar and burned everything inside it. As the flares laughed at her, she cried to her heart's content. This was the last time she was crying for him. She was now free from the shackles of love.

  • tornromantic 7w

    #question #whatif #wod #writingchallenge

    what if the world could stop spinning for one moment in time
    maybe then everyone would realize the chaos happening outside
    and maybe people would see what's truly wrong, maybe they'd see it in their eyes
    but everyone's too busy picking and prouding or creating lies
    and what if they're all liars who pick armies
    but that would make more turn, how is it so charming?
    dont you see how split apart we all truly are?
    or how this has brought a great distance between us throwing us off balance, too late and too far
    please open your eyes
    this is about wrong or right
    we dont need to choose a side
    because all of us together could win the fight.

    Read More



  • dedestined 9w

    Handful of seeds...

    Strewn for the sparrows...
    On a lazy terrace...

    Handful of seeds...
    Spilled from a hole in the gunny sack...
    On the truck floor...

    Handful of seeds...
    Ground to a paste,
    For decorating the floor...
    Aipan... Kollam... Alponaa...
    Signifying prosperity...

    Handful of seeds...
    The result of a handful of seeds,
    Another bout of loans,
    Soil-leeching fertilizers & pesticides,
    & Watering at 2 in the night when there finally is electricity,
    Which was supposed to yield a fieldful of seeds...
    Which was supposed to pay off the loans...
    Which was supposed to "marry off" the second eldest daughter...

    Handful of seeds...
    Clutched in the fist & also spilling out
    Of rigour mortis...
    Of the "suicide death case"...

    Handful of seeds...


  • talesbysana_ 10w

    Finding Myself

    Can I begin this piece of note by writing that one line which is being echoed in my ears and mind , through the walls of my room . Everything i look at and everything I touch screams this , which makes my heart beat faster.
    It says "I want more out of my life , I can do more , I have the power within me , but I feel inert."Yes , I know , I clearly know how much capacity or calibre I posses and I can do greater things but why am I holding back , why does all this feel pointless , why isn't there a spark or a force to push me harder to do something I really want to.
    Sitting on my bed , wearing my comfy pyjamas , having a good cup of coffee , I still hold the pain of regret.
    I feel something is missing within me.
    And it hurts the avid soul of mine !
    I ponder where all this will take me to. Sometimes I feel fearful to even dream.When I close my eyes and think about my future self ,I never get a clear vision.
    Can I be a little candid here ?
    I admit it , it took me a while to put my feelings into these words. I felt hard to pull myself up and compose my thoughts and pen it down here.
    Why do everything seems dark and hollow ?

  • dedestined 10w


    Soft "thunk"s.

    As the worn tennis ball
    Bounces down the granite steps
    Of the indoor staircase
    To the top floor.

    His wife swallows the question,
    Which was mundane in the first place
    & Silently closes the door behind her ..

    She knows him, understands him
    Well enough to grant him his space when he needs it...

    He's successful enough,
    To hire a private tennis coach for his daughter.
    Yet down-to-earth enough
    To only send her to a medium-snob club...

    She knows that this old ball has come out, not any odd ball which was lying around,
    Because this is not simply a ritual of stress,
    There is grief...
    & He will share it, once he's no longer overwhelmed by it...

    It took half a lifetime to ease him into the post-ritual couple-ly sharing...

    It's a childhood ritual...
    A raggedy coach
    At a Government school once taught him...
    To help his mind relax, focus...

    It has stayed with him
    & Served him...
    In anger,
    & Frustration...
    & Stress,
    & Surprisingly, even in grief!

    This cascade of " thunk - thunk - dub - dub - bop - bop..."...


  • dedestined 10w

    My mother's painting

    The frame on the wall talks to me
    In a language lost in memories...

    Of the time before "shabby chic"
    When art took time & effort & discipline...
    Time before cuteness replaced beauty

    The language of chalk pastels...
    & Of life-like, dull
    Lazy colours,

    Yellowish blue skies
    Greyish green trees
    Mirage-y human figure in dirty white...
    Disappearing in their "country" surroundings

    The bullock cart
    The babool shrubs
    The dust road...

    Already "poverty"... "romanticized" by the artist...

    The artist...
    Before "household" & family & "settling down"
    Penetrated its claws in her...
    Once young,
    & Afforded the freedom of dreaming, not being sure, what she wanted to be...
    Before it was sealed for her,
    A wife and a mother, what else?

    One's own mundanity is tragedy...
    Another's drudgery is art...

    The frame on the wall!


  • cardelljhardy 10w

    Proverb No. 1 in God's Eyes

    I'm not looking at your ability.
    I'm looking at your availability.

  • dedestined 10w

    Echo-like people

    For whatever reason they are that way...
    They are naturally impressionable
    Or they can't care enough,
    Or they don't have enough mental activity
    To provide an authentic POV...

    When you meet them in a normal day,
    & Discuss happy things,
    & They echo your 'good vibes'...
    They are great to be with...

    But when you are lost
    When you have 'disoriented vibes'...
    Last thing you need...
    Is your chaos echoed...

  • tiny_sparkle99 10w


    My problem is I don't know how to don't do anything.
    Everyone, everywhere is talking about don'ts
    Someone says don't feel that way
    Some other says don't think that way
    I picked one book to read and know how to actually make these don'ts happen possible practically
    I started reading it and I ended up being depressed
    My self esteem got more lowered because I started having questions in my mind like how easily people are changing their attitudes, they're shaping their personalities and meanwhile they're ending up with a thick book which costs 500 ( just to more depress poor people like me)

    But I still don't know how to don't get depressed by some random person's achievement.

    In the world full of don'ts,
    Someone please teach me art of doing don'ts.


  • dedestined 10w

    Influences on your soul

    The influences on your soul
    Are always obscure

    Like the time
    The most 'jobless' of your uncles
    Was bandaging a wounded dog
    & The other uncle
    Was shaking his head at him
    & Your grandma was calling you away...
    From the 'dirty' business...

    Like the time
    The English-speaking stranger
    Insulted your English-oblivious mother
    In the train
    & Nobody said anything to the nasty stranger,
    Not even your father...

    Like the time
    In high school...
    You realised
    That the leaf
    Of the rose
    That you had sent your middle-school sweetheart
    Pressed in the Civics notebook
    - That you had preserved
    As a keepsake of
    A love you knew will not be returned,
    But... which... you were going to carry in your heart till death,
    Is long missing from your pocketbook...

    The influences on your soul
    Are always obscure...


  • dedestined 11w

    If I had wings

    I will keep them very, VERY secret.
    I will have a mundane, but not raggedy-poor dayjob.
    I will share it with only those I really trust, that I do have something,
    Something which no other human has,
    Something organic & flesh-&-blood,
    Something living & throbbing...
    & A PART of me...
    I would only tell someone
    Who will not sell me to a zoo...
    Or a circus...
    'coz this is the world...
    As it is!
    What would this world do to me, if I had WINGS?
    Oh, I will keep them SUCH a secret.
    I will sometimes practice my flying.
    Over Delhi NCR.
    On PARTICULARLY bad air-quality days...
    You see?
    They won't be able to see me...
    I will never go out on clear, full-moon nights, though ...
    Even in 2020,
    There is AMPLE scope of witch-hunting...
    I will start a business...
    An air-ambulance business.
    That is what I will do.
    & I will get my wings valued.
    & After valuation, insured.
    & I will allow scientists to conduct experiments on me,
    But only after age 75.
    Only after I have LIVED.
    My life.


  • dedestined 11w


    In an alternative world...
    In a parallel universe...
    I am a tree.
    I feel nothing.
    No happiness, but no pain either.
    I have no nervous system,
    No sentience.
    I have no STRESS.
    I do NOT wonder about the purpose of life, nor the futility of it.

    I live.
    Very much alive!
    I work magic -
    I take CO2 & water from the air...
    & Energy from the Sun...
    I create, I grow, I make my leaves, branches, roots,
    I came to this world a tiny seed,
    & I have grown this big...
    Without harming a SINGLE creature...

    I support a whole microhabitat on me!
    Insects, worms, bees, butterflies,
    Use me,
    For food & shelter...
    I not only live,
    Not only let live,
    I support life...
    By giving part of my own life!

    I even procreate!
    I reproduce!
    I have offspring!
    Far, far away from me,
    It will take root...

    & When my life is over,
    I will simply be absorbed by the elements,
    Never having given a thought to life...
    Or death...
    Or having experienced pompadour & arrogance...


  • joybirdpoetry 11w

    If I had wings?
    I already do.
    Once I was trapped
    in a gilded cage,
    but then I broke free
    spread my wings
    and found my freedom.
    I am Joybird,
    watch me soar.


  • cardelljhardy 11w


    My chains broken and now I soar.
    Not carrying earth's burden anymore.
    The heart has been planted in forgiveness.
    And heals any sort of brokenness.

  • cardelljhardy 11w


    Father, rain on me like Seattle
    Let Your love run like a flood.
    All my sins and mistakes unsizable.
    Shrink them down like You would.

  • cardelljhardy 11w

    Feel That High

    If I had wings, I would touch the sky
    To find the King of the upmost High.
    I would soar to new heights like never before.
    And enter the gilded chamber door.
    Feel that high, like never before.
    Returning to my old life, nevermore.
    Soar like a bird and breathe fire like a dragon.
    I was an inncocent lamb and became a lion.

  • dedestined 11w

    O waterfall...

    Where be I?
    O waterfall!
    So pure & true...
    Like the air of 4 centuries ago...
    Have I been time-transported?

    Or is this a twin-planet...
    Yet untainted by human-like species of its own
    With 'development' agenda...
    & Self-important ideas like 'god created man in his image'...

    NO! God created nature in his image...
    In his arrogance,
    Created (hu)man...
    In image of his(her?) arrogance...

    Or is it a dream...
    Of distant childhood...
    Had I actually seen you...
    In your pristine clarity,
    Once, few decades ago...

    You! Waterfall!
    Inherit the earth!
    & Let the parasite species perish!

    For all that the entitled (hu)man can think,
    Upon looking at anything,
    Including you,
    'is this usable/useful/joyful/beautiful to me?
    If yes, then let's write an ode to it
    (& While we are at it, have a picnic
    & Strew it with trash)'


  • leonna 11w

    The Little Flower

    A seed of sorrow
    Grew deep within my belly
    There I have always felt so empty
    Painful tears water the roots
    Many years people came and went and would loot
    Pieces of my essence
    I watch as they come and go
    My broken heart their decadence
    Decomposing sadness
    Fed the flower
    That sewed itself deep within my grief