I need to find people who took science till 12th and did something else afterwards Do you anyone in Mirakee/ real life. Tag them. Let them know that I am considering a second opinion.
I have taken PCM and have recently found interest in finance and business.
Also to every pcm person. What are your plans? Feel free to share them. Also please let me know what are the opportunities their in business and finance and also if possible media management Let's talk about colleges, universities their cutoffs and opportunities available
Source of pic @/ mariannamadriz This will be a permanent post so people like me can gather help. Share as much as possible Tag people who might give useful information related to colleges universities cutoffs and more.
This poem is no crash course Nor does it come with a starter package Or a reader’s manual / guide Much like the Whatsapp forwarded jokes Of a man searches in google ‘How to control your wife’ And google has zero search results This poem is as dry as your sense of humour And the repetitive need of controlling All the woman around you This poem is dry As dry as the summer nights Where the ac fails to work And you have lived enough To see the nights treachery And died enough to mourn for the dawn This poem is the discomfort As you switch positions And end up curled in the foetal position Imitating a mother’s womb This poem is the fundamental human instinct Of demanding familiar physical touch Yet as the Sun arises And the leaves sway with the wind It only reminds you of women swaying hips The type you would secretly ogle As you come across lingerie posters And underwear adds When you think no one is watching But we women always know Call it a woman’s instinct For last summer a girl of 14 Had her first menstruation and the Whole village celebrated her ripening / fertility The next day as she sits on the local bus To school, the journey feels a little longer A little more unnerving And suddenly the bus ticket collector’s gaze Feels a little more disturbing As her stomach churns unpleasantly As she notices a man thrice her age Staring at her and then at his manhood She pulls her skirt further down And the man grins That pure predatory grimace Her heart shudders and mouth shutters She’s felt fear Fear of being a woman For the first time After all ripened mangoes must fall of the tree Suddenly he stares at his handkerchief And the name of his wife Woven with strings borrowed from the Sun’s ray And he looks away as the girl descends down the bus
( II) Close your eyes gently What happens when you think of the word W-O-M-A-N Do you see women running? Running in wheat fields or mustard if you are that creative as their lovesick lovers run behind close your eyes or have them done so by a woman seductively, as she feeds you grapes and what not do you see woman with purple skin and neon highlights as hair whiskers and ears of a cat political and profound or do you find them shying away, their cheeks now a pomegranate as you pull their drape or do you find them sitting sitting at a family function all nice and tidy even when the touches are far from acceptable or even decent, do you find them cowering away Or do you find them with their hands shaking Eyes downcast as they give you the glass of milk And crushed almonds on their wedding night are they feminists and feral? Are they submissive or dominative? Are they bottom or top? Are they shy or a tease? the girl and the woman the girl with the woman the girl now the woman are all this poem with no syllable count Nor even your aabb ccdd they do not rhyme they don’t need to but in the kingdom of poems where the rhymes sits as a monarch and creativity will be a slave where every syllable shall praise As haiku's and limericks giggle Over a cup of masala chai this poem will be a prude, an outlaw and when they shall search this poem They'll raid it's home, it's identity It's origin and individuality And after they have checked all the surveillance devices CCTV footage and of course the internet strip a poem, you will find a woman Strip a woman, you will find a free verse.
I'm not back. Just wrote this because I wanted to and I could. Illustration by @/ richakashelkar on IG I'm starting to hate everything I write Stop deleting your posts beautiful hooman. Or else I will shave your eye brows
Hair under armpits is a metaphor to show how much of a taboo this subject is and how often it is undermined and overshadowed. We often try to shave the hair under our arms, and also sweat and bad smell often accumulates there and we try to cover it with deodorant. So hair under armpits basically refers to something unpleasant that we try to hide in order to appear more appealing. The way we try to hide the blatant sexualising of MILs, DILs, Sisters maids etc
(i) The land on which my ancestors was such That you wouldn’t find on any maps Neither now nor 200 years ago Our land was a myth, our homes were too and so was the tree That stood in its centre Like the Sun does in the solar system Much like the lebu bhoot/ lemon ghost / Whose arms could extend for miles That you would find in Thakurmar Jhuli/ grandmother’s bag of stories/ Yet the people in our village would say Do not sleep under the trees for they may haunt you But I often felt that the sturdy and stubborn branches would extend their arms In an attempt to imitate that ghost As the trunk, wisely wrinkled would resemble The folds on my grandmother’s forehead, arms and legs As some branches in rebellion would stoop low The Resin on the bark my mother would say Is the tree salivating in desires of attaining salvation And the roots, tap or fibrous Would hitchhike the water and nutrients, to their destination The leaves will photosynthesise in exchange For the wind that would mischievously spill secrets it stole From the grass, cloud, sun and soil
(I) There’s a hole in my heart, 6 inch wide The one that I stab myself with Being my usual nihilistic self Then twice, in order to extract, minced up words Thrice, being my usual apologetic self For hindering my ‘originality’ Now my heart is a pumping cadaver of All the verses I have tormented in the name of individuality My heart is like Atlantis Co-Existing on Plato’s map and human anatomy while Ceasing to exist, on geographic maps and my figment of imagination My hearts topography as I would like to belief is that of Dvārakā- gateway to heaven cause that’s as close to heaven as I can get The blood and stain The scare and gore The pain and affliction Have become two sides of the same coin Oh! who am I? oppressor or oppressed Maybe both, but why should I bother Asking anything that puts my sanity on pedestal
(II) In the tip of my tongue Resides a starved man On a parched land Searching for every drop of affectionate moisture he can gather as he patiently waits for the winds and its whims to grace him with merciful placid drops only if he ever wandered from there he would have discovered my tongue as a waterbed Both calm and torrential A wave and tsunami Both forgiving and unforgivingly destructive My teeth are like aqua regia dissolve Midas ‘s touch from my words Syllables come out as rough foam that is found in shore by retreating waves
(III) In my thoracic cavity nestles an imaginary kingdom Were bias and assumptions Make merry together every night So in the bosom of dawn when the rib cages appear xenophobic They puncture my lungs And put up the flags As a tribute to the revolutionary morning As I breathe the alveoli bring the new winds of change And haemoglobin comes to rescue being the sole bearer's of change However as up, you go My oesophagus has an imposter syndrome Perhaps because once my conscience- a Dronacharya Asked it for its voice as a Gurudakshina And being the obedient one it still gives It's silence as an offering
My legs that are tamed often walk on eggshells flinch at the gentle caress of the grass as the wind murmurs sweet nothings and secrets its stole from a saint’s pouch to punish atlas perhaps the sky bids farewell to the onlookers as the birds rip the sky like bullets aimed into nothingness the skies bleed a tint of sacred vermillion as they look at the Sun as a newly-wed bride does at her warrior husband who departs to conquer the unchartered realms as the giant oak tree extends into the ocean of blues like an infant who stretches its arms in childlike wonder free from the vile intentions of society the leaves sing a rustic tune as I lose myself to the foreign feeling of satisfaction one wise man said the rich beget riches I ask what does a conscience beget As my mind settles in a chaotic rush Adrenaline comes to aid Only to inflame my restless mind Time seems redundant As I let myself be consumed As I fasten my pace I watch myself spew words As they arrange themselves in a beautiful cacophony As they ascend on pristine sheets of white Into a celebrated union /poem I come across a timeless beauty As I watch a euphoria That captures yet liberates Every ounce of sanity left in me I watch my well stacked words slain themselves A mass homicide As a new poem takes birth Anew beginning that leads to nowhere But I am content As I skip a few steps And trod away merrily After all, it isn’t regular To witness the glorious cycle of life ,death and rebirth All at the same moment.
It was all full Full of everything As you filled the emptiness too With a truck load of real smiles. Asked the full of the moon To the chunks of me, If I want to be put together All over like one new unabridged piece. I looked at the sheeny heart Accompanying me under the moonglow Nodded and unknowingly assigned the task Of making me whole again But full of everything Full of better me And full of brighter me.
And only if I knew How with a ‘why’ It all would start waning, I'd take your hand and dip it in the stardust Having fifteen lame reasons Decided beforehand, Writing the main one On the darker surface calling you blind. It kept waning and I couldn't hold back So wrote it all without waiting Under the flashlight With sparkly tear in one eye And a different story in another Like a kid right?
I keep telling them And on some nights even you How the cracks are filled with enough of you That on a new moon night I'd be sightseeing a full moon Drawn by an amateur mind On the ceiling with absolute delight. With a slight push you'd explain how This is wrong for a fragile heart I'd still smile with swollen eyes Because this is how I live my nows Until it all seems to be waxing somehow.
A few months with these phases Completes a year I failed to sing a few songs written I wonder how you would still hear. Living in the same city Still galaxies apart Perhaps so much that if I wish For full moon in your sky When mine will be unlit Being the holder of a new, That wish won't be counted With the ones unfulfilled.
You can't phase out phases of moon or life Then You need to take a trip to moon ( easy right ) To look at our earth from the moon's perspective....And you will see how opposite and subjective is the phase that we assumed to be so 'constant' and so 'universal'.
It's all just about perspective.....I guess
"Moon is dead" declared decade ago .....now we are searching for 'active' faults in it . ....much like us ....is that we always do !!!.....so let's dig into the phases of moon and praise every phase .......and every phase is analogous to human nature
Every phase of moon praises and preaches their own philosophy..... From the new moon that is exactly (+5/-5 degrees) between sun and earth .....reviving its utter darkness for our introspection while sometime shading sun and creating sol eclipse ....and later journeying its waxing phase toward complete illumination ....but remember the illumination happens when sun and moon is exactly opposite to earth......creating an instant surge of emotional depth while sometime is gripped by shadow of earth forming its eclipse. And then waning phase start to revive darkness again ........to go on rhythmic journey again.
But remember this is just a view from our earth.......in space..... moon always holds its duality..... So why we can't hold our own duality comfortably ..!!!
But while revolving around us.......it revolutionise our depth of emotions with every phase of itself.
Moon moves water Human body has 70% water .....and earth has more than 70% water and so you can't escape the gravitational pull of any phase of the moon (And who wants to ...anyway)
Glad that our earth has only one moon unlike Saturn with 82 moon ..... Just thinking how many phases we would have to go through if we had multiple moon......would we be more humane or would we be more scattered?
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In an illuminated night he met his moon, in her terrace. The moon was gleaming. Quothed the lover, ''Two moons this night! Theirs is broken in the sky, mine is in my arms, is most beautiful. Theirs is shining for earth, mine is elating my heart."
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Patches of clouds played hide and seek and the love birds loitered hand in hand, in the Silver Valley. Uncountable kisses drew the lover in her face. Warmth was the meet, quite intoxicated were the couple in weaving the nest of dream. Quothed the maiden, "Witness is the full moon, would you dye my life stealing hue from the luminosity of moon!"
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Half asleep was the earth but, few eyes were watchful. There met the pair unaware, unnoticed. The little story searching a way to meet the bay. Innocent was the tale in half sunken night. Quothed a foe ambushing beneath a bush, "How dare he! Son of a bitch!! being a drawf how could he stretch for moon!"
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In a night as dark as hell met the duo usual, unaware, unnoticed. A conspiracy had made before they met. Edge of the sword was whetted to drink fresh blood and gore. Giggled the foes and quothed, "Bastard, died a horrendous death! Leave the corpse for wolves of jungle before the dawn." A sacrifice was offered for the sake of honour in a night of inauspicious New Moon!