It's time for a goodbye. __________________________________
Dear Tacenda, Should I be starting this letter with a 'how are you?' Because in the short span of time - my whole life, I have known you as somebody who has time beyond lifetime to hear the stories, shoulder a head and wipe off anguish from even melancholy's face, but not a milli second in th this vast ocean of existence, for yourself. Only somebody who doesn't know you would ask such a question, but who 'really' knows you? Nobody. Nobody, whispers the silence around me. You're a contradiction to yourself. And others despise you for that, but I think it's beautiful. How each day, you water a dead plant, hoping it'll come back to life. How you filled me with life. And so much of life, that I've become courageous enough to ask where are you heading next. Can you believe it! In this world where only swords and gunshots tell stories, who would listen to you, and about the spider who got adopted by a snake. Why would anyone care to know, why did the leaves of a kingdom cry for the fallen princess, before autumn? Why would anyone want to know the the story behind the sky and water getting betrothed? I hope your tragic tales are the harbingers of peace unlike the truce that comes with terror as a peace offering.
But I am laughing at myself at this moment, so much that I heard somebody speaking on the phone about someone being unwell, and in need of help. I believe I overheard my name. I am laughing because, even though I know you aren't going to give me answers to any of my questions, but derail me with another tale as tragic as the story of an earl who lost his sanity after a pearl. You're a magician, and possess the ability to derail ANYONE from mainstream to your stories, that are least known. Sometimes, I put myself to sleep wondering if any of those are even real. But the crickets and wind chimes don't sing to me, just you.
You need to not worry, I'm not going to wait for your letter. Silence and stories. That's what your world is made up of. Silence as the foundation and those verses, the bricks to your world. But everyday, I wake up and continue to live, and not merely exist, and I believe, I pray. Yes, you're a part of my prayers. My life. Will continue to be, forever and ever. Wishing you a good life, takes me back to the boy who went blind, singing to the sun, his mother's lullabies.
I am fine. Getting better. The paintings you made on my scars like the ghost of Roselyn made on the Duke's palace, they are now washed away. Replaced by engravings of love, Armor of dreams and medicine called time. I moved from the Alley of Solitude to my own, home. Got married to a woman, Renaissance. I'm now blessed two daughters, Felicity and Serendipity. We call our home, Hope. That was grandma's name, now she's with us. Forever. Mother and father grow on the window pane. Peeping us from behind the glass. The Lillies have been blooming ever since Felicity was born, and the Cedar tree shelters them when they play under the sun. Yours
// You're like a song that silence sings. A melody to the dark nights of Dylan's poetry A tragic opera to Hemingway's works A sigh of hope when Austen smiles and puts her pen down, You are the rustling of leaves, in spring, accompanying thousand_splendid_thoughts and _hopenotes You are a song that's heard, In the calling of trumpets of a kingdom In the cracks on the ground after a war You are a song Called life.//
A few days later to my surprise, I received a letter, written using bohemian stationary, indian blue inked. It was from Tacenda. I felt my head spin, and found myself sitting on the grass, with dew drops on the edge of leaves, performing en pointe. I opened it, coercing my heart back into its place. It was blank. Something rushed out of eyes, I didn't know if I was crying because of joy or sadness. I stood up, rushed inside to tell my daughters another story. The story of tacenda. And my answers, well. She said it all. __________________________________
I'm not good at goodbyes, and happy endings.
I love each and every single person who supported these stories, and I salute you, that my delayed posts did not at all dampen your spirits. Tacenda marked some great moments for me. I made many great friends, received wn reposts, but above all, gained perspective and knowledge. I love you all to the Neptune and back. Stay safe. Time and love will heal you. Grow. Evolve. You deserve all that you dream of. Thank you everyone. I love you. Take care. Okie!? ♡
References: Do not go gentle into the good night by Dylan Thomas The 4 famous tragedies written by Ernest Hemingway. The beautiful happy ending that Jane Austen gives, like in pride and prejudice. Thousand splendid thoughts (hehehe) it's a username. Must read that person. Here on mirakee.
// I scream between my proses, Weep between lines, But it goes unseen, Like a teardrops in a lake//
// We cross paths with people People cross our hearts Hearts feel hurt, That goes unnoticed Like teardrops in a lake//
// We encounter pain, Like an old flame, We smile, with wailing hearts, To let it go unseen, Like teardrops in a lake//
// I reach your doorstep everyday, Touch the cold doorknob and leave. I play with the strings of the heart, they never make the sounds of yours anymore, My agony, plays unheard, Like teardrops in a lake//
What if my questions wonder nothing, But my existence, the solemn reason behind this pining. What if, I want you to notice, when I'm not around, While I hide myself, 6 feet under the ground.
//What if, My smile hangs on the loose beads of your necklace? What if, My hope lingers in your sigh of relief, after a war? //
What if, I say, it's getting harder each day, to look you in the eye What if, I'm fading away into teal oceans, of your eyes?
// What if, I'm afraid, of slow dancing in the dark? What if, your skin makes me cry, each day you mould it into an armor?//
Whatever makes you happy Whatever you want (both)
//But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here, What if I chose to?//
What if I let my hounds consume the bruises of my soul What if it sets me free? Would you still miss me, but what if you didn't? ~ avani __________________________________
It's written with the perspective of two different people. A broken relationship, is full of insecurities.
The lines on the cover are taken from the song creep. So are the lines, I'm a creep,.............to I don't belong here. ( I've put the link in the bio, damn I love that song) Slow dancing in the dark, taken from the song by Joji.
It's impossible to be me now, So, I place myself into somebody else, My soul in a flower, heart in snow, Into the worlds with no hells.
Does everybody want to be alone? My hands shiver of the cold within me Ages since I've been home, How does Christmas feel with love, under mistletoes?
I've lost my ikigai, was never a majime, Does everyone walks around, under the sun, aimlessly? Callous, I am, well astrophiles are absquatulates. I remember leaving halcyons, shamelessly.
I've become a laconic, selcouth. But nobody understands now, beyond the lies and truths of Proust. They know and remind where my insipience dragged me, never why and how.
Does everybody want to be alone? I lost myself, you your orenda. Got stories about mangata and abendrots, nobody to call home. So I live with my boketto and hulyas, While you last with your epicaricacy.
~ avani __________________________________
Remember the orphan boy from 'breaking of chrysalis'? A sister found out about a brother,how tragic does life get, that she abandoned her family for a brother she doesn't know anything about? Second guessing everything we do, hating ourselves for something we had to, wanted to do, just doesn't help.
Don't ever call yourself foolish for doing something your heart asked you to do.
Astrophiles : people who love astronomy and stargazing Absquatulates : leaving abruptly without a goodbye Orenda: force that empowers change in people. Lmao. We're stuck in a vicious loop
This one can be very hard to get, I've briefed it out in the comment section.
Writersbay, your prompts are so excellent and compelling that I feel bad if I don't write using them. ❤️ #worec
I wore you like the hymn of a saint, Like the sparkle of star, Carried you like my mother's earrings, Dropped my soul, never you. I wore you like the clouds of the sky, And the mist shrouding Himalayas, I wore you like the sunrays on a lake Wore you like yakamoz, I wore you as the cologne of roses and tulips under the sun's incandescence, in the month of May. Wore you like my skin, wore you like my pain, wore you like my one love forever.
Now I wear you like the cracks on a forbidden castle.
Love's a fake ersatz Life's a barbarian too This town brings you up just to cut you down, The weathered windows have been weeping since you left The ones who fell in love, Are the ones who fell in war, biting dust. Those vivid voices of mirth, are superseded by muffled cries of Winter, dead are the strings of spring, and summer burns in the hearth of broken hearts, Smiles are the clone of pain and tears no longer wait for the rain. When you ignite for the flame of flickering hope, that's what makes you a Saint.
Love's a true sin if never loved, and life's not a measurable boulevard. Everybody here wants something more, searching for something they haven't had before, If the grey skies threaten snow, what do the red ones mean? Sifting through the wreckage of our own soul won't help us find something alive, When you live enough to feel alive, and know yourself as you are, Does that make you a Saint? ~ Avani __________________________________
Not much, just a heartbroken lover looking out the window in a cold night, regretting. Just a person as me feeling wasted, already.
Tihihihihi Hum phir post krenge. My brain is faster than your heart stopping for a sneeze.
Pull away the waxen veil, From the window, Let the white wizard with flaxen soul and hair,. perform his enchantments Let yourself burst away, like stars colliding in the lapis lazuli In the sky, in your eye. Let the butterflies in you, break away from the chrysalis For the world needs to smile and love, live a little more than time bygone. It's not just another day, It's the one you've never seen before. ~ Avani __________________________________
The line break away from chrysalis taken from my poem breaking of chrysalis.
"It's a beautiful day, I've never seen this one before" Maya Angelou
Refer lapis lazuli : a blue stone with shades of golden. Here, the galaxy.
Inspiration: paper ke beech me light Jaye na agar, tab parde khlona, feel aegi. ( Camera band Kar Lena pehle.)
// I don't get away with my truth by calling it a rant. And I don't care if you copy my ideas, ask me I'll put my own down. I know, you lack intelligence. And creativity. And respect.//
People have stopped reading me. It felt bad. But now, I can write about me. You. Us. Them. Write letters addressed to you, because now nobody will see, just like you never did. People have stopped caring, listening, talking, living, everyone exists, for the sake of it and I'm tired. I'm tired of existing for a life I've forever dreamt of despite the fact that now I know I'm never gonna get it. What do you do when somebody else teaches you,what you deserve, need, want, should or shouldn't do. The answer could've been, you listen and follow it blindly but before that... have a good cry about having your own opinions, needs, perspective. I guess burying humans hurts less than burying dreams. It's funny as well as exasperating how much monotonously mentally torturing life can get. I don't get away from my emotions by calling it a rant, I'm worse, I don't even speak about them. Getting emotions out of me is like getting information out of a CIA agent. Till my last breath, I will not let you know how bad you hurt and how much you crumpled my soul. Should I be humble about it? Maybe I don't want regret and guilt to follow you to your grave like mine will follow me being hells and heavens. I've had a hobby of speaking to everything that doesn't respond or can't respond and that's why I like the lines, " I don't like people, they're everywhere" Not because people are ridiculously absent minded, idiotic, dumb and dipshits but because they've become audacious enough to abuse the ability to analyse and feel. Sometimes it's a curse to feel everything for someone who would yeet you off a cliff the moment they get a chance. Now I know, it's looking like an attack to every single human I've met or never have, never will. Probably it is. Maybe not. But who am I to say anything about you, you're just reading it, relating to it, too bad you relate as the people I'm talking about. Worse,you're relating it as me. Because you can't. Lying is the inherited property everyone has enough to last even after they die, if an afterlife exists. I don't prefer living among humans, walls are prettier and don't change colour. Offer a support to fall over when a mental breakdown hits. I'm a unique case,my mental triggers are marked by excessive joy, festivals,warmth and love. I'm no child of devil or Satan's family member, sometimes people who feel nothing think the same, and infest us with pain, the others think that they can relieve themselves by inflicting trauma over somebody else. But what about me? Somebody who feels too much? I guess you don't have an answer to that. You never have an answer. Because you're busy teaching the world that " it's okay to be not okay" why is it supposed to be okay!!!!! It's NOT okay and you have to do fucking something about it. Your sympathy leaves them helpless, because you let them know it's okay to be in that dingy dark zone asking them to stay there as long as they want, but they didn't go there with will. Why have we never tried to pull them out with love? Empathy leaves you with courage, not for yourself but for somebody else. But what would you know, empathy is hurtful than a zillion heartaches, you sympathise. Sometimes I pity you. I feel bad for you too, and I wish I could lend you a part of me.
// I feel too much to explain, for someone else, I feel nothing for myself. Is it a curse or a blessing?//
"I'll come back when you'll need me." "You mean...never?" Bullet in a gun by imagine dragons is my song.
// The touch of yours against mine, The crafty things you say The renaissance of my soul And the inter celestial collision Are you a piano who consumes my tears Or a flute that blows my heartache like a dandelion //
I don't know about you but for me it was clear. I didn't kept chasing after you because I was weak.. Or I needed someone to be around me Believe me on this.. I am some one who'd feel lonely in a crowd.. Or even at my home.. I have made bad choices in chosing people .. Or I can say good decisions can turn bad Can't they ? So I guess the people I chose were good for themselves But not for me.. And I don't blame them at all.. I can't hate anyone. I'd keep saying to myself I hate that human.. But the moment I get a text from them even if it comes after years or silence between us.. I'd shamelessly reply the second they text.. And I hate myself for being that cruel to my heart.. I shouldn't let people in that easily..
I need to remind myself everyday That I'm not some song That people would listen To when they are interested And the very next moment when they hear a new song.. I'm forgotten like I didn't exist..
Write a poem, quote or prose about the BUTTERFLY EFFECT.
In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state.
(You can Google the details, it's an interesting theory.)
-the words in background belong to three different sources on Google, we just compiled it.
Everyday, I wake up with a feeble smile, tears in my eyes, an ache in my heart and I pray for his healing before mine. Everyday, I take a shower at exactly half past 9 and I play our playlist. My morning routine is all that he left with me. He, his habits and his words. Everyday, I put on washed clothes and rub cologne on my wrists but when I go to bed, I still smell like him. Everyday, I go through cycles of sadness, hurt and grudges but then he pays me a visit at night and I forgive him for the day. Everyday, I try to walk away from him, for me, for him, for us but then the dusk approaches and I, like a timid pigeon, return back to my nest, to him. Everyday, I bake cookies and muffins and try to feed myself, painfully, forcefully. Loving him is so much easier than loving myself. Everyday, I save a share of my muffins for him. Everyday, I try really hard to not caress his polaroids or wear his T-shirts when I go to sleep. Everyday, I fail and everyday, my heart breaks in a different way, in a more painful way. But everyday, I helplessly love him like it is the only thing that I can possibly do.
I wrote this by taking a challenge against myself. I've never ever written a sonnet before. This is my first time attempting sonnet and that too infused with such variety of poetry forms. Inspired after reading: @inara__@someone_alive@artemiswrites @zohiii thank you!
Life is beautiful when you accept, acknowledge, forgive, yourself, share, and spread love. If you don't like someone distance yourself from them. and if you love someone try your best to keep them close. ❤️ Life is uncertain. Death is inevitable. Do what your heart says.(Don't kill anyone XD, seriously) don't pretend to be someone you aren't. There's room to improvement always. Don't hurt yourself. Please. Love yourself, at least try. Try today. Now. Don't procrastinate. It'll be okay. Do what you're supposed to be doing now. Minimize social media. Read books and watch skies. I've already said this before a lot of times. This is just a reminder ❤️ Also don't let people decide what you deserve and what you want.
#sangwn Hey Writersnetwork thank you so much for the repost. It made me feel good after a week. ❤️ And all the people who left behind beautiful encouraging comments, Thank you for appreciating this piece.
Thumbnail: Poetry Poetry hums plain sedate tunes, Phlegmatically hypnotized, I walk in it's imagery, Peripatetic, as I am ,runs my hands through it's rhythm and metaphors, Passion surges , as the ballads coordinate, Psithurism rings inside my wits, Pensive pens as I hold in my hands, Phrases escape from my senses to the placid parchment, making a poetry.
_____________________________________ Sorry for not checking the syllables. :")
This was unexpected. Thank you Wn. (3rd huh? ) ♀️ 18.01.2021