Mirakee
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khadijachughtai
www.instagram.com/cornucopiaofwords/
of all the people I have lost, I miss myself the most
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khadijachughtai
1d
Read MoreMake sure your personal space is not invaded.
'Too close and that might suffocate you.
Too exposed and you will be killed.'
#pod #tod #writersnetwork #growth -
this being someone
this existing,
making an appearance
wherever I am needed
it's so tiring
i want to disappear
where my name and reputation
will not follow me
neither anyone's expectations
I want to hide
where I can feel unnoticed
and tend to myself
I can take off my armour
of strength and pretend
unwind and reorder me
with no shame or guilt
I want to stop feeling
for the ungrateful world
that's surrounding me
and spilling on me its secrets
which I find hard to keep
but I keep ;
'just for a little while'
I want 'to not be'
or longer maybe
until I detox and recover
Khadija Chughtai -
I am only a messenger
when I declare
they are gone
they are dying
there is nothing that can be done
i let them cry over their loved ones
with barely anything to console
I hide what I feel for them
I am not allowed to disclose
I pray for them with sealed lips
and hands tied
I sometimes wish
I could stop
and put my own life on standby
so I don't have to see
another soul in pain,
another man die
or another person saying
a last goodbye
Khadija Chughtai // A doctor's life -
khadijachughtai
5d
Read More
I have stopped trying to be happy
happiness is a thing so scary
sometimes it leaves before it arrives
why should I wait for it?
all I want or try is 'not to be sad'
but things always come with consequences
and sadness is a loyal friend
stays when I want it gone
it gets diaplaced with temporary emotions
but never leaves me on my own
If I am an ocean
for me it's the ocean's depth
engulfs all that comes
or sail it away
and when I am distracted
by the moon's magnetic touch
having an impact
from a great distance
it pulls me back
to where I belong,
where I am owned,
In a cold dark world
where sadness is a must
©Khadija Chughtai
#pod #tod #writersnetworkIf I am an ocean
for me sadness is the ocean's depth
engulfs all that comes
or sail it away
and when I am distracted
by the moon's magnetic touch
having an impact
from a great distance
it pulls me back
to where I belong,
where I am owned,
In a cold dark world
where sadness is a must
©Khadija Chughtai -
our every step is guided
even if we are lost
I firmly believe in a miracle
called 'H O P E'
©Khadija Chughtai -
Strength fills us
as we bear
the unbearable.
Khadija Chughtai -
Why do you keep coming back
like I am important to you?
if my existence meant much,
you would never have left.
©Khadija Chughtai -
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khadijachughtai
1w
Read More
Many things make me sad. Thinking about the kind of lives we are living make me sadder.
#pod #tod #writersnetworkThe world I stepped in was simpler and better
No rush for things, no chase of glamour
People were living under one roof as family
Now they care more about their privacy
Being honest and real is old fashioned
Being fake and mean is hot and trendy
Manners are a thing of past
We are badly split in creed and cast
Money is the only solid game
Leaving character behind, they run after fame
Now envy is the fastest growing disease
Turning friends and family into enemies
The jewels of respect and dignity and nowhere
With polluted minds they think of a clean atmosphere
Sinners judging sinners is so in practise
I am sure the world wasn't made for this
Seems like earth is a big ball of mess
I feel like running away I confess
Khadija Chughtai -
She wanted to fix the broken
but ended up broken with no fix.
©Khadija Chughtai
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branthan
3d
Read MoreWhy do you exist? No, it is not a question about a deeper philosophical meaning to existence, but a simple question on why do you wanna live for another day and do not want to escape the sound that the clock makes?
You breathe in and out of this existence, exhausting every bone and merely collapsing into the night to do it all over again.
There is a sense of normality that no one wants to question. It is as if we are here for a reason. I think it gives a certain purpose to this mundanity, you wake up in and out of it without questioning why it is the way that it is. Sometimes we are attached to things that make not a lot of sense, like love and stars perhaps. The longer you try not to ponder too much about this benign comfort, the better you sleep with some plans to a tomorrow that doesn't exist.
I do not know where I'm going with this, it doesn't have the structure and discipline to be something meaningful, art. I wish I knew the right words to tell you about the way how each neuron lights up and creates a subjective reality that feels so personal.
Sometimes you feel too much, it is as if all the words the world has to offer is not enough to pen it down on a white sheet of paper that looks as empty as the space between stars where light forgot to touch. You're not sure what to make of it, what it is that you're feeling, or the why.
You read all the books you could find, yet feel so empty as the day before. Maybe there are lines between the lines that you do not know how to read, maybe all that you see is all that you can understand. You talk, to a stranger after another at three in the morning in a hope that they feel the same, that they could understand but it ends the same mundane way, predictable.
I've read somewhere that language is the reason we have evolved to be different from the creatures that lurk in the dark. The cognitive tradeoff hypothesis argues that during our evolution, humans had to sacrifice our short-term memory to facilitate complex language capabilities.
Perhaps, language is the one thing holding our civilization together, letting us express whatever it is that we are feeling to feel better or worse in the next moment. It is such a beautiful thing when you think about it, by carefully placing some lines and curves on empty space, you feel connected to a reality that is much more complex and chaotic than your own.
Chaos is not always a villain, we came into existence from the cosmic chaos that keeps on expanding beyond our reach. Maybe that is the purpose of all of this, evolving slowly to witness all the chaos that unfolds all around us and watch it in awe, how it gives birth to worlds that are beyond our touch but a starry night away. There is a poetic touch to all of this, I feel.
Maybe this poetic touch is what makes us not ponder too much the futility of it all. Every moment feels so real and keeps on pushing us to more dusks and dawns that we love to witness. Every dusk is followed by dawn, every end is another beginning. We don't know if it is true, but we love the poetic touch of it.
It may not be grounded in reality, all that we feel, perhaps all of this is a random collapse of a system that we can never comprehend, and we are nothing but a speck of stardust that looks at the sky in awe and dies alone. But the truth is, art doesn't have to be real. Art is about what something makes you feel not about the exact depiction of reality.
Like, starry night. Starry night isn't an exact replication of reality, it is not a painting of what Van Gogh saw, it is a painting about what he felt in that moment and that is what makes it so special.
That is why we need art and artists, to feel that depth of existence that we always yearn for. To feel and connect to the poetic touch that is hiding in plain sight in the mundane part of our days and nights.
What is art, I often wonder. To be able to feel something, something that's so simple and pristine beyond our senses can gently decode, but so hard to explain why it is that you feel that way.
When Byron wrote,
"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."
you and I don't think about the same person, yet it makes you think about something, something that feels so personal that it skips a heartbeat.
Then there is a someone. Someone that fits so well with our messy nights. It is always the nights that you feel more connected to, certain tranquility that makes you more alive. A poignant touch of reality that is so calm that you can finally collect all the pieces that feel so disconnected, and place them on the cold floor.
Then there is someone, someone who places their hand on top of yours and tries to connect the missing parts that lie naked on the floor. It is these moments that make you realize that existence is not suffering, but a certain feeling that only a few can understand on some nights like these. Feelings that you can rarely wrap around with the right words to tell the world, but deep down feel so real that you feel like you belong.
Then there is someone, someone who feels like art in its purest form, few lines, and a million metaphors. Someone who feels like home.
I love how broken this feels, each block of letters so disconnected from another ranting about a reality that isn't yours but a stranger that you don't even know about. But here you are, following every line and curve on a screen looking for something. I won't ask you what it is that you're looking for, it may not make sense to many, and it is not supposed to make sense to many, art is special that way and I know you would understand.
how to write a poem?
I often ask myself this
same question,
each time starting anew.
umpteen words and
uncertain feelings, they
come and go
in silence.
fragile like a rusted door
waiting for a push to open,
a new world awaits.
more words to form
more rhymes to thrive
I'll gather them around
and ask this,
am I close enough
or still far away
to write a poem
to feel the world?
@writersnetwork @mirakee #pod.
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theinkdomain
5d
Read More#alliteration #wod #pod #ceesreposts #writersnetwork
#mirakee @writersnetwork @mirakee @readers_novella
Thank-you very much @writersnetwork♡.
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blackbird_
3w
Read More#promise
Discontented Heart.
At the threshold of heaven
seeking a day life back,denied!
Pursuing an hour least,
Turned down again callously,
"Oh lord have clemency on me,
Much I am to say, to my beloved "
I had promised of my arrival
Before the imminence of winters,
She is agog and longing,Grant a chance
with gratitude to have a glance,
For the fire in the snow she made,
beguiling eyes which seeks me but no one,
Aromatic satin redolent soft locks,
made shade in scorching sun,
the contented contagious smile
when reasons were weeny or none,
Confiscate my life as many a times,
Vouchsafe me a moment of her smile".
Oracles answered -
"Nothing perpetually endures
You had ample abundant time,
Ever you wished to state
Prior to were slayed,
Opted for better morrows
Those came and bygone,
Words drenched in sweetness
Clasped to your disquiet heart,
But ne'er reached out to anyone,
Time flies ne'er comes back,
Live in the moment conferred
No one knows,wait for none
Once infamous death beckons
And you would be gone"...
©blackbird_
@antheia_❤️.
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daphnae
1w
Read More©daphnae
#headline #wod
Thank you @writersnetwork (15)
And @mirakee for the POD �� (4).
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branthan
2w
Read More
when you start stripping down
all the colors and all that's
left are some blacks and whites.
you find all the shadows
falling behind some
inconspicuous corners
of an unlit room.
you feel your skin touching
the final stroke of solitude.
you breathe in and out,
exhausting every bone
to catch up with this monotony
but I'm feeling like a human today
is that okay?
I have this disease of falling
in love with everyone and everything.
I let 'em borrow a little part of me
to fill their broken facades and
now i live in pieces, scattered
around places and people
beyond my reach.
maybe I am dying too.
but I'm feeling like a human today.
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theinkdomain
3w
Read More
#love #ceesreposts #picturec #writersbay #writersnetwork @writersbay @writersnetwork @readers_novella
Happy Valentine's Day to y'all ��.
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Ghosts in mirrors
Ghost, in dirty democracy, honey soaked oath
By unstitched honesty, false faces of morals
Leaders, in illegal lobbies, kill hopes of homes
Behind the doors, backed lies, playin' with trust
Ghost, in unsatisfied mind, in beautiful illusion
Trailing off peace;fears, restless in real vision
Solitary river cease to flow, in search of seas
Overstretched desires, unfathomed happiness
Ghost, in inhabitant violence, alcoholic senses
Strokes of belt strap's buckle; rigid body, soul
Flowers wither in valley of clavicles, lost path
Hobbled patterns of footsteps, given up soul
Ghost, in the garden of roses of toxic fertilizer
Singing broken promises, twisting own tongue
In the presence of birds, eve yellow lanterns
Playing with emotions, forever will be on fires
Ghost, in the mirrors, you're afraid of being
Bodies are baptized, transpercy is bold truth
Bit broken, bit rotten, bit insane, almost healed
Stop cultivating catastrophe, accept and learn
©jeelpatel
