Mirakee
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©krishnega
krishnega
www.instagram.com/november_mausim/
We can meet again somewhere; somewhere far away from here
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krishnega
22h
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krishnega
2d
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©krishnega -
krishnega
2d
©krishnega
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This world is terrible and cruel;
Makes me want to give up colours
And shut myself in a choking pupa.
-Krish
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. -
I’m going back;
.
I’m leaving home, I am going back;
Through the door between walls
Through the streets, through the lanes
Through the outskirts, through the villages
I’m leaving for past; I’m going back.
I’m taking a diary, a pencil, and a family picture;
I’m leaving behind my phone, garden and wallet
I’ve a letter, I’ll write you from the village
You may not find my dairy, I’m going afar;
But you don’t have to worry, I’ll be happy.
This world, it’s life, isn’t for me;
I tried talking to people, but
they hear from only headphones.
I tried caring, but they want only chocolates;
And from love, they want only selfie.
My being, it belongs with the past;
Sadly, I am too many years late, but,
I’m heading to the days of silent love
Where people read eyes and spoke heart;
It lies far behind, forgotten and abandoned;
But, I’m going there, to that forest,
That which whispers my name.
-Krish -
krishnega
5d
I stare at mountains for too long; so that when I’m there, I will know, luck can’t be the word.
-Krish -
krishnega
5d
So one certain day, when the pupa breaks and you enter the world, you will see how different a world this is; how not very many are pretty; how some are mean, selfish cruel; You’re first scared, and then you pity; then you realise that, though pupa wasn't a reality it helped you grow beautiful, it kept your feeble goodness alive, it had protected your innocence, till you could protect it yourself; then, you understand that life isn’t fair and not every pupa transforms a butterfly; you don’t feel high, you don’t feel low, you just got lucky once, but you are obliged for the same; so, you learn to love them for who they are and forgive yourself for not having enough to paint a rainbow;
-Krish -
krishnega
5d
©krishnega
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krishnega
1w
You wilt inside the walls,
But I bleed afar, in the wild.
-Krish -
I remember your wounds
The stardust in your veins.
And ever since I lost you
I’ve been growing thorns
Pricking people, for stardust.
But darling,
You’ve been gone for far too long
I don’t think, I can hold on,
Men have learnt a way
to take me away.
-Krish
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tmdisarro
3d
Read MoreSOMEONE ASKED THE QUESTION: HOW DO I BEGIN WRITING POETRY?
This was my reply on the fly....
Take out your notebook and let's begin with an apple...
Place the apple on a table and describe it without mentioning fruit...write about the taste, the color, the smell...what does it remind you of? Maybe it reminds you of your grandmother's apple pie. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla when you walked into her house. What did the house remind you of? My grandmother's house reminded me of a museum, everything covered in plastic. How about you? How would you describe your grandmother's house? Was there cigarette smoke mixed in with the cinnamon and vanilla? There was with mine. Was it a safe space in time? Were you a child or an adult? Did you visit with family or alone? Was she a mother figure like mine? Your thoughts don't have to rhyme. What color dress was she wearing the last time you saw her? Did her dress look like a bouquet of flowers on a coffin or a grave?
Or maybe the apple reminds you of an apple grove. Picture this in your mind: Sitting under an apple tree with your first love...what was she wearing? Were her eyes blue as the sky or green as grass? Was her dress lavender or pink forget-me-nots? Was her hair red as a sunset or black as a Raven? Can you describe her as a color...as a painting...as a song.... and if as a song, what lyrics come to mind? How do you feel when you think of her now? Were you both eating apples? Were they sweet or sour? Did her kiss taste of apples or peppermint bubble gum? Was it raining? Was there sunshine streaming through the trees? Describe those sunbeams of light through the trees, resting on your lover's face, on her hair, on her body. Did her lips glisten as if touched with sweet cream butter melting in the summer sun..
Now imagine the apple orchard is a garden, not just any garden, but the Garden of Eden. Your lover hands you an apple....it's the first time you've ever tasted it. Describe the taste of it as a secret between you and her. Do you feel guilty about this, are you happy? Now describe temptation. How would you tempt someone? As a serpent, as an elephant or as a butterfly? Describe falling from Grace or Separation from God, distance from a parent or betrayal from a friend.
Imagine now you walk back into your grandmother's house and she has just baked an amazing apple pie and it smells delicious and you can't wait to taste it because the taste of apples reminds you of your lovers kiss, but this time your grandmother is laying dead on the floor. Was it a heart attack? Was it murder? There is flour all over the floor and footprints leading to an open window. Now replace the flour with snow and you are standing outside the house looking in on the scene with footprints in the snow leading up to the open window as you look at her on the floor and you can smell apples outside the window in the cold. It's snowing big snowflakes or is it flour floating in the air? What does the cold feel like? Can you compare cold to an emotion or to an event? Or are the snowflakes actually Cherry blossoms? Do the cherry blossoms smell like your lovers perfume? Have you returned to the Garden or are you laying in her bed somewhere in Japan? What pops into your mind as you are looking into her eyes? Compare this moment to something else past, present or future.
How do you feel about the loss of your grandmother? Describe pain as a color. Or maybe your lover just broke up with you under the apple tree...describe how you feel without mentioning the tree or the apples. Now replace the apple tree with clouds and the apple with thunder and the kisses with tears and the excitement with lightning....I can go on and on and write a book around an apple...but that's just me...this is about you....let your imagination soar....open your mind to the possibilities all around you....poetry is like a filter for life!
Good luck! TM DiSarro
©2019 TM DiSarro/MindScapes PublishingHOW DO I BEGIN WRITING POETRY?
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__101__
1w
There is a voice inside
Which no one could hear.
There is a void inside
Which no one could fill.
And there are some cracks
Which no one could mend!!
©__101__ -
thesexysoul_
3w
MY DAD
If I could write a story,
It would be the greatest ever told.
I'd write about my daddy,
For he had a heart of gold.
My dad, he was no hero
Known around this world.
He was everything to me,
For I was his baby girl.
I'd write about the lessons.
He taught me right from wrong.
He instilled in me the values
That one day I'd be strong.
He taught me to face my fears,
Take each day as it comes,
For there are things that we can't change.
He would say what's done is done.
He would say hold your head up high,
Carry yourself with pride.
Thanks to him, I am somebody,
I will never run and hide.
If I could write a story,
It would be the greatest ever told.
I'd write about my daddy,
For he had a heart of gold.
©thesexysoul_ -
theboywiththespecs
8w
Read More“But, if you loved me, why’d you leave me? Take my body! Take my body!
All I want is, and I need is, to find somebody. I’ll find somebody. Like you.”
- All I Want, KodalineAll I Want
I keep listening to these sad songs; relating the lyrics to our love.
It’s crazy, but I can’t help it.
I sit spine up in the bed—with my bedcover wrinkled and pillows spread out—and see how big the bed has grown without you.
The closet doors stay silent, but once in a while whispers your name.
I pretend I don’t listen, but I always do.
I never flip the fan switch on, because the whooshing of the fan takes your echoes away from the room.
And, your echoed are what I have left of you.
I don’t stand before the mirror; I don’t see anything, anymore.
Your barrettes, bob pins, and headbands lay on the dresser, untouched.
Right next to the sofa, I kept your suitcase packed, just in case you come alive; you need your clothes, you can’t wear the same dress you are buried with.
I have not changed the date on the calendar, and the watches ran out of time.
Our dinner table is dusty, and the chairs your bought are paralysed to death.
The electricity bill has never crossed more than 100 rupees in the last three months, because all I use is just the WiFi.
The lights have never been on in a while, and I don’t know the black thing that is on the bottom corner of the bed.
Sometimes, it moves, but mostly it stays still.
I am scared, but I am mostly lost; I learnt that when you’re lost, losing your life to a black moving thing seems less than a big deal.
The bananas I bought for you are rotten; the apples, too.
The bread loaf is covered in fungi, and the water smells putrid. I still drink.
The dog kept barking—it should’ve been in hunger—but is sleeping for almost a month now.
Don’t know when it will wake up. Or if it will.
The fish tank is blurred. I don’t see fish. I don’t see anything move.
It’s green—the water.
I know. Weird.
The walls around are moist—almost as if they have cried—but the floor is surprisingly dry.
The flowers in the vase have no life, so are the stuffed toys.
The dark space at the bottom of the cupboards and bureaus from the floor, are growing darker, and I see hands reaching out of it.
Don’t worry. I have sleeping pills. I pop one in every two minutes.
Did I say I throw up everyday?
Yes. It’s terrible. I’m disgusting.
You should come check out.
I smell of vomits, disgust, and you.
More of you, and less of vomit.
I sneak out everyday to see if you have sent me mail; I check Gmail and WhatsApp too.
Technology should allow dead to communicate.
Like, right now.
I don’t know what month it is. My phone says, “December 25”.
It can’t be true, I know.
You won’t stay away from me without talking for a whole darn year, would you?
Also, you know my phone; it gets crazy sometimes.
I don’t feel hungry anymore.
I can’t remember the last meal I had.
Everything’s blurred. Like the fish tank.
Am I drowning?
I don’t think so, too.
You should come soon.
The stagnant vomit let mosquitoes grow, and there are bad things all over the place.
Last night a lizard fell on my right shoulder; we became friends.
The door is unlocked, if you want to know.
I still have room for one more person on bed; I can ask the black thing on the bed to shift.
But, you should come.
Soon.
I want to see sunshine. I want to clean the fish tank. I want to turn the lights on.
Or at least write to me.
Will you, please?
Or, let me come over.
I’m alone anyway.
I don’t mind traveling.
If where I come has you, I’ll start my trip right away.
Just tell me. Yes? No? Anything, please.
You know how it feels when your finger has a splinter?
My whole body feels that now: like, a spear of incredible size is lodged through me.
I forgot breathing. Heartbeats haven’t been heard in a long time. I’m pulseless.
The black thing is growing—occupying more space on the bed—and I am tired of waiting.
I lost count of the days I waited, and I am sick of mourning.
If we loved, why should I get to pine alone?
Why should I cut my soul with splinters?
Why should I sleep with a black moving thing?
Pull me home, or I’ll push myself to hell. -
I made a potpourri of poetry, and it’s available on Kindle, exclusively.
Read, review, and share.
You will love it. -
iamjass
5w
Read MoreTo Jasmine,
Letter 1 :
You are under a lilac sky, a gleaming night sky which barely overlooks the remnants of your whims and calls, aren't you? Now you wonder Jasmine, how I do know all this, don't you? I know myself and that's why I can say, you wonder. And at this time, you are frowning and digging every possible souvenir out to connect the dots. But you fail. And now you are just going to see the name of sender. Don't do that for now. Let me say who I am. I'm, you, Jasmine. I am the twenty years old you, writing these letters to you, my nine years old self. I'm twenty now and I have so many "could've been" and "would've been", in other words, regrets. There are some things, I would like to tell you before you keep your feet on the thorns like I did eleven years ago.
I know you would believe me. I was as simple as a mirror back then. As fresh as first rain of monsoon. As soothing as the first sakura of April.
Here are some letters. And at the end of each letter I have mentioned exactly when you are supposed to read the next letter. Please do as I say. I know you will. I was obedient back then.
You may read the next letter right now.
Letter 2 :
Jasmine, if you are reading this, then I assume you have read the first letter with your rapt attention. In few weeks you are about to have your final exams of KG school. I know you are morose. You abhor goodbyes. You hate showing back. Then it will be the day of result outing. You, along with your classmates, would make a promise to themselves that you all would be coming for the ultimate goodbye. A proper, goodbye. Don't make that promise. Your closet friend would make that promise too. And you would expect him coming. Don't do so. Here the sun of questionnaires would be rising deep inside your heart. But as I can't fumble the curtains wholly, only I can say this. That day, you would be meeting your first heartache ever. The very first crack on the ground of your heart. And the root is that promise. Don't make it. Please.
You will be moving to a next town. So get prepared for new air. New sighs. New classmates. New. New and everything new. Only the blood in your veins and your bloodline would be the same. And nothing more.
You should read the next letter before you join your new school.
Letter 3 :
Here, you have made two letters, imprinted on your mind. Well done Jasmine. Here is something very important. I need you to listen to this. Very carefully. With every ounce of yours. Father will be willing to put you for your drawing classes. Don't join the class. Don't! The classes would be on Sundays. You love painting. And back then I was pretty good on that. You have a good choice of colours and canvases. You have been adoring hues for so long. The crimson twilight, the blue winter. The orange and your favourite back then, the summer rose. Here, at my twentieth step, things are unbearably grey. Mundane. Don't join the class. Save yourself. Save jasmine. Father would listen to you. He loves you.
You will be leading the top position in your class. But you pushed yourself very hard. Well, precisely saying, I pushed. You don't do that. Perhaps Mum would love you a little less, perhaps Dad would be less proud but hey, it's gonna be okay. Things would tend to better-ness than bitterness.
After the summer vacation, you would skip school for one day. Don't do that. Go to school. Successively. No matter what and how. You would be refraining someone from doing something notorious. Something fatal. And this way you would be able to save both of you.
Make some good friends. By the word "Good", I meant, the friends who would be by your side no matter what. You will get one, your best friend. Don't let him go away, in any cost. He really cares. With him things would be little bit more bearable. He really would be meaningful to you with the passage of time. He would be shy or perhaps a slap of introverted self. But he will be doing things for you silently. So each time he would be making you smile, don't forget to thank him. He would be overwhelmed. He would be smiling.
You must read the next letter before 2013
Letter 4 :
By this time, you have embraced your puberty. Now you know about hormones and feelings, chemistry and all the statics. You are struggling to untangle the knots left, I assume. And I really hope you did as I said and now having a serene smile on your face. The most important thing, in fact the main tornado of your life is, Love. Next year, you would be falling in love. I can not say, don't fall. This is something words cannot control. This is beyond all. Rather I would say not to go out on 15th March. Stay at home. For the entire day. Read as much as you can. Don't go outside. From here things would be pretty much awkward. Love is something, that was never in my basket. To me it has always been a cigarette, passionate enough to kill all the butterflies of my very stomach. If people wanna abandon you, let them. People are breeze Jasmine, they are just to touch your face and leave.
Perhaps life there, has been changed a bit or maybe a lot. And I hope that's for good. Maybe you have found someone who is apt to cherish your heart. If not then don't hurry. Just don't fall for the wrong autumn. The spring would mourn. Just wallow over the canvas and wait for the sky to fall upon.
You may read the next letter after your 10th board.
Letter 5 :
I know you have done very well in your 10th board. Congratulations. But you are not so happy, well, I know myself. It's gonna be okay. Don't worry.
In my world, I write. Precisely I'm a scribbler. And I find my euphoria here, in the lines, voids and metaphors. I started writing to lift up the burden, to set the world free from upon my shoulders, from the heart. If you have done accordingly as I said and if there life had been changed for a betterment, still you can hold a pen. Still you can sniff the aroma of ink soaked paper. There are zillions of hues that you can paint with black and white, in poetry.
Above all, I would say, if you can, Write. Write for the goods. Write for the summer rose. Write for the sufferings and sufferers. For the survives. For the fighters. For zeal. For nature. For the these letters. For mum. And above all, for yourself.
And on this pathway, in the poetic exodus of unspoken and metaphors, you may fall for amalgamation of words but don't fall for the hands who write it. Poetry is better than a person. Fall for a poetry but never for a person. Not now. Be sane.
You may read the next letter.
Letter 6 :
This is the ultimate letter. From me to the junior me. Now I wonder whether I could reach you with these words. How are you now? I wonder. But asking a question would be a vain. You can't answer. But someday if you see a dandelion dancing in rain, wave your hands towards that. Do so. 'cause that would be me.
You may think, I am happy, dancing at my edges as I told you some alterations and now I, here, would be breathing in a fresh air. But no. Jasmine.
I can never change future by writing letters to bygone. Here, I would be the same as I was. And somehow I have accepted it. By altering the bygone, in your world, you would be creating a parallel world, different from mine where you would live, breathe in a fresh air. The letters cannot be back to me. So you may keep them.
I always wanted to save myself. But each time, I failed. I stretched my back to save else's sake. I always have been doing so. But at the end of the day, I am fallen all alone, like a culprit. And here I'm, a culprit for decade. Whenever I see a kid, cold, standing, or is about to jump into the world of blue, I shiver. I urge to save the kid.
Nobody said this to me. Even when I needed to hear it the most. And if nobody has said this earlier then let me say now, to you,
"it's okay, you will be just fine. I'm here."
So I wrote the letters. To save you. I know not how far I have come out victorious. But I guess, the world there, the parallel one would be a bit more bearable than it. The wind here, it blows from land to sea, dried and hot. I hope the wind there would be blowing backward, from sea to land, full of moisture and heartthrobing. I hope I saved you. And not me, in this world, but you, would be smiling Jasmine.
Somewhere, somehow. Beautifully. Perhaps more beautifully.
Be happy. A bit. Smile, a bit more.
Sayonara.
From,
Jasmine
©iamjass | 2019The Backward Wind
So I wrote the letters. To save you. I know not how far I have come out victorious. But I guess, the world there, the parallel one would be a bit more bearable than it. The wind here, it blows from land to sea, dried and hot. I hope the wind there would be blowing backward, from sea to land, full of moisture and heartthrobing. I hope I saved you. And not me, in this world, but you there, would be smiling Jasmine.
Somewhere, somehow.
Beautifully. Perhaps more beautifully.
Sayonara.
©iamjass -
__she_loves_her_blue_eyed_man_
8w
Read MoreThis is a piece that's been in my memo app for several months now. It was initially quite a bit longer, but I cleaned it up and revamped the ending to make it eligible for today's Mirakee challenge, using the word 'farce.' I would describe this piece as post apocalyptic ruminations and dystopic daydreams, in which I've relied on my untamed imagination to envision what the world might be like in just such a dire situation. It's a bit gloomy and doomy, but hopefully you'll find it interesting. I think my sons might actually like it. I'll have to remember to read it to them. Oh! And you'll be happy to know that it is by no means an accurate depiction of my state of mind. Still very sunny and cheery in there, as per usual; so no worries, eh? ;)
Thank you for reading.
Blessings,
Carolyn
DYSTOPIC DAYDREAMS
by Carolyn Glackin
A raging inferno
Mind on a bender
Prayers left unanswered
Marked 'return to sender'
Scornful reproaches
From beings of Light
A brash disregard
For what once was deemed right
A journey of dreams
Steeped in emotion
A temple ahead
Yet I'm devoid of devotion
Every heart like a tomb
Where love's laid to rest
While burning a hole
In the pit of the chest
A merciless tune
Playing on on my mind
A bitter lament
Of a past, left behind
Time, a cruel mistress
Who demands a large fee
Though I try to ignore her
And I won't bend the knee
But when the piper comes calling
Give the devil his due
You don't have to like it
Just pay up and be through
There's a roomful of angels
Without any wings
And a table of crowns
Without any kings
Purveyors of truth
Are dealing in lies
The heralds of hope
I've come to despise
The bards and the minstrels
Are fresh out of tunes
As I seek my salvation
In a pocket of runes
The state of the world
Is apocalyptic
The beggars and thieves
Are all opportunistic
Spinning their tales
With pitiful eyes
Well all the while
They move in on the prize
Victims are many
Heroes are few
And as for the rest
They haven't a clue
The gurus, long gone
Not a single saint here
All the news channels shouting
That the end's finally near
And the one I once knew
Cast me out for defiance
Then left me for dead
And sought out new alliance
So I can't help but wonder
When words become sparse
Was it ever for real
Or was it all just a farce?
Copyright Carolyn Glackin 12/23/18
Image credit goes to the rightful owner.
#mirakee #writersnetwork #wordoftheday #dailychallenge #wod #challenge #apocalyptic #postapocalyptic #dystopic #dystopian #macabre #ceesdystopalyptic.
-
bobbycneis
9w
I always loved how she listened to the endless sky
-
Like an ocean
this love is deep.
so that memories
feel.safe inside"
©tomorrow_is_amazing -
hisana
9w
Read MoreHe was scared of falling asleep. The dreams had been there for quite some time now, and he wondered if they were ever truly going to go away. After all, two years had already gone by. He'd seen his most dreaded nightmares come to life when he'd close his eyes. Claustrophobia, heights, the death of his few friends, wars...
But most of all he dreaded seeing her die.
Beatrice Prior... the first jumper. His Tris.
He'd seen her die many times now... all in different ways... Jeannie, Caleb and David teaming up for the job, Peter throwing her over the chasm... it was a never-ending abyss. Each time he would watch her mutilated self calling out for help to him... Each time he would be rooted to the spot unable to move.
It was really strange how he could sense himself entering his dreamworld as he slowly fell asleep, but then in their carefully programmed world where every person was some sort of a stereotype, some were different. And they were divergent.
.............
Tonight was different. Tobias could feel it. He was walking along a strange and lonely path that seemed to stretch on endlessly. He kept walking for what seemed like eternity till he came upon a clearing.
A giant ferris wheel...
Memories came back to him in a rush.
He forgot that he was afraid of heights,... He just clambered onto the ladder and started climbing.
............
"You took your own sweet time".
For a while, he couldn't move. He had seen her regularly in his dreams, but tonight she looked different.
"wanna join me?"
"Uh huh..."
They sat in silence for a while gazing out at the city in front of their eyes.
"So, how's life?" Tris asked.
He took a deep breath before he started. He told her of everything that constituted his life now... his mom, Caleb, Zeke, Shawna, Christina... the reformation... the abolishment of the factions...
She listened in silence, a light smile on her face...
When he finished, he looked at her straight in the eye and asked " And You? How's life ?"
Tris let herself get lost in his eyes, but only momentarily. She leant forward and gave him a long lingering kiss.
"You've not been entirely honest, have you?" She said walking up to the edge of the platform. He kept silent. " I know about the dreams".
" You wanted to know how's life going on for me right? Well, it's not too bad... I've got my parents...and Uriah... and Al really tries hard to make it up to me. Will... I apologized to him... and he forgave me. He understands my situation. That there really wasn't anything else I could've done. Marlene and Lynn are really the best friends I could've hoped for...
But it still gets lonely without You, you know...
I miss you. Strongly at times.
But Tobias, I'm okay... so please don't be in a hurry to join me. Please take your time. Live your life to the fullest...
Please don't get stuck on me... forever."
She looked at him... and her eyes spoke of sadness.
"TRIS, NO!!!!" he screamed out as soon as he realized what she was going to do.
" You need to let me go, Tobias..." she whispered "Goodbye".
She took a step back and suddenly, the first jumper was hurtling through the air again. He ran to the edge... He wanted to have a last glimpse of her...
But before she hit the ground, her body transformed... into a thousand black ravens like the three tattooed on her collar bone. Away they flew disappearing into the night.
..................
" Did you hear what Four has been talking bout recently?" Zeke asked Christina, over the phone.
" Yup I was surprised too... I didn't imagine that he'd like to scatter Tris' ashes that way!"
" I wonder what happened? He's scared of heights".
Christina stared into the space... " You know something Zeke? We're never irreparably broken. We heal each other."
Outside rain was falling... cleansing the earth.
Maybe the process of healing had already begun.
______________________________
Hello guys! That was some divergent fan fiction as per the challenge by @readwriteunite. Hope you enjoyed it. Any mistakes are mine of course !
#fanfiction #rwu #ceesnewbies #divergent #rwu_fanfiction #fourtris.©hisana
