meghasharma

A bard in the barque of verses��

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  • meghasharma 1d

    I behold a girl,
    naive, bruised, silent,
    sobbing in a room,
    with all walls painted
    in the shades of black.

    I ask her name,
    she doesn't reply,
    suddenly I perceive
    a mirror between our worlds.

    It's double faced,
    insane me, taking it diaphanous,
    always curious to know,
    what lies beyond the mirror.

    Alas! Mirror never lies,
    it's reflecting the truth
    all the times,
    a girl caged in misery,
    blindfolded to light,
    in love with sweet nectar of night.

    Years went to decades,
    one day I ruminate,
    who stands on
    the other side of
    double faced mirror,
    maybe one of my reflections,
    valiant, solid, candid,
    in a world of light,
    maybe in some parallel universe.
    -meghasharma

    #beyond @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    Years went to decades,
    one day I ruminate,
    who stands on
    the other side of
    double faced mirror,
    maybe one of my reflections,
    valiant, solid, candid,
    in love with light,
    maybe,
    in some parallel universe.
    ©meghasharma

  • meghasharma 2d

    Glossary-
    lay- a song
    Gaia- mother of all life; personification of earth
    passerines- song birds
    wold- plain, uncultivated land
    clad- clothed
    apparition- image
    sapphire- blue stone; here moon
    lachrymal orbs- weeping eyes
    virescent- greenish

    #ceesearthode #earthday @carolyns_challenge_account @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    Ode to Mother Earth

    I sing a lay in glory of thee,
    O' Gaia, the mother of all life,
    in the planet of Poesy
    where passerines your tribe,
    spreading hymns of wild
    to wold to bear a child!

    Wearing the wreath of flora,
    clad with the stretched ether,
    the distant fireball casting aura,
    whose departure makes you wither
    like the trees in autumn,
    yet his apparition in sapphire,
    makes you shine from top to bottom,
    and you spin in ecstasy,
    as silent as a sea, yet burning like a fire!

    Your womb is fertile,
    you are the giver of all forms of life,
    the goddess of blue planet,
    whose glory recites with lachrymal orbs
    the heaven when the dawn beholds
    dew drops on thy virescent yard!
    ©meghasharma

  • meghasharma 3d

    You are already great because in the face of endless confusion and certain death, you continue to choose what to give a fuck about and what not to. This mere fact, this simple optioning for your own values in life, already makes you beautiful, already makes you successful, and already makes you loved. Even if you don't realize it. Even if you are sleeping in a gutter and starving.
    -Mark Manson
    (The subtle art of not giving a f*ck)

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  • meghasharma 4d

    nought- figure zero
    mendicant- a beggar
    indolent- lethargic

    #drift @writersnetwork @mirakee

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    Digging down the earth,
    building heap of mirth,
    oblivious of its worth,
    searching treasure,
    keeping aside the pleasure,
    Increasing nought like a mendicant,
    stubborn and not vigilant,
    oblivious of the unpredictable storm,
    drifting the heap away,
    reap of lust soon drown,
    too indolent to start anew,
    with blunt sickle and rustic view.
    ©meghasharma

  • meghasharma 1w

    A BARD IN THE BARQUE OF VERSES ��

    In the darkest of nights,
    I lie abandoned,
    with the flickered flames of my lamp
    and my woebegone mind,
    lamenting over my hippocrene,
    the day she parted from me,
    left me and my pen alone,
    with blank sheet and empty canvas,
    devoid of all musings,
    I once cherished!

    I was a moonstruck,
    and still I am,
    waiting for the arrival
    of that waxing gibbous
    against the black canvas,
    till the advent of full moon,
    I will wait,
    wait for that idyllic vista,
    a rendezvous,
    a bard's muse,
    whose glory the nightingale hymns!

    Nature has a permanence, a tranquility,
    but deep down I know,
    the thing of beauty won't last long,
    it leaves a memory,
    and even though she will arrive one day,
    but I fear the waning gibbous,
    the day when
    we will again parted away,
    left again a bard
    in the barque of verses
    to sail, searching for his phoebe,
    not enticed by
    the poison of red berries,
    but in forage of
    the lily of the valley
    to bloom amidst
    the bosky dell!

    Even if my ink indites
    a lament in deep plight,
    but my pen still writes it
    in the glory of night,
    and will not cease to ink,
    till the soul meets the divine.
    The lily of the valley
    will bloom one day,
    and I will wait,
    till the nightingale returns
    to the vale,
    maybe the next year in May!
    -meghasharma

    Glossary-
    bard- a poet
    barque- boat
    hippocrene- a poetic muse
    waxing gibbous- growing phase of moon
    idyllic- peaceful, picturesque
    waning gibbous- shrinking phase of moon
    phoebe- moon( according to Greek Mythology)
    bosky- wooded
    dell- valley
    Lily of the valley- a woodland flower symbolizes the return of happiness when it blooms and is associated with the singing of nightingale
    vale- valley

    I've chosen the following accounts for this challenge. They are amazing and took my musings on the verge ��
    @darkest_of_nights
    @woebegone_mind
    @theflickeredflames
    @moonstruck
    @ni89gale pardon me, I spell it nightingale here ��

    #ceeswwwchall #soul @carolyns_challenge_account @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    Even if my ink indites
    a lament in deep plight,
    but my pen still writes it
    in the glory of night,
    and will not cease to ink
    till the soul meets the divine.
    The lily of the valley
    will bloom one day,
    and I will wait,
    till the nightingale
    returns to the vale,
    maybe the next year
    in May!
    ©meghasharma

  • meghasharma 2w

    There's a snake in my boot,
    And the monster under the bed,
    a dystopic place,
    in the loneliest hour of night,
    with corpses dancing hysterically,
    like they've got their time,
    and I envy them,
    why are they so free,
    while I smother on the bed,
    with ears hearken their grinning,
    olfaction smells the remorse,
    and slowly and steadily,
    they are approaching towards my bed,
    drenching in sweat,
    like a nightmare comes true,
    I'm dying maudlin death,
    cursing why I slayed my life,
    living incognito,
    buried the life,
    oblivious of the monsters
    rising from the grave,
    haunting me at night.
    Rescuing to the bed
    in vain hope to sleep,
    soon a scream deafen me,
    and all the corpses perish.
    The room is now abandoned,
    sight is not deadly,
    it doesn't smell remorse
    bed is now empty,
    but how can I help,
    if the monster lies
    inside my head!
    -meghasharma

    I've chosen the phrase 'The monster under the bed' for the challenge.
    Picture credit- to the rightful owner
    #ceesftfchall @carolyns_challenge_account @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    The room is now abandoned,
    sight is not deadly,
    it doesn't smell remorse,
    bed is now empty,
    but how can I help,
    if the monster lies
    inside my head!
    ©meghasharma

  • meghasharma 2w

    I have taken a quote from the Disney's 'A wrinkle in time'. It's a beautiful sci-fi movie. And I deeply admired the character of Mrs. Who, the best part is she usually speaks in quotations from famous thinkers and writers with giving reference to them and their native places, because she finds it difficult to craft her own sentences.

    I've taken this quote from the movie, which is actually a quotation by Buddha-

    Mrs. Who: The foot feels the foot when it hits the ground-
    Buddha, Nepali

    #dialogue_twist #awrinkleintime
    An amazing challenge by an amazing writer @_ecstatic_writer_

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    A beautiful abode in heaven,
    I was oblivious,
    that it's a glass castle, and
    sooner or later, it would shatter,
    living on a thin rope of belief,
    that it would last forever!
    One day it so happened,
    a single blow of storm
    broke the castle,
    and I got stuck to a place,
    purgatory it was called!
    The sight was deadly,
    it smelled rotten,
    everywhere the predators feed
    the flesh and blood!
    And some of the faces,
    I met there,
    were the same who were
    all the times up there with me!
    Maybe they had faced
    all phases of life before me,
    so used to those asperities!
    And now I realize,
    my part up there was just
    a shard, not the whole castle,
    and the remaining pieces,
    now ghouls devour!
    Pain was there, I knew,
    resisting it all the times,
    but for how long I remained indolent,
    for pain demands to be felt!
    And now I've surrendered
    to life and its asperities,
    'cause it gives me a sense of being,
    Again I am building citadels in air,
    but this time no fear of fall,
    'cause the foot feels the foot
    when it hits the ground!
    ©meghasharma

  • meghasharma 2w

    Image credit- to the rightful owner

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    Clipped wings,
    I'm choking,
    Helpless,
    can't help, but sinking!
    Ocean is deep,
    blood is freezing,
    can't escape from
    the whirlpool of misery.
    Wish you had never come back!
    'Cause when I was
    all about to drown,
    to finally reach the bottom,
    Alas, you came to rescue me.
    Held my hands,
    you taught me,
    not to fly, but to sink,
    deeper and deeper,
    that there was no end,
    to the ocean of melancholy!
    ©meghasharma

  • meghasharma 2w

    When I went to school they told me their history.
    The experienced ones, be the teachers or the walls and pillars, they all had a story to tell. I went there with empty cup, knowing no distinction.The sky, the rain, the wind, the soil, the only ones I knew and spent time with.
    Maybe I had limited wisdom, as they told me, so I set on an unknown voyage to travel the history.
    I was raw, I was wild. Soil was the color of my skin, ocean were my eyes, gentle breeze made me float in dreams, and the open stretched sky held my toys. I cherished them, until one day I was told that my colors were not my own, they were derived from the miracles of heaven, which they pointed towards sky. I yearned to reach that mighty fireball in the sky, which imparts colors. What would be my colour, if there were no tryst between sun and air, would rainbows exist then?
    I grew up with these questions, and the voyage made me sail through more unknown places!
    I was given a map of the world. I demanded that of the universe. They told that the universe is infinite. I wonder why couldn't be human mind then?
    They made me believe in facts, but I loved possibilities. I was not a student of discipline, I was wild. I roamed the galaxies at night, strolled carelessly the wild. They made me to study boundaries, line segments, the sanctuaries, the continents.
    There had cures for all the ails, before that I relied only upon mother's miracles.
    Sunlight inaugurated the days, moon sang lullabies, I love those folktales. But they told me to burn midnight oils to become a conqueror.
    With time, I became a pro in mastering the world and learning its norms.
    I become a survivor, but somewhere living is missing!

    #school @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    The sail's over now.
    Ship's been anchored.
    History is revealed.
    It has made various conquerors and warriors.
    All with secrets, all with vacancies.
    But everyone's heavy
    with the weight of their shadows,
    which travel with them, all this time.
    I too become a survivor,
    but somewhere living is missing!
    ©meghasharma

    (Read the caption)

  • meghasharma 2w

    My life revolves around her.
    Sometimes I spin
    and sometimes I wobble.
    Still I'm attached with her
    through invisible strings of love.
    I wonder
    do I deserve this love
    or does she enjoy her motherhood
    casting shade of her sunshine
    to a loon, she calls her moon!
    ©meghasharma