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  • moonstruck 1w

    Would you look at that?

    I placed a piece of me
    in front of your eyes,
    my bloody fingertips
    stained a crisp paper,
    said words which
    my pierced tongue and lips
    wouldn't have dared
    to say.

    Would you listen to that?

    My breaths. My heartbeats.
    They scream at me,
    for living behind walls,
    for making them embrace
    loneliness; blame me
    all you want.
    I won't think twice
    before doing it again.

    Would you taste that salt?

    It's the product
    of neutralization reaction
    of my acidic mind
    and the 'basic' blood
    which my heart pumps.
    The other product water
    come out of my eyes

    Would you sniff that smell?

    It's the petrichor
    that rise from my tears
    which I shed every
    other night
    to get rid of the heaviness
    and every damn thing
    that's weighing me

    Would you touch that skin?

    The scarred skin of my wrist.
    It was unintentional,
    I just wanted to
    know what it feels like,
    it was an experiment.
    And I ran out of ink,
    that might be just
    another factor.

    I won't ask you to feel
    the emotions which I'm high on
    because you'll die of overdose.
    So, lets keep it to textbooks only,
    'We've got five senses'.



    #writersnetwork #mirakee

    P.s. - I'm out my senses right now. Pardon me.

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    Sixth sense

    I won't ask you to feel
    the emotions which I'm high on
    because you'll die of overdose.
    So, lets keep it to textbooks only,
    'We've got five senses'.

  • moonstruck 1w

    Have you got sandpaper
    in your backpack?

    Because I am rusted
    both inside and out.

    The rust was meant
    for my skin,
    as blush for my cheeks,
    as vermilion for my lips.

    But I am greedy,
    I gulped down
    a downpour of lone tears,
    bottled them inside me,
    they needed a place
    to take shelter
    for a fortnight
    but I caged them
    and made them hostage.

    Can you blame me?
    my organs needed a companion
    to cope up with loneliness.

    Never realised
    the simple process
    of breathing
    will become a cause of
    the decay; the rust
    inside me.

    But you see,
    I cherish natural phenomenon
    so I've got no problem
    with that.

    Now you're here
    knocking on my door,
    I'd welcome you
    with open arms
    and a rusted heart.

    What you want
    is a home, right?
    So here, I am asking you

    'Have you got sandpaper
    in your backpack?'


    #writersnetwork #mirakee

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    Have you got sandpaper in your backpack?

  • moonstruck 1w

    Never mind.

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    I stood by the shore
    The waves washed me away
    I was a home-less child
    Cleaned me, dressed me up
    In mosses and seaweeds
    And tossed me back
    To go in a deep sleep

    I woke up at midnight
    The strong gales carried me
    To a far away land
    I tend to get home-sick
    And I've got a weak stomach
    So, I vomited my feelings

    Bathed myself in pastels
    Sprayed floral cologne
    On my sin-colored-skin
    To fit in with the crowd
    Wanted to feel a little human
    But then someone told me
    It was a land of neons

    I packed my emotions
    In a waterproof bag
    Didn't want them to rust
    And fled away to
    The land of no colors

    They kicked me out
    For now I smelled like flower(s)
    And had a slight pastel-ic skin tone

    So now, do me a favour
    Enclose me in an ellipsoidal box
    Put the lock, throw away the key
    I want to feel human tonight.


  • moonstruck 1w

    And sometimes,
    We need to leave
    We need to change
    For we don't belong to
    Where we are
    We aren't really
    Who we are.


    P. S. - This is an old post.

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    M E T A N O I A

    The station is deserted
    Tickets lying abandoned
    Withered; torn
    My orbs scrutinizing the changes
    I think
    Nothing has changed
    Since I last came
    Same tracks
    Same crevices
    Same pillars
    More patches!
    The patches of peeled off
    Paint on the walls
    Hasn't been mended, yet.
    One, two, three....
    Their count isn't the same
    They've expanded their colony
    The unknown place where I'm heading
    Will there be no patches on the wall?
    Will the wall be of same colour?
    Or some achromatic shade?
    Or no paint, just concrete?
    This time
    No hustles
    No goodbye wishes
    Something sophisticated
    I wish I'd known
    The benches are covered with algae
    Years back
    When I was waiting for the train
    While sitting on the corner bench
    Counting the stars
    Deciphering the constellations
    I hallucinated tears
    In the reflection
    Of the girl who didn't want to
    I felt weak
    I didn't board the train
    The rumbling of it's wheels
    Was clear
    I heard it calling me
    But I let it pass.
    Neither that bench is here
    Nor any reason to stay
    The train is late
    Or I'm early?
    I've time; time to sleep
    To turn back
    To return to the place
    Where I don't belong
    Come soon, come soon
    These musings are collapsing me
    The sweet music of it
    Calling my name
    I'm running
    Running to catch it
    Getting inside it
    And letting myself drown
    In the sleep
    For I want to dream.


  • moonstruck 2w

    People advise you to move on. But what do you do when it's your past which keeps you going through present?

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    Late night walks
    And 3:00 am staring contests
    With the ceiling
    Of your grey colored room
    Now feel like a necessity
    To walk back down
    The memory lane
    Has now become
    A daily routine which
    You've not sabotaged yet.

    Your life was like
    A perfectly clicked photograph
    Now when you've got time
    You can see the chromatic aberration
    On its edges
    But it still hits close to home
    'Cause you were broke back then
    Your pockets were out of dollars
    To buy some trendy facades
    So the smile you wore was genuine.

    They say, you're too lost in your past
    To see what's in front of you
    But you see nothing other than a void
    You would've jumped into it
    If it wasn't for the strings
    Of the bygone times
    Which you were tied to
    And, anyhow, if you'd have done it
    A label of suicidal would've been
    Glued to your forehead.

    There are some things
    Which you know are wrong
    But feel so damn right
    You're handed a list
    Of rights and wrong
    As soon as your consciousness
    Comes into play
    'Living in a past', they claim, is wrong
    But you never followed it anyway
    And you were living for it.

    Nothing comes tagged as right or wrong.
    Does it?


  • moonstruck 7w

    During daytime
    I don't walk around outside
    There's a little too much light
    For me to handle out there
    I've burns to prove it
    Sitting by the window
    With the blinds on
    I get high on caffeine

    It's during night
    I step out of my cloister
    The coldness of night
    Rubs off on me
    Sauntering astray
    I search for
    A sense of belonging
    In the middle of nowhere

    You are sunshine
    But boy, I'm used
    To darkness and starlight
    Got deficiency of Vitamin D
    So, mum forces me
    To be around you
    And let me tell you
    Together we're dynamite

    Someday, we're gonna
    Blow up. Explode.
    Want to hate you
    But you're the only cure
    To my illness
    Can't love you
    For you're the fire
    Which will ignite my funeral pyre

    So, I tread on that thin line
    Between love and hatred
    Barefoot, stumbling a bit
    I ask thorns for a tattoo.


  • moonstruck 8w

    You once told me
    That I was destruction
    Maybe, I still am.

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    Making card castles
    Can be fun and vexing
    At the same time
    I make them; as a sojourn
    They may bury me
    Under their ruins
    But at least I have
    Someone or rather something
    To blame it upon
    Maybe your slight touch?
    Or perhaps the caress of wind?
    And my architectural skills

    But if I make it out alive
    I prefer to put all blame
    (Or credit) on myself
    I love to see
    It turning into dust
    Metamorphically, of course
    And there aren't
    A lot of things I love
    And if not dust
    Ashes aren't too bad either
    So, I keep a box of matches
    Under my pillow

    It's difficult for me
    To stay at a place for long
    Maybe, I got inspiration
    From dandelions
    You don't have to belong
    To a place to make it home
    Wherever I go
    I find bits and pieces of me
    Which I lost in heists
    On those rare nights
    When my insomnia
    Finally decides to take a nap

    And someday,
    I may take the chances of
    Fighting a duel against you
    With a shotgun
    Over a piece of land in wilderness
    We don't play fair
    Neither are we cheaters
    We are observers
    Waiting for a hint
    To pull out big guns
    Oh boy, but I don't pull out big guns
    I prefer hand grenades

    You once told me
    That I was destruction
    Maybe, I still am.


  • moonstruck 9w


  • moonstruck 10w


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    Humane Enough?

    I bought some fresh lies yesternight
    Let me serve it to you along with stale bread
    You've been starved of happiness and love
    Can't give you any of it, I don't know them

    Truth can shatter your already cracked heart
    Your chapped lips move while praying
    To find a home or a sanctuary
    But you'll never find one in me

    I'm just a shadow that lingers behind in dark
    Carrying grim reapers on my shoulders
    The devils of mine are free of their reins
    Coercing me to etch them into forevers

    Structures that I built with scraps
    Have seen them turning into dust
    Got dirt on clothes, scars on vision
    Now, I burn down my own castles

    What you need is a sunrise
    So, I'll let you set your sail towards east
    I'll bid you a farewell with greys
    'Cause that's what I'm made of.


  • moonstruck 13w

    I-am-a-homo-sapien :

    They want me not to shed tears and have fears 'cause they do believe shedding tears and having fears are an epitome of a coward. Tears are needed to lessen the burden of our heart and we must have fears, so we can overcome them. To learn from our fears is far better than not to have them.

    They want me not to speak frankly, to be in my 'limits', it's what they say. It differs that 'limits' here means not to represent my part, to shut my mouth even on wrong doings. "To see evil be done is a more sinful act than to do evil." To not speak for right is what cowards do.

    They want me to be as beautiful as a flower and as tender as its petals, no matter what the circumstances are. They forget about the thorns. Why don't they understand that the outer ugliness isn't ugly, it's the appearance of the soul which matters. And sometimes being tough is what we need, "NO" is what is required instead of tenderness and a deadly "YES".

    They want me to have a calloused heart. For they do believe, it's how we succeed. Leaving everyone, breaking every bond, it's not the way how humans survive.

    But they want me to be any one of these, either a warrior or a coward , either a flower or a thorn.

    Why are they placing me in one more division? This world is already full of social divisions, not one more.

    Why don't they leave me just a Homo sapien?
    A Home sapien who knows how to shed tears and shred fears. A Homo sapien who embraces tenderness and callousness at the same time. Isn't it enough that I'm a Homo sapien or my complexion too matters?

    I'm a warrior who has learnt from
    Her fears by overcoming them,
    Fears that a coward has.
    I'm a rose adorning those thorns.
    And my complexion is grey.


    This is an old one.

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