samswan

I am on the aisle of life to swim across the new suprises!

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  • samswan 1w

    @writersnetwork @mirakee
    I bid my adios to the platform of writing.
    Thank u so much @mirakee , for all the growth and support ��
    Thanks a ton to all the writers.. I can't mention all.. n m sorry for that.. yet to mention few @virtually_real @when_eyes_narrate @voice_of_my_diary @alluring_tulip @the_polymath @redstrings @lovenotes_from_carolyn

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    Beyond Freefalling

    It is easy to taste hate then to even smell love. Hate travels fast, it finds its prey swiftly,but as soon as the prey transforms into predator (usage in terms of hunting down hate), he or she melts the lumps of hatred into the syrup of sweetness. It is then when endurance shadows hatred and the images of love form on the retina.
    It is the favourableness of the primitive substratum , that the ecosystem of love stabilises and reaches climax. As teenagers often falling in love tops the list of rip roaring fantasies. Not to mention, where falling in love is equated with falling stars, glowing like fireflies in the night sky. Less known to the fact that fireflies are short-lived and so is falling in love. As we fall in love as quick as flash so does it hit the road out of our hearts.
    Our naive notion of limiting ourselves to the rituals of start and end.
    It brings a smirk on my ripen face how lovers who fall in love act as prophecy tellers, far sighting their future together with binocular;
    I wonder how usual and unusual is it to first build a sandcastle and then wash it away. After once being the passenger on the train themed upon 'falling in love' , some reboard the similar train while others sceptic of taking another journey and heavily disappointed by its service deboard. This takes us to ponder upon the thought that one learns from mistakes or minor errors. Although I wish there would have been more instances of practical implications of the thought, where graves of love are no more dug instead cherished with new meanings , taking rebirth.
    I hereby unearth certain distinctions:
    To love is not mandatory.
    It's a choice of glory.
    Difference lies
    whether you drown,
    dive or
    sail in it.

    Buddha faded away preaching us that the dynamic causation of sufferings are desires,
    in my believe it is this hunger of desire and wanting which turns love into suffering.
    To breathe love one should first distinguish between falling in love and being in love as both hold different meanings. In my understanding falling in love can be defined as transient; an instinct and need of the hour, born out of compulsion and mere strings of attraction. Whereas to be in love if not eternal is less transient, it is not encapsulated by two souls out of necessities but as something they develop by the course of time through sharing and affectionate caring.
    Another distinction that needs to highlighted between falling in love and being in love is that the later considers the growth in separateness as a vital element of blooming love , where the two souls are not one but together , their separate spiritual and intellectual growth is given credence. On the contrary the conception of two souls one heart is heavily embedded in falling in love, thus fall on deaf ears in appreciating 'individuality'. It is to keep in mind that the edifice of individual growth works as a pedestal for the pillars of love.
    Hence, a refinement and refueling of thoughts can very precisely expand the extention of homo sapien sapiens to roll their eyes beyond freefalling in love and building a home of peace and love. As so far it is clear that worn out notions of love needs to be dead and buried. It is the divine character of love which made Paul to claim it as the greatest also the reason why John(4:18-19) quoted "There is no fear in love. But perfect love derives out fear because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because HE first loved us".
    Amen!
    -Samiksha
    ©samswan

  • samswan 2w

    SHE IS JUST A SONG

    Of the books
    without another look.
    Of the feelings
    left untouched.
    Of the speeches
    never told.
    She made a song
    breathing in solitude.
    Played the keys
    of the burnt piano.
    Joined the strings,
    added the chorus
    to her life.
    Her heart raced
    with the flies outside.
    She treasured memories
    to offer her friends.
    She learnt
    Life is a silent auction,
    bid the highest
    you would get the promotion.
    If people only speak
    black and white lies.
    She wished colours
    to speak the truth.
    If laws are blind.
    She wished nature
    to be justice.
    If sun loses light.
    She wished to be the candle.

    'She' is just an imaginary song,
    whose verses are long,
    easy meaning to swallow,
    less complicated to follow.
    -Samiksha
    ©samswan

  • samswan 2w

    Castle Of Art

    Colours in rhythm,
    dancing naked,
    erasing sour silence,
    fabricating innocence,
    erecting a castle of art.
    -Samiksha
    ©samswan

  • samswan 3w

    @wrtiersnetwork @mirakee #writer #pod
    @virtually_real @voice_of_my_diary @chidera @sparkling_soul @alluring_tulip @aafia_muhammad_amin @redstrings
    Sorry it's a long one, hope u give it a read, as v all are writers but no less reader either.. hope I don't disappoint u..
    Life is a wheel and a river.. sometimes the time is
    Cyclic and sometimes Linear.

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    Unknown Flow of River

    For a writer, life is always like a flowing river, neither any beginning nor end. Their thoughts are always in motion, sometimes as fast as jetstream, as if they are the ones who make the wind vibrate in motion in the frames of free air.
    And true enough , less rebuttal is the fact that a writer's ink on one side of the coin can heal the wounds whereas on the other originate storms of rebellion. Their words can work as medicinal herbs of welfare as well as arms of warfare.
    They create History just as History creates them. How can we forget that Socrates, Plato , Marx, Christianity or Islam are alive because of scribes who keeps on reviving the past. Seems like Gabriel bestowed pencils from heaven to each one of the writer, some used it as a divine light , while others turned out to be Satan on times.
    Being a writer is like a mother. It's a profession which irrespective of one bearing uterus or menstruation allows one to give birth to new thoughts, inspiration, nurturing humanity through wordly wisdom and deep meanings. It unwraps opportunities to behold motherhood towards voluminous books.
    The symphony of their words can create wizards of magic, guarding this world of human race, flora and fauna, thus their artistic works can never be a dime a dozen, for they possess the ability to cultivate a barren into fertile.
    Writers are rolling stones on the aisle of life, less straight and more crooked. Their chosen roads are less traveled, yet the ones which connects all. The fission of their thoughts fuse the high spirits of humanity. They bloom a life , where the fragrance of their words are not caged in the bottles of perfumes but left floating to burgeon a Neverland, casting the candles which illuminate darkness and eliminate evilness.
    The cascade of emotions that writer bears in the veins of their flesh, unfolds the veil of superficial expectations, promises and reveals the true shape of realities and honesty.
    For a writer life is never a blank page, as they never allow it to be so, it is less happening but more observing , less praising or critic but more retrospective and introspective.
    For a writer, life is always an Unknown Flow of River.
    -Samiksha
    ©samswan

  • samswan 3w

    BLUE

    Blue
    that the light sew
    to my eyes
    with broken needles of lies
    and discarded yarns of illusions
    was not the ocean
    to dive
    nor was it the sky
    to wave a hi.
    Was it the poison in blue lotion
    or blue in poison's motion ?
    Hard to comprehend and scribe.
    Yet it flavoured my tongue and bribed
    to free me from the creed.
    I accepted being of a neurotic breed.
    It was then that
    The blue ramp
    broke the lamp
    of my happy hours
    scavenging for scars.
    -Samiksha
    ©samswan

  • samswan 5w

    I wish the walls which bound our flight break soon with changing transformation of body and soul through nama(mental ability).
    As everything is changing and nothing is left unchanged let's hope for a good change, where everyone one is free from chains. #walls
    @mirakee thank you for this challenge feels like I have poured my heart out
    @writersnetwork @virtually_real @laughing_soul
    @chidera @redstrings @alluring_tulip #ceesreposts
    @sip_of_roohaniyat @_sparkling_soul
    @sumana_chakraborty

    NOTHING IS PERMANENT

    Of those million times
    I have fallen
    and lacked behind.
    I seamlessly write the syllables
    questioning my existence
    which are sceptic of permanence.

    Have I not looked far
    from the open window of scars.
    Have I seen the world
    not from glasses
    but my own eyes.
    Guess the pinnacle of pain
    and commitments in vain
    wouldn't have been so high.

    The scripts on the walls
    incised by the society
    are yet indecipherable
    by this naive of I.
    Not that I regret of it,
    I know;
    My melody can't form their chorus
    just as their lyrics
    can't be the song of my life.

    Yet after hovering for 18 good years
    I am deaf to celebrating cheers.
    Confined inside the hall
    of structured walls,
    seems like I am no more
    afraid of the scripts,
    left indecipherable,
    for this life itself
    is not permanent.
    The very own 'I'
    gains momentum
    and changes from milk to butter.
    -Samiksha

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    Nothing Is Permanent

    Confined inside the hall
    are the scripts
    of structured wall,
    incised by the society
    who undermines our will.
    As the time travels
    through space
    the cage of their scripts
    will soon be unlocked.
    ©samswan

    (Please read the caption)

  • samswan 13w

    LET THE CURTAINS FALL

    I stand over the hill,
    drilling my dreams,
    singing childhood rhymes.
    But so many times
    I hear an inner voice;
    echoing, deep drowning.
    Performs my soul
    then rituals for almighty,
    to ring me up on a fine
    sunny day,
    so my soul shines
    under the legacy
    of the serene ocean.
    I far sight
    my thoughts and their flight.
    They call for sublimation
    to the hands of death.
    Seeking for the curtains
    to fall in certainty
    engulfing hues of blue ocean.
    The ride of
    consumed thoughts,
    rise to wave to the albatross.
    Coral beds cushions
    my bewildering soul.
    Surmounting a halo,
    I muse ...
    and sail across the ocean,
    with my poetic bards.
    - Samiksha

    All we aspire for is peace.
    And nothing can soothe our soul
    better than ocean's cream.
    So let the curtains fall
    to swim and crawl
    on the aisle of life. @writersnetwork @mirakee
    #pod #ocean @coldplaydreams @kublakhan

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    Let The Curtains Fall

    I don't need a straight highway,
    to find my way.
    I just need a ride in the ocean
    to travel the bay.

    (Please read the caption)
    ©samswan

  • samswan 16w

    RED

    It is not my impotence
    that red is my defiance.
    The red sindon is my defence
    don't misinterpret it as an offence.
    Red is my manifold emotions;
    My love! Anger! Spirituality!
    Red is my halo against virility.
    My untainted spirits become flawless,
    when it baths in stainless
    RED.

    My sheets emersed in red
    are sins for you.
    Don't forget mankind
    it's the purge which liberalises you .
    Don't assign me as a weakling
    just because I bleed.
    It's a blessing from angels
    for me to be freed.
    The day onsets with sun's red rays.
    Dusk wreaths with lucent blaze.
    The walk to the love is red.
    The walk to anger is red.
    Both wrapped in the reaped emotions
    of spirituality, marked with highness of devotion.

    Red is Radiant !
    Red is Efferent!
    Red is Devotion!
    To the angels of lord.
    -Samiksha

    Let us be proud that we posses this divine gift of
    the angels of lord: Mensturation .
    #pod @writersnetwork @mirakee #readwriteunite

    @virtually_real @when_eyes_narrate @writerstolli @lovenotes_from_carolyn @coldplaydreams
    @alluring_tulip @sip_of_roohaniyat @mismagical

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    RED

    Her divinity revolves around
    the ground of humanity!
    ©samswan

  • samswan 17w

    #mirakee @writersnetwork #pod #path
    Each path that we travel leaves a scar to be told as a story. And after traveling those memories travel our bones, skin and brain.
    Thus there are many untraveled paths hiding untold stories.
    @vina_puth @virtually_real @when_eyes_narrate @imprateek_qm @alluring_tulip @samikshapattanaik @sumana_chakraborty
    @the_polymath @coldplaydreams

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    The Silk Route Of Emotions

    My wandering ink wondered
    whether the goods of my emotions,
    the bulk of their feelings
    could trade with my antibodies?

    By all the spiral paths,
    traveled in haste,
    my veins bore
    their heaviness in blood,
    injected with virus of fear
    and antidote of happiness.

    The absorbed worn outs
    of the feelings,
    swam across the cells,
    stationed my nerves.
    Delicate as the fibre of silk
    yet they rained heavy in my brain.

    The path climbed,
    was then swept away.
    No trade ever happened
    as agony fermented my flesh.
    -Samiksha
    ©samswan

  • samswan 21w

    #lanturn : a descriptive japanese poetry of lantern shape of 5 years having 1:2:3:4:1 syllables.
    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

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    Red Ink

    The
    red ink
    menstruates
    divine
    cords.
    -Samiksha
    ©samswan