Lights from stars and galaxies keep on turning, memories by spirit fire of time in that we burning. Time streams through the realms of wonder, flashes of moments faded away, come with a thunder. Celestial river of time with faultless rhythm, ocean of eons in years sublime precision. Shores of Moons in ebb and flow, many life’s without consent come and go. Today is already tomorrow on the other side, sensing the blood of time running in veins as ride. Winding back the clock by killing time, as it makes injured fools of us again. Life is but a varsity of eternity, learning that those who force time, are pushed back in that same. Those who allow yielding to time, corrected judgment in prime. Master of time by perception spiral, the center dot as conscience bible. The being of all ages with infinite between shores, time of healing are the reasoning doors. The councilor of time is wise, considering that we are only guests in this almighty device.
✓ Okkkk got to know a new form so did a little digging and tried to defined 'Tanka' in its form only (About Tanka) ✓ Since the theme is on nature so chosen "Lovely Blue Star" ⭐ and "Moon Face" (can't leave moon alone )
#Tanka is a classic form of Japanese poetry related to the haiku with five unrhymed lines of five, seven,five,seven,and seven syllables.(5,7,5,7,7) @writersbay
Writers are not romantic everytime. In fact, they're the one knowing everything about hatred and still keeping it inside adding some flowers made of words that looked beautiful, but didn't live ever. Writers are the greatest liars. They'll tell you that they speak truth in lines, but no! they are lying again. Because their truth sets fire on the ears of those souls who thought that they understand writers very well. See how wrong you know about us. I wonder why it's assumed that writers are blessed with the power to write down their emotions and feelings in an aesthetic way. It sounds as good as sprinkling shining silver and golden sand on the invisible bruises, we decorate pain. Aesthetic enough? Our nights passes by in trials of making out that why the needle of life is in the middle when the plate of sorrow is lower than that of happiness. What kind of balanced equation is this? Why science fails to explain this concept of life? Why even The Almighty who is watching everything wears a sad smile when questioned? We talk about love when we feel unloved, we tell how important happiness is when we're swimming in the dead Sea of sorrow, not drowning, not swimming, still for a while, breathing. We feel cold even if wrapped in blankets but never tried finding the lost sweatshirt. Writers are not romantic when they talk about love, it's just that, they miss it. Their words can be inspiring, encouraging and powerful enough to bring in the change in the life of readers, but the writers..they'll still look for something in their sleepless nights and lonely evenings, finding love and crying their heart out with no tears. You know? Dry eyes are more painful. You see? Writers never cried.
Really want to thank this FAM as I'm completing two years here. you guys have given me so much love to my secret talent (as no-one knows that I am in a writing app and I can write something). Much love and respect to you all.
Thank you so much for this journey. May I'll vanish someday and you may forget my existence but I'll never forget this journey till the last breath of my skull(little melodramatic).
Sorry that I can't tag you all because it'll take minimum of one month time if I want to tag those persons whom I know but really happy to be here and got support and appreciation from these beautiful and precious souls.
Everyone will have inspiration, role models. Some try to be them, some try to understand their ideology and become one as them and there are others who are the ones who wants to be those how people around them are or how society wants them to be. They forgot what they want and just try to impress others and behave such a way that everyone shower compliments to them. They always need a spotlight. I want you all to question yourself "how long I will live my life impressing others, how long I will live my life copying others way." your purpose on this earth is much more than what you are doing. Your presence to this world is missing while you were busy copying others, behaving like others, act like a not so normal human being. There is so much happiness you will get, so much satisfaction you will receive, so many learnings and importantly lots of peace if you live your life for you,if you live your life appreciating and respecting your own personality. Begin now and see, believe in what you are becoming further. I wish u all be YOU for YOU, but not for this society.
Here is collaboration with one the most Adorable writer here !!@souravmudgal ♡:'') It was really a great experience to talk with his beautiful thoughts ^_^ Clemency my flaws, Admire his thoughts..
Blending sunset with the unending journey of life, the poet met poetry of his sonnet merging with flying colors in a solitary espy of her eyes. Falling rain and their remanence on fresh flowers, life was no longer a running cart, but a ship of warmth, musical and hopeful art, clouds dull and dark shined with the ivory gleam as the lightning passes his window, nothing less than her eyes could define the glow which seems surreal at the time, shining aura of his heart was no longer a quote but a poetry with royal aesthetic ink where he could stay in the arms of his love that came into his life like the sun after a stormy night who gave birth to the chorus of birds with wet dew over the sprouted petals as their bed and the sky as the blanket. Even if love unfolds the poet he will never leave his pen of solitude times, but no longer sadness stays in his nest, now he braces with the song of mad words of her unbinding beauty, for the love prowled in his hills and valleys, the dawn of coming winter unfolded the love's bridal attire, the twig of joy embraced him and the dancing bourn pulled the strings of his heart. His impatient innocence and shattering heart collided with corridor of miles away star and every second was mending him to hug this fairytale's flash, hoping for the blessing to conquer his empty space of million dreams. But it is said in fairytales too that demons are part of life just like a language of every minute particles of universe.Who would've believed that his love will bring new alchemy, to turn the indescribable voice of the heart into soothing words? Sometimes this love gave him the irony of mending that he was perfect with his torment and flaws, but on other side breaking him deep down what if someday everything could destroy the blooming blood of his novel love, darkness merged with the nuance of hazy candlelight, in the downpour of love he reckoned his love to be true as the well-known fiction yet the universe knew the stories of broken poets, about how their love ended up by taking their own life.Slowly steadily he cored out words towards a heartwrenching reality where he was torn apart between the fictional eyes of dream in each line and cigarette of broken trust ending up with self-destruction, he found himself running in a circle amidst the familiar alleys where her lustrous eye met his that now seem as the awful stare of death, the wind sighs upon the dawning sun and his pen weeps for love, the scented air and melancholic rhythm danced over his piece of paper. The whole piece of her mirror he binded with soft touch of paradoxical promises was wrapped with tears of black lake with the eternity of lost syllables drowning in wine of sleepless nights pouring the fear that his love was in other arms inhuming him in coffin with red wine and diary of innumerable moments spent together.His love left him just like a soul leaves the body, She was his thing of beauty that Keats fascinated in his poems, a joy forever fled as she left, flowers that were joyous and sprouted are withered and the wind sings elegies to the warmth of his summer. Now, the entire realm called him a poet of literary works with high aura of vocabulary however his heavenly soul knows he inked the literature with memories of his love.