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  • withered_daffodil 2w

    Asusual, I'm waiting for the sun to walk into the daily funeral held by broken nights, which are now walking out with baggy eyes and another bottle of drink. Everyday has been like this one. And when finally I catch a glimpse of yellow in the sky, I pull my hoodie over, stroll down the steps, dust my shoes which are clean like the moonless night, and start running. A slow pace. I never pick up speed. Yes, I'm waiting for something to strike inside. Maybe an alarm which bursts because it has done its duty more than the other machines have done. Or a slap that has always found itself between my dimples when more than ten bottles of drink has kissed my oesophagus. But i never got any of that.

    I come back home, with not a drop of sweat today. Neither does my heart beat loud and fast.I did run right ?. Maybe it has died and I never held a funeral like I did for the other parts of myself, just because I wanted it to jump back into life with a deep long breath and not smile like an oldman who knows his end is near. I want to write, let the starting line be a random one, be it a line from a famous poem ? No. A line from a poem that went unnoticed. A line which has not bothered to boasts its metaphors on the outside. But a simple line that a writer always want a reader to notice but they don't. My mother walks past me, with a dark brown basket, twigs peeping at sides. I ask her what it is, mangoes. I feel something prick in my eyes. Which i always wanted to do to but my glands didn't, and my heart never could. I cried. My grandmom always use to bring them, not from shops but our own tree, she used to say proudly. Fuubutsushi. It has come.

    I run to that place which i never i would return to. Fast. My lungs move in and out fast. My heart tries to stretch its broken limb. A small stone next to a giant mango tree. I see my grandmom sitting there, with a stick twice as long as her. The leaves curl around her hair as if they were waiting for their long gone lover. She notices me, and signals me to come closer. “ bhava, inga vaada, unaku pudicha season vanthirichu, namba marathala irukura mambalam da (come here, your favourite season has come, look at these shining mangoes, from our own tree.)”

    The green mixed with bright orange has a sepeate aroma, which can never be felt in mango juices, like they say in ads. I run closer, and try to grab one from her hand. But i find nothing. There is no mangoes. Mom screams
    “what are you doing there, i just plucked everything, come soon, there is a beehive there”. I turn in a swift to see no mangoes. No grandmom. I knew this would happen. I feel my heart beating fast, now.
    I turn around and start walking away, remove the leaf that is stuck to my hair, maybe I would return the next season,

    With a poem,

    that starts with the unnoticed stone and my grandmom.


    -withered daffodil

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  • withered_daffodil 2w

    @_firefly thanks for the nudge love

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    My poems are not worth reading.
    And I will never let him say
    they still capture hearts
    I write for myself, yes, but
    No one understands it,
    My words.

    I won't feel low
    You want me to say that ? No !
    'I should'
    I should stop writing too.
    And feel like the withered thorn.
    I hurt fresh petals
    And say
    He is one of them
    People will still wonder why
    he never leaves like the poem.
    But I won't believe that and think why
    My poems are not worth staying.
    (now read from backwards)
    ©withered_daffodil

  • withered_daffodil 6w

    Don't be afraid of being broken,
    You are light.

    And a light must be broken,


    to form a rainbow.
    ©withered_daffodil

  • withered_daffodil 7w

    I was always like the person I wanted to be. Never measured words, never mixed 30 gms of happiness with 50 gms of sadness.
    Livsnjutare was maybe the term I agreed upon that day, on the court of my life. I think, God did preferably make me with nil percent of law knowledge. I was wrong. I was only satisfied and never contented.

    Things started getting hard. I decided to stay mute, if I speak one word, I would drown myself in its depth and seek the negative vibes from it. Like the bee buzzing over plastic flowers, I braided my life over complexity. I saw angels dragging black over the moon, stars pinning demons to their body.
    Tress swaying to every knot I made. I added more grams of questions and blended it with water(tears) without the answers, as if they weren't peaking out from my mind's pockets.

    I never understood why I did all this. Stress was maybe the ingredient that slipped over the jar last time. I never wanted to taste it, and I never did. But I lived it in my mind. Everytime I woke up, i thought I drank it.

    Up till my throat, it felt like choking, my mind got frizzy, my thoughts were bitten.
    I coughed out one part of my livsnjutare self, and slept again. The cycle continued with no new beginning. I was confused. And that made it even more hard.
    When the last part of myself decided to jump out, I realised I was the one making it.

    I never drank it, I was making it.

    ---

    Don't stress over things. Everything will fall in place if u want it to.

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  • withered_daffodil 7w

    Sometimes I feel like I am the zero hidden under the square root of love, i try so much to fit in, yet they pull me out because of my value, while Aryabhata stands draping himself in multiples of love. I, a fool who thinks someone will take shelter under the same root and I can join hands and run like a puppy behind them to make them more valuable. To let them know, they are lovable.
    Yet, I am the same zero who knows every number has a shed and I can only add to the heaviness of their limbs infused with useless love.

    I smell the old books that are giggling with the dust, and wonder if I am like those books. Don't I hold a value in someone's life?
    Is my life similar to tsundoku?
    I pluck another dried leaf from my shirt and throw it beneath the green ones I plucked to keep them with myself.

    I take a walk through my garden, I stomp my feet hard enough on the grass, let the soil squeeze in through my cracks, merge with the cooled lava and try to grow a tree. I stop by the climbers and wonder if those plants ever try to stand on their own. Why do you need someone to hold on to? and ask it,

    “is it hard?”

    I know I am like the climber, wanting to support someone yet I dry myself in the sun and walk to the moon and say

    “can I give you light? ”

    -----

    #wod #infused #mirakee #writersnetwork @mirakee

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  • withered_daffodil 9w

    Let me stuff myself in those bobs of the pendulum swings you touch with your fingers, the blood in my mouth has a metal taste, this pendulum wouldn't have. I will oscillate until you cross you arms and say “pinky promise” like the last time you did and stretch our universe along with its thread.

    Move straight to your wardrobe, take out the neatly folded white shirt, wash them repeatedly with my blood to remove my tear stains, tear off the parts which reeks of dead lovebirds. Now search for the guilt that is neatly folded in your front pocket, crush it a multiple times, keep them both aside and see what gains your attention.

    Meanwhile I sit, plucking the petals of the flower I gave you, destructing our universe.

    You will see veinlets popping out of the paper, you fool youself it's the thread, and pull out everything. Find my sign and yours on the bottom of those divorce papers, keep rubbing it with your money, you see it disappearing?.
    Run out, pluck another dried flower from the flower pot I gave you, squeeze them until they paint the paper black. Scriptuerient may burn you down, because these were not the words you were meant to write.

    Shut your eyes, count till twelve, then twenty four but that will never reverse the time. Yesterday has spoken its last few words.
    Now, look at the paper again, scratch them with your cold hugs, harsh words, meaningless kisses, dry goodbyes. You will find it turning transparent. Now look through it, what do you see ?


    The petals I plucked or Me?


    -bhava


    #wod #mirakee #universe #writersnetwork

    I took two words from ur work and the output is this. Thanks @love_whispererr

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  • withered_daffodil 9w

    Three fireflies walked out of my tears and all of them sat on my forehead with empty cigarette packets. I did empty them, the last on is in my hands.Tapping my senses, they ask me to borrow a shawl to choke my thyroids and see if I could spit any word out.
    To my disbelief, I did. Not just one, but three. Those three words jumped out, licked my sorrows, caressed my lips and left saying they will return in the next spring.

    I couldn't control myself and I nodded, numb of feelings. I simply walk out, as the fireflies guided me, for each one metre I found my broken poetries lying on the grass completing themselves. The dew just watches them, waiting to smugde and make it incomplete again. Why are they still trying? Just give up I think.

    One firefly asks me, what do I feel now?
    I said “nothing”. It smiles and disappears burning away the box. I feel a bit lonely.

    After a kilometre, I knew I was reaching the end of something, the second firefly asks me
    “ If I leave, you think the last one will stay or loneliness will stay back ?”
    I shake my head. I know loneliness always stays but I don't want to be alone.
    It stays. “ stays” I say.
    The second one leaves too, just like the last one.

    I keep walking, but instead of feeling sad, I feel happy, some sort of relief, like I have lifted something off my chest. I walked through seasons discovering, a hodophile, a different one infact. I walk through summer, now fall yet the last one never left. I reach the end of winter and now the last one asks, “ what do you feel now, you want me to stay forever or leave forever” It asks and leaves me before I could reply.

    Now I smile and say “Forever”. I understood what they tried to do. Just like I expected,
    I see those three invisible words and let them sink, deep in my bones.

    “Nothing stays forever” and I feel the spring welcome me, as promised.

    ~Bhava.


    #writersnetwork #wod #invisible #mirakee

    U noticed something? Please drop it down in the comment if u did..��

    Thanks for the repost @writersnetwork

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  • withered_daffodil 9w

    Sunlight ties itself to my windows and kicks into my face. Woodpeckers has its nose tickled with the letter's aroma.
    I count my breaths and open it. Just the expected one. An invitation to the place I never thought I would visit. My hands feel numb, but there is some sort of happiness mixed with a tinge of nervousness. One, I would be seeing him after 10 years or maybe he will never show up.That was the only thought running in my mind.

    I stand in front of my mirror with a floral dress in one hand and a red one in another.
    I jump into the red one, that hugs my curves and think of the next step~ makeup. I still don't understand why am I working so hard to look good when it's not needed. When all these years I put no effort to see him.
    Grabbing my phone and my bag, I rush out but stop right away when I see the soft drizzles, that will lead to heavy rain, I can sense it.
    I contemplate for a moment and in the fifth minute, I find myself driving through the empty road.
    ...

    Once a light yellow building, now is painted in bright red. mini sized gate gained an extra ten pounds, so fricking huge. I run in with my hands over my head and reach the front office. I notice the iron bell has been replaced with an electric one.There are a very few people here, some standing alone, three in a tiny group talking happily, few sobbing silently in the empty classrooms but I recognised none as my batchmates.I was reading the notice board when,

    “Wanna go for a walk, for the sake of old times” a familiar voice asks from behind. The same honeyed voice that I fell for ten years ago.I freeze in shock. I can't believe he is here.Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn to face a man in a black suit. Still the same face with that beautiful smile. Maybe he slapped puberty right across its face. More manlier, with broad shoulders, and ofcourse the most handsome.

    I nod without a second thought.He shrugs and leads the way. No words were exchanged. A comfortable silence until we reached the playground. I can't help but ignite the extinguished hope again. Maybe he will spit those words out that he needs me, as much as I need him.

    Yeobui dances across our silence, making his face glow brighter. The weather at days like this, is helping in one way. We both knew we wanted to say everything we suppressed, but he doesn't.
    And I follow his posture. I don't plan to say. Maybe fairytales are just fairytales. A tale that is not true. He sighs and points to the swing and wiggles his eyebrows. Just like before.
    But now, he appears to me as the same 16 year old boy and not the black suit man.

    letting out a low laugh under my breath, I scream

    “Who reaches that wall first will get the blue swing” and we both take a run.


    ________

    Yeobui means the sun shining thru rain.

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  • withered_daffodil 9w

    Orange sprawled across
    the limbs of yellow,
    smokes enervating
    spasms of peace.
    The last time I came here,
    I nailed one story to the bench
    and made it clutch an eraser.
    Rubbing my leather shoes on
    the grass, I throw a penny
    into that pathole imagining
    it as the magician's hat, hoping
    for a hundred to pop out.

    I get a roaring fireplace and
    a few worn out pebbles in turn.
    The warmth shoots me
    a smile and I feel my
    coat shrink in along with
    my cold heart.
    Being cold was never my choice.
    Funny that society can only
    afford to swing one knife
    each time at my fragile heart,
    poor people's fate they say.

    The waitress of nature~ citylights
    has already begun her duty.
    dawn asks for a password and
    I stretch and let out a yawn,
    the last one was at this same place.
    I turn left and right, no glares
    no gossips,
    no judgements.
    Just an owl chuckling at
    the moon, that is hidden.

    Standing up, I pick up
    that penny as an excuse for
    another evening here in my
    latibule, maybe playing a
    seek n hide with the world
    but a changing room
    for my emotions, that
    I leave naked.

    ~Bhava
    ......

    Latibule means hiding place, ir comfort zone or somethin

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  • withered_daffodil 10w

    I know i already wrote somethin related to venting out emotions but just another one. Adjust will ya?:)

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    Let it out

    Sometimes you feel so angry on yourself. You know you are not doing well in anything. You try to be better the next day, but you sit and worry about the days you wasted and again, you waste another day.
    You look at others and feel like your lagging behind. You feel like your not fit for anything. You do know that you're judging yourself? Right?. Why don't you let it out? Sometimes being an empty can roll with ease.

    Lilura seems to start with a drizzle, a calm one. You stand under it, and rub the kohl off your eyes, sit and calculate how it got erased when you multiplied it with zero.

    Take a paper, keep scribbling, maybe a triangle over a triangle, a circle over another until it turns into a dot. Dip it in your tears and tear it. Cut the skin, and let the emotions rush out.

    Just know you have got this. It is never too late to start anything. You are better than yesterday. Atleast you want to be.
    ©withered_daffodil