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  • //Blinding//
'Light is an idea of the mind', you tell me. Continuing, you say, 'and so is darkness, probably. It is an idea of the brain on what of the two will dim the other, overpower it. You are deemed to fall, Rah; either due to the dark, or the light- blinding your vision.' You start looking at me for responses. 
Intrigued, yet confused, I speak, being careful with the choice of my words, 'I know we are all deemed to fall, but, why do you call it "an idea of the mind", an idea of the mind... ' My words ends up being a murmur. 
Taking a deep breath, you begin, 'because apparently, your surroundings won't t sync with your brain, most of the times. What you lead yourself to believe of your surroundings to be, is what they start appearing like, you know?'. You say firmly, as were stating a fact. 
I seem drenched in your concept while saying, 'Oh, like pretending to be happy till you forget that you were pretending?'
You nod. 'Right. Exactly that. Similarly, you think, and then make yourself believe in what you envision to be your capability and incapability; that's how darkness becomes a state of the mind. And, for the light, well, it is most often when we push away and shrug off issues and responsibilities convincing ourselves and others that it's all chill. The irony is, the others won't even care after a point, it's you who ends up being so blinded by your artificial light, that you fall.' You seem to be so cold while saying this, I wonder what makes you think so. You fiddle with the cigarette you've had in your hand for a while now, and finally light it. 
I look at your skin glowing in the sunlight, and ask myself is this light blinding me, too? 
Prompt:@_sahana_parvin_ 🌸

#writersfollowriters  #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia  #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn  #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • //Blinding//
    'Light is an idea of the mind', you tell me. Continuing, you say, 'and so is darkness, probably. It is an idea of the brain on what of the two will dim the other, overpower it. You are deemed to fall, Rah; either due to the dark, or the light- blinding your vision.' You start looking at me for responses.
    Intrigued, yet confused, I speak, being careful with the choice of my words, 'I know we are all deemed to fall, but, why do you call it "an idea of the mind", an idea of the mind... ' My words ends up being a murmur.
    Taking a deep breath, you begin, 'because apparently, your surroundings won't t sync with your brain, most of the times. What you lead yourself to believe of your surroundings to be, is what they start appearing like, you know?'. You say firmly, as were stating a fact.
    I seem drenched in your concept while saying, 'Oh, like pretending to be happy till you forget that you were pretending?'
    You nod. 'Right. Exactly that. Similarly, you think, and then make yourself believe in what you envision to be your capability and incapability; that's how darkness becomes a state of the mind. And, for the light, well, it is most often when we push away and shrug off issues and responsibilities convincing ourselves and others that it's all chill. The irony is, the others won't even care after a point, it's you who ends up being so blinded by your artificial light, that you fall.' You seem to be so cold while saying this, I wonder what makes you think so. You fiddle with the cigarette you've had in your hand for a while now, and finally light it.
    I look at your skin glowing in the sunlight, and ask myself is this light blinding me, too?
    Prompt:@_sahana_parvin_ 🌸

    #writersfollowriters #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • 37 2 31 October, 2018

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  • | Khamoshi |

Amma's hypotheses were ridiculously naive and abba was a coached rational thus a major portion of my days would be spent gnawing into abba's eyes with disdain whenever amma uttered. Habituated. .

Some odd evening she would navigate deeper into naivety and whisper something as blunt as 'Namira, do not touch the pickles. You are menstruating.' Somedays I would keep shut and at others I would clench my fist, purse my lips, crease my eyes and sigh. She would look up and whisper 'Don't touch, okay? '. And I would wait for abba to return to cringe and laugh along. .

For Abba's sake, she was a quiet woman. Of the stories I have heard, there have been a lot many instances where she wasn't allowed to meet his guests or put forward her opinion. I never found it very surprising for you see my mother was a naive woman. Her  wail had come down to a whisper, her love to silence. She doesn't cry, she whispers in an automated tone, does not beg for ear, slings back sympathy into sinning mouths and does not plead for love. .

I fell in love a little too early and never fell out of it,  one odd day when his thoughs were hammering my head and the blades ripping my skin, she whispered from across the room. She whispered from across the other end of the room and I whispered from this end. How he slapped, kicked, almost stabbed, abused. Her whisper grew, the silence withered, her voice shivered, her body roared. She howled,  how he slapped, kicked, almost stabbed, abused and then her silence resurrected and shrouded us. 
For her husband's sake, my mother is a quiet woman. ----------
#fiction #shortstory #microtale #writersfollowriters  #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia  #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn  #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn

Image: @streets.of.mumbai @__parallax
  • | Khamoshi |

    Amma's hypotheses were ridiculously naive and abba was a coached rational thus a major portion of my days would be spent gnawing into abba's eyes with disdain whenever amma uttered. Habituated. .

    Some odd evening she would navigate deeper into naivety and whisper something as blunt as 'Namira, do not touch the pickles. You are menstruating.' Somedays I would keep shut and at others I would clench my fist, purse my lips, crease my eyes and sigh. She would look up and whisper 'Don't touch, okay? '. And I would wait for abba to return to cringe and laugh along. .

    For Abba's sake, she was a quiet woman. Of the stories I have heard, there have been a lot many instances where she wasn't allowed to meet his guests or put forward her opinion. I never found it very surprising for you see my mother was a naive woman. Her wail had come down to a whisper, her love to silence. She doesn't cry, she whispers in an automated tone, does not beg for ear, slings back sympathy into sinning mouths and does not plead for love. .

    I fell in love a little too early and never fell out of it, one odd day when his thoughs were hammering my head and the blades ripping my skin, she whispered from across the room. She whispered from across the other end of the room and I whispered from this end. How he slapped, kicked, almost stabbed, abused. Her whisper grew, the silence withered, her voice shivered, her body roared. She howled, how he slapped, kicked, almost stabbed, abused and then her silence resurrected and shrouded us.
    For her husband's sake, my mother is a quiet woman. ----------
    #fiction #shortstory #microtale #writersfollowriters #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn

    Image: @streets.of.mumbai @__parallax
  • 108 16 20 May, 2019

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  • | with not_so_much_love, to you|

To your dissapointment, this poem is not a love cry. Perhaps is not even a proper poem. 
This does not dissect patriarchy 
nor yells for equality. This in all it's innocence, is a message. This won't leave you glued till the end I promise for this shall talk about woman and opinion and them together, 
now that you know, scroll past and see Kardarshian butts or swipe right and  talk to seven woman about love and keep scrolling your miserable life away. 
Now! I have a more tolerant audience so may I tell you that this poem is not about woman and opinion. This won't talk about kisses and wars. This won't transport you to Korean camps. This poem is a love cry and don't tell me I tricked you into this. Sinners don't judge
sinners for sinning differently. This poem is exactly like the ones I wrote and the ones I shall write. 
This is about a man and love that lingers in
 between the pages of Gibran's poems. 
This is about  a night that never saw the 
next sun. This obnoxious love we are talking
 about does not contemplate distance and is
 naive in all dimensions possible. 
Yet you and me, we held this love glass with
 wreaked hands and placed them amidst the
 cactus in our hearts and blamed love for
 being fragile. Let this poem be not a love cry,
 this never was! 
On a friday night, he served me a part of his guilt and I swallowed it whole. Me gulping these ashes in a desert and his allegations choking me, telling me to shut up for he never acknowledged woman and opinion together. .
.
#writersfollowriters  #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia  #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn  #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • | with not_so_much_love, to you|

    To your dissapointment, this poem is not a love cry. Perhaps is not even a proper poem.
    This does not dissect patriarchy
    nor yells for equality. This in all it's innocence, is a message. This won't leave you glued till the end I promise for this shall talk about woman and opinion and them together,
    now that you know, scroll past and see Kardarshian butts or swipe right and talk to seven woman about love and keep scrolling your miserable life away.
    Now! I have a more tolerant audience so may I tell you that this poem is not about woman and opinion. This won't talk about kisses and wars. This won't transport you to Korean camps. This poem is a love cry and don't tell me I tricked you into this. Sinners don't judge
    sinners for sinning differently. This poem is exactly like the ones I wrote and the ones I shall write.
    This is about a man and love that lingers in
    between the pages of Gibran's poems.
    This is about a night that never saw the
    next sun. This obnoxious love we are talking
    about does not contemplate distance and is
    naive in all dimensions possible.
    Yet you and me, we held this love glass with
    wreaked hands and placed them amidst the
    cactus in our hearts and blamed love for
    being fragile. Let this poem be not a love cry,
    this never was!
    On a friday night, he served me a part of his guilt and I swallowed it whole. Me gulping these ashes in a desert and his allegations choking me, telling me to shut up for he never acknowledged woman and opinion together. .
    .
    #writersfollowriters #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • 131 12 12 May, 2019

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  • //"She fell off the bridge"// I swallow the pink-coloured pill on the plate. Maybe it's an appetiser or taste enhancer or God-knows-what. You don't know what to expect in a restaurant in Vegas. *** The meal was okay. I'm on my hotel bed which is extraordinarily soft. It's good. It'll put me to sleep instantaneously.

All of a sudden, I hear the door creak. Wondering if I locked it or not, I walk towards the entrance and find a mirror instead of what was a door 10 minutes ago. For a couple of seconds, I look at my shabby, uncouth self staring back at me with tired eyes. I get over the self-hatred, look at the doorknob which is still there and reach out for it. *** The lights here are blindingly bright and I've been squinting for the past 20 minutes.

How did I get here? What on earth is this place?

I see a silhouette of a woman approaching and realise it isn't just a silhouette. It's a black mass of sinister-looking nothingness. A void in the shape of a lady. "I wasn't alone on the bridge that day, you know," her voice echoes.

I gasp in horror and scream. A nerve snaps. I blackout. *** Soft jazz music plays in the background. There is a pink-coloured pill on my plate.

Shit.

I bolt out of the restaurant. Breathless after a few kilometres, I turn around.

I shouldn't have pushed my twin sister off the bridge. Mom loved us equally, I know. I should've known... *** I'm on my hotel bed which is extraordinarily soft. But I can't sleep. It has been 3 days now.
.
.....................
Wordscape feature. 
Core Writer: Sneha Talwar ( @issnehaaa )
.
|HASHTAGS|
.
#writersfollowriters  #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia  #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn  #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • //"She fell off the bridge"// I swallow the pink-coloured pill on the plate. Maybe it's an appetiser or taste enhancer or God-knows-what. You don't know what to expect in a restaurant in Vegas. *** The meal was okay. I'm on my hotel bed which is extraordinarily soft. It's good. It'll put me to sleep instantaneously.

    All of a sudden, I hear the door creak. Wondering if I locked it or not, I walk towards the entrance and find a mirror instead of what was a door 10 minutes ago. For a couple of seconds, I look at my shabby, uncouth self staring back at me with tired eyes. I get over the self-hatred, look at the doorknob which is still there and reach out for it. *** The lights here are blindingly bright and I've been squinting for the past 20 minutes.

    How did I get here? What on earth is this place?

    I see a silhouette of a woman approaching and realise it isn't just a silhouette. It's a black mass of sinister-looking nothingness. A void in the shape of a lady. "I wasn't alone on the bridge that day, you know," her voice echoes.

    I gasp in horror and scream. A nerve snaps. I blackout. *** Soft jazz music plays in the background. There is a pink-coloured pill on my plate.

    Shit.

    I bolt out of the restaurant. Breathless after a few kilometres, I turn around.

    I shouldn't have pushed my twin sister off the bridge. Mom loved us equally, I know. I should've known... *** I'm on my hotel bed which is extraordinarily soft. But I can't sleep. It has been 3 days now.
    .
    .....................
    Wordscape feature.
    Core Writer: Sneha Talwar ( @issnehaaa )
    .
    |HASHTAGS|
    .
    #writersfollowriters #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • 76 9 17 April, 2019
  • //lost things// Having this special fondness to lost things, forgotten by the owners long ago, I was again on search in the usual park, just a mile away. A jaded and rusting anklet today, and maybe bits of crumbled love letters or a lost key the next day, I pocketed all of them, adding them to my collections. 
I was off for another expedition the consecutive day in the same park again with the hope of finding something different today. No one finds this game exciting as I do and so I seek alone. As my hunt progressed, it started getting dark and the sun mocked my attempts of failing at my mission.
That’s when a sight caught my eye, a girl sitting with her head bowed. On the ground, laid a heart, beating heavily yet lost and abandoned. I picked it up to compensate my guilt of not finding anything worthy. 
Oh! I promised never to steal, that’s the first rule. My half-completed sleep and requisite guilt askd me to go back and return the same. It seemed like nothing changed, the girl, and her head bowed! He face beamed with joy as I handed the heart over to her. 
For the prime time, I lost something that I could never find again. From then, I had a partner in crime, in pondering over lost and found!
.
____________
.
Wordscape feature. 
Core writer: Akanksha Mishra ( @aks2200 )
.
|HASHTAGS|
.
#writersfollowriters  #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia  #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn  #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • //lost things// Having this special fondness to lost things, forgotten by the owners long ago, I was again on search in the usual park, just a mile away. A jaded and rusting anklet today, and maybe bits of crumbled love letters or a lost key the next day, I pocketed all of them, adding them to my collections.
    I was off for another expedition the consecutive day in the same park again with the hope of finding something different today. No one finds this game exciting as I do and so I seek alone. As my hunt progressed, it started getting dark and the sun mocked my attempts of failing at my mission.
    That’s when a sight caught my eye, a girl sitting with her head bowed. On the ground, laid a heart, beating heavily yet lost and abandoned. I picked it up to compensate my guilt of not finding anything worthy.
    Oh! I promised never to steal, that’s the first rule. My half-completed sleep and requisite guilt askd me to go back and return the same. It seemed like nothing changed, the girl, and her head bowed! He face beamed with joy as I handed the heart over to her.
    For the prime time, I lost something that I could never find again. From then, I had a partner in crime, in pondering over lost and found!
    .
    ____________
    .
    Wordscape feature.
    Core writer: Akanksha Mishra ( @aks2200 )
    .
    |HASHTAGS|
    .
    #writersfollowriters #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • 47 0 15 April, 2019
  • CLOSURE
. "Hahahaha, Hope, wait! Where are we going?" I asked.

At the end of our 6 month mark date she grabbed my hand and made a run towards the subway instead of going home.

There weren't many people there at that hour and we got tickets for the last stop. "Trust me, Daniel!" Hope laughed that beautiful broken laugh. She had scars you see, ones that weren't visible. You could see it in her eyes when she'd flash her brightest smile. Or the way her fingers would always get stuck on the 4th bar of the second sheet of the 5th Symphony even though she was a top student of Juliards. 
We arrived at our stop, got off and waited for the train that would take us home. Except we didn't get off at the stop, we went all the way to the other end of the city. We sat in silence, being in each other's presence. It was beautiful and I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend the night.  When we got out of the subway she held my hand and started crying, "Daniel, no one has ever stayed with me this long." For the first time I sensed a fear in her. 
She explained to me how she would do this with every guy that she dated. And every guy would get off at his stop, not noticing she never followed. 
She had hoped I'd stay, and I did. "The next morning I do the same, but all alone. The strength in loneliness is my closure." She breathed in deep and I felt her let go of a long deep pain and become free.
.
.
wordscape feature. 
Corw writer: Sagarika Maitra ( @yayonay )
.
| HASHTAGS |
.
#writersfollowriters  #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia  #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn  #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • CLOSURE
    . "Hahahaha, Hope, wait! Where are we going?" I asked.

    At the end of our 6 month mark date she grabbed my hand and made a run towards the subway instead of going home.

    There weren't many people there at that hour and we got tickets for the last stop. "Trust me, Daniel!" Hope laughed that beautiful broken laugh. She had scars you see, ones that weren't visible. You could see it in her eyes when she'd flash her brightest smile. Or the way her fingers would always get stuck on the 4th bar of the second sheet of the 5th Symphony even though she was a top student of Juliards.
    We arrived at our stop, got off and waited for the train that would take us home. Except we didn't get off at the stop, we went all the way to the other end of the city. We sat in silence, being in each other's presence. It was beautiful and I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend the night. When we got out of the subway she held my hand and started crying, "Daniel, no one has ever stayed with me this long." For the first time I sensed a fear in her.
    She explained to me how she would do this with every guy that she dated. And every guy would get off at his stop, not noticing she never followed.
    She had hoped I'd stay, and I did. "The next morning I do the same, but all alone. The strength in loneliness is my closure." She breathed in deep and I felt her let go of a long deep pain and become free.
    .
    .
    wordscape feature.
    Corw writer: Sagarika Maitra ( @yayonay )
    .
    | HASHTAGS |
    .
    #writersfollowriters #micropoem #poet #poetry #writer #scribblers #wordstolive #poetsofinstagram #poetstag #writerstag #writersofindia #writerstogether #soulsofpoetry #globalagepoetry #writerscommunity #poetsofindia #writerslife #poeticjustice #poetrylovers #poetryporn #drunkpoetsociety #abodeofpoems #artlixerpoetry #wordporn
  • 66 0 5 April, 2019