She blinks and time stops
In the fractals of a second
She sees the past and the future
In the frozen mirror glass
A thousand worlds and possibilities
She sees the story of a patriarch
The downfall of a god
And endless other tales of hope, despair, death, rebirth, pain and joy
The wall clock starts ticking,
The dream has ended,
Her spell is broken,
Yet she has seen what she needs,
And against the racing time,
And denying the drone of school,
She pulls out a piece of crumpled paper,
And writes, writes and writes
On the nib of
For you have
The power to
Hurt or Heal
- Shefali Dang
Some people don't write anymore. They improved and evolved. And also became emotionless. Creativity has bid them goodbye in smoke and compressed into stars, constellations. They just play with words. They weave them into magic.
She was one of them.
I was a writer though,
But she, she was a magician. She still is. She always has been. She always will be.
She was one of those with hazel eyes with the sun reflecting on her pupils in the corner like that bright star that glows from far in the galaxy, the brightest, a little curved as if viewed from a telescope.
She had something about herself. Something that just doesn't let her get off my mind. Something about the fragrance that followed h...
---Affliction of a Knife---
I am a knife.
I don't destroy life all the time.
I am victim of child's misleading upbringing.
if its inferior and dark,
He will use me for his evil activities.
If its inspired and constructive,
I will become his instrument of healing.
its upto humankind,
Whether they produce surgeon, doctors or severe thiefs and robber.
Wrote this piece a few years back found it in my journal. Enjoy..
"Hello, I am home sweetie"
To hear that voice, I knew he was finally home.
A sense of nothing became I, we were alone.
He played with my hair, and then with my mind.
There was no place to go, he would remind.
"I am here now love, lets make this easy."
Walking on eggshells, just so people cannot see.
That I am at war, and in the end the prize is to be free.
I watch for ways to win this fight.
Maybe tomorrow I awake, make it through the night.
He is comforting, others leave but he chooses to stay.
Beautiful in silence, he loves me in the shade of gray.
He doesn't leave, I am his one true ...
What I find here in lettrs I don’t find anywhere else in the world.
I find sanity and substance, nourishment and nuance, a quiet place that invites me to understand, more than to be understood. lettrs is the old friend who always sees the best in us.
Well, all those who write are divided into two different frame of minds
a) Some days we write to express... joy, sadness, enthusiasm, depression, spirituality, religion..etc etc - different mood swings turned into thoughts are right here in front of our eyes.
b) Other days we just like to vomit it all out
People dance when the music comes in,
And they cry when the words hit them.
Just a little tale of melody. Of words making love to music.
Amidst friendships and euphoria,
And love beside them with a cigarette dangling.
Between those stages
Of subconscious and consciousness
A safe haven.
But somewhere between the search
Of reality and truth
I looked around
That would heal.
The one that would leave scars
To bring back
And the euphoria
The back and forth
Back and forth
Time and Time again.
Never had I known
You're not of me
But I am
Of you, yours
What would you do for Love?
The proper answer for this question is, whatever which is possible and make sense. but as per instruction I am listing out 10 things.
2. Quality Time
P.S- First of all we have to learn to give those things to ourselves. if we don't have it for ourselves, we won't be able to truly give it to someone else.
Flying through the colours of the story of our time.
We made one another happy, I was yours and you were mine.
A smile here and there, a smile everywhere.
Places we travelled we made our mark.
You followed me to every place: some happy and some dark.
At one point the music played but time for us stopped.
I felt my heart beating, and felt yours dropped.
You froze, held my face in your hands and kissed me hard.
In that moment, tensions released. I let down my guard.
I trusted you...
You were my prince in shining armour saving my day.
Until the time came, on a day so sad, me you betray.
My heart grew cold and shattered into pieces of ice.
Love was a gamble baby, and d...
I am where I belong
The place my heart is beating for
In your arms , on your bed
Our flesh being caressed
With each other's soul
Shall we feel the warmth of hug
& The magic behind the kiss
Go beyond infinity
To Make Love deep & beautiful
You sing lullaby
Your voice echos in mind
Making me sleep beside you
How lovely , it is to be your love
Let's be together forever
For this life 💞
When you truly love yourself
you will take everything with the stride,
You will graciously accept yourself
just as you are,
without giving a damn about what people say about you.
Until that day,
take a step everyday towards loving yourself.
For some, my poetries are senseless words,
For others, a way to woo their lovers,
Some ask, 'What do you think when you write?'
Others say, 'Your words, they give us respite!'
Some think it is their right to judge me,
Others feel the need to defend, you see,
I wonder what to say to either of the two,
Cause I know neither one has any clue,
My words, when they read, they interpret their way,
No one wants to know, what I actually have to say,
Why should I label them as right and wrong?
To each their perception rightfully belongs,
For when the poet will interest you, more than the poetry,
That's when you'll understand my words, know the real me...!
Maybe, within the waves of change...
We must lose ourselves first..
... Before finding who we are.
Writing is my escape. When there are unlimited words to read, my own thoughts are often difficult to find.
Essentially, writing separates my mind from my own reality and creates a path that takes to a journey to the person that will read it.
I am not crazy,
I just can't let my heart settle in a cage.
I was born wild and sometimes I need to write to let my chaos go away.
That is the essence of my inner freedom.
The light of the words that I choose cause the flames in yours.
And I was always willing to burn for everything that I ever loved.
Forgetting about what is polite or proper to explore into what is sincere and honest.
Let me lead you through the labyrinth of my true words.
My presence carried me. I was tasting life. Walking down the concrete aisle, amongst lampposts that shedded ephemeral light, something the dissipating night was consuming as the cold breeze floated by. The November azure was washing away and all I was truly aware of was that alongwith the passage of time I was gulping down the scenic stream of liveliness and existence. A sense of purpose poked me, right in the chest and then my indulgence in wallowing was stirred by a demand of an answer which I let it pass. I belonged to myself. I belong to me. Can none desecrate my belongingness or shame me or my puny feet that meddle in the affairs of this worldly vision or cloudy dreams....
‘In Great Health ‘
A shadow lurks in the vicinity of my mind and at every seam that appears peering, it howls. I have traversed years and births to contain the sanity of it and I have been keeping up and doing good but the ephemeral derangement eventually finds its course back to where it had once begun. I feel like a lost poet who sincerely, but hastily, is trying to find his verses. I’m but in good and in great health.
Now, as I recite this anecdote as a raconteur, I’m soundly aware of the fact that every other being that’s awake for the night to pass is or has been going through the same. Somewhere at every aching and longing that embalms the dead purpose within, does the walker walks an...
It's exactly a month to my birthday. (I don't know why/how that is relevant here, but well..) I was studying in the reading hall for an exam scheduled later in the afternoon. Mind you, it's pitch dark but I'm certain I heard a rooster go coo-ka-doo-coo. Sit back, hold still, grab your popcorn, here it comes- while walking back to my room there was this dog waiting outside the reading hall, and for no good reason I felt like he was there, just for me. *chuckles*
So I lightly pat his back, as I usually do to my dog-friends and got on my way. But this doggo wanted to play at 4 am in the morning. He jumped and frolicked around me as if he were challenging me to some sort of...
And a poetess
Fell in love.
And their union
Like a night sky
A star and the moon
Playing hide and seek
Behind the covers
Dripping down their
With drops of rum
And their stories
Clinging to each other
Of their wrenched hearts.
And a poetess
Fell in love.
Like the evening sky
Where the day kisses
And the heavens blush
In the open
On their skins
And honey dripped
Off their skins.
Their sensuous touches
Through each other's bodies
Like a dead leaf