|Metaepiethpoliesthe... The end never ends. Ink slinger. Capella. Sky180116. Storyteller. Books. Tunes. Instagram: poeticblink29 www.inkandmuffins.com|
She listened calmly; an art mastered over the years. Yet, She was hunting down comfort among the small elements of nature which lay scattered in and around her territory.
The telephone call kept going longer than anticipated. The elaboration of every detail took her by surprise. The peculiar voice on the other end was none other than her conscience and today was supposed to be no different.
The flowers Of Misfortune •
It is not easy to let go. Not after holding all of the moments so dear to your heart.You cannot even contemplate what is worth treasuring or worth throwing away, because the beginnings and the endings all begin to possess the same definition. This act, by all means, has the capacity to paralyze you with its excruciatingly painful effects. This is when you initiate retaliation, by embracing the antagonism offered from outrage and shame.
But do you ask yourself, just for a single moment, whether this disillusionment and chagrin is the only way to balance departure and vulnerability?
Maybe; or maybe not.
Don't forget that the world loves to remember and repeat...
There lay a thousand experiences motionless. The misty secrets, the blushing affairs, everything came to a halt. Nothing felt this real ever before. Their world finally found a way to seperate itself from preposterous dreams.
It was time.
Such is the mystery of crumpled sheets.
All tangled into one desire, hiding beneath the glistening stars, yet conveniently fixed at the very edge of the first beam of daylight.
A routine of hiding and seek, played by two misplaced hearts.
She yearned for some space to synthesize all the changes surrounding her. The divorce, the custody, losing her closest companion to cancer. It wasn’t easy; it never was. Although, for the world, she shouldn't get influenced by these good and bad times of life' as they called them to silence the anguish inside her.
She spent hours gazing at the snow as it continued to accumulate on the ground, crafting layers of magnificence and peacefulness. At least, that is the manner in which she wanted to depict it. It meant something, watching the white drops randomly fall and in the process illuminate the neighborhood like it’s Christmas . In a way, it felt like the season was giving her company.
Nobody understands denial. That really is the best part. I think this is one of the rarest terms that truly legitimizes its name with the feelings one encounters. This realization begins and ends with just one individual. Agree or not, everyone is trying to claim ignorance in ways that are effectively misconstrued by the rest of us. The conflicting moments that linger around and refuse to blur away with time, the accusations and explanations that that request the greater part of the vitality one holds can overpower however nobody is truly proficient at verbalizing their sentiments. Language is the best blessing to humanity, yet we choose to believe that silence is a method of quality. At t...
The thoughts were changing her. Like one minute she is right there, the next minute she is angry and all of a sudden she turns cold. This feeling of powerlessness wasn’t advancing or going in reverse. Rather, it was simply there. Like it was simply revolving in its own aura.
In this world where only you and I live,
why struggle in knowing each other,
when there is so much to know about love?
“Her complaints have such radiance, they brighten the room with negativity. His responses fumble on the lights, blocking his vision, and finally reach their dream.”
The world looks different each day.
With news channels mumbling devastating emotions, and phones ringing desperately. She steps out of the room with a blank thought and returns back to her bed, discouraged. She wonders if she is starting to forget things. She fears if she forgets the ones who are responsible for the kind of life she is leading today. Faces & voices haunt her all day and all she can do is, be silent. Hopeless, she opens a book that reads ‘blind eyes.’As she begins the story, she realizes th...
The last letter she wrote to him :
You work so hard for the entire day. You earn respect and spend love each day. You want to come home to peace and silence. But, you hear my screams and whispers. You simply cannot understand how I kill the 9 hours at home doing nothing whereas you are in the middle of chaos, trying to make sense of each word and command. And when you come home to neatness, and just one incomplete task of yours, you question my capabilities. You get angry wondering how I could not find time to complete your task. So, let me enlighten you tonight.
I spend my energy trying to find the peace that you deserve. I spend my knowledge in balancing your energy levels. I waste m...
There is a cluster of dreams lying there. Although it's a place familiar to most, it surely is isolated. The screams and whispers coming from this specific place are slowly starting to lose patience and might explode at any given time.
What a shame!
Scriptures and sculptures are making a decent attempt to hold up the knowledge and represent battles of the past decades. However, the dreams are presently finding their place on digital spaces where countless stories have barely lasting reactions.
And amongst so many angles captured, only one "perfectly likable" portrait is saved.
After examining their mannerisms, should their distracted methods or their supreme ignorance dominate yo...
The possibility of you reaching a level in this dimension is unknown to many. Sometimes even to your own mind and heart.
Take the blame if it will make them feel strong and navigate through their experiences. Face their sadness and disappointments if it will help them to get some clarity. But remember, it's not your fault. If they pretend to be destroyed, it's not your fault. If they cry and cry, it's not your fault. The best you can do is to channelize the positive energy for them.
Not always will culture and tradition guide them, for they have been explained vaguely over the generations. They surely are not the solution, for they will only mute the philosophy. But those born to design...
And there she sat, looking at her neighbours, wondering if at all they waited for love in the morning just the way she did...and finally convince themselves to fall asleep.
Just like the way she did?
The world loves to relate itself with flames. I
can never quite comprehend the emotion.
Possibly because of the feeling of superiority it blazes out. But at the same time,
something as easy going as water
can quench the power.
When I look at the sun,
an irony for the quality it possesses of a blinding light and also a source of hope, it amazes me how a delicate cloud that travels around the world can shield that fireball on its journey.
A few minutes of defense can calm so many and make them crave for its shade again.
Resembling the mannerisms
of a broken heart, which actively demands love
and not understanding what to do with it once it has been ...
Those who worry,
forget to consider the steps to walk on, created by the chaos.
Forgetting what they learned, they backpedal to mischievousness.
She would quietly open the windows and allow the moonlight to come in. It was only in these 12 hours of each day that she would be alive and let the black and white play hide and seek with her heart and mind.
The silver essence that touched her skin healed all the scars given by her one true love. The love that was chosen by the society.
Your affection is bolted and bound with such grace that I need to break all boundaries and turn into a fighter to comprehend it.
Why do I need a shield and convey a sword to ensure what is so pure?
Why do I need to resort to viciousness to protect the love we share?
Their convictions prescribe that i take after your traditionalist heart with a liberal mind.
These conversations I hear
from the strangers
surrounding me reveal a certain kind of truth- the one which is not hidden, but is waiting to be found by the wise who sit alone at a table and enjoy the irony placed by many.
Like every parent, I am sure even you have your list of favorite children. Or a favorite one, at least.
You favor those who keep nodding their heads like cattle and disown those who challenge your foundation.
You support those who support your hypocrisy and banish those who make your thoughts run in productive perspectives.
You should be proud of yourself for giving birth to creativity, which talks about “heartbreaks “ and in the next moment, “move on”.
You should be proud of yourself for silencing the voices which whispered about change.
You have finally managed to suffocate the lives of those who believed in themselves and are now simply finding their voice a...
With her shameful cerebral presence, the celebration of modern stupidity was displayed on the doors, that was left half open for them to come visit her on happy hours.
Days and nights merged like never before, throwing tantrums to convince them to stay. Maybe, she needed their whispers to act as a reminder of her choices.
Maybe, she needed them to challenge her principles that she held on to for three generations.
But, no matter how hard she tried to breathe calmly, there was a whirlpool of her strength that would visit every home on that parched land uninvitedly only to make them believe the true meaning of 'The Beginning'.
She adores my culminating moves,
That I disseminate around so genuinely,
To get a composure out of me,
Turning around she feels that she can never have an ownership of me,
Such one intimate romance that we both trade in our looks,
Such one blue moment that we both live in,
By denying the society,
Maybe tomorrow will come after all,
For the wilderness and shyness to blend along,
With the universal law.
Secluded syllables that come to mind,
While answering questions hidden inside,
A theatrical atmosphere, Scattering like golden,
Circling around the dome,
Illuminating only few lines,
Like throwing clues up in the air,
And waiting for the right hands to catch them,
On the ground,
Which holds half lived souls,
Lost in hope,
Closing their vision,
Counting every particle that is falling in their direction,
It’s just too late !
It’s so late!
D R I V E
The flaws that you manage
to hunt inside my mind,
comfort your demons,
singing a lullaby to the alternate side,
that sneaks in sometimes...
The only place I find peace is amidst the chaos of my mind, for no one can judge the silent expressions I carry while staring at the wall built so short, simply to create fear for those who wish to cross.
Names have always been a major source of confusion while passing judgements.
Monotonous nightfalls claim their price from the oldest improvisor,
Who never thought that speech alone can lead to infidelity of beauty.
Holding virginal roses, After losing probable choices,
They moved towards monotony of absurdness,
Sharing a feeling
with the travelers,
Searching in denial, Struggling to battle,
Against those who were always attentive, For the era,
That changed in favor of history,
And accepted to be partially in love with theories,
Plots and conspiracies,
Blaming the veil of miscalculations,
Which hid them like the hiding bride,
Only to escape society’s emptiness.
Stand up! Stand up! Stand up!
Repeated the fools anthem,
Which represented the attentive minds,
Everytime, On the radio -
That posed in everyone’s home,
That is now only labeled as old school,
But, who knew,
So much would cost ...