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Arshi Dokadia

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In a world where everything you speak is under scrutiny, where every syllable and the tone behind is judged... Is it really a surprise I chose pen and paper and a secret diary? Or anonymity behind the screen? #yqbaba #surprise #pen #anonymity

In a world where everything you speak is under scrutiny, where every syllable and the tone behind is judged... Is it really a surprise I chose pen and paper and a secret diary? Or anonymity behind the screen? #yqbaba #surprise #pen #anonymity

KhaultiSyahi

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When it comes to writing, the Internet is the world's bathroom stall. ©KhaultiSyahi #suidhaga #sotrue #Life_experience #khaultisyahi #funny #Humour #Memes #Bathroom #Graffiti #Shit people do being Anonymity 🤔

When it comes to writing, the Internet is the world's bathroom stall. ©KhaultiSyahi #suidhaga #sotrue #Life_experience #khaultisyahi #funny #Humour #Memes #Bathroom #Graffiti #Shit people do being Anonymity 🤔

Sourajita D

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And yes in the intensity of time And the chaotic love of yours. I want to ignite just a fire, Which don't burns me within! Miserable am I and beloved you are, Senseless am I and estranged you. Felt by time yet not in space, Yet strangers are loved no less. Do walk on when you don't For wants and need change, But greed of strangeness doesn't! And yes you are... O beloved Stranger! Musings of my #anonymity with a beloved #stranger 🖤🖤 "OPEN FOR COLLAB* PC- Pinterest #moments#yqtales#yqbaba #anamikaraj#sourajita #YourQ

And yes in the intensity of time And the chaotic love of yours. I want to ignite just a fire, Which don't burns me within! Miserable am I and beloved you are, Senseless am I and estranged you. Felt by time yet not in space, Yet strangers are loved no less. Do walk on when you don't For wants and need change, But greed of strangeness doesn't! And yes you are... O beloved Stranger! Musings of my #anonymity with a beloved #stranger 🖤🖤 "OPEN FOR COLLAB* PC- Pinterest #moments#yqtales#yqbaba #anamikaraj#sourajita #YourQ

Shambhavi Sharma

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When we stopped talking, I'd proposed that we should meet again at the same spot a year later where we'd first met. Mimicking the movie Before Sunrise. During this time, we won't talk. We won't meet. We didn't for the longest time, helping us get over each other. Then we met, at a literature festival. You were cold like the winter. I was hopeful like a loser. It wasn't the best meeting, when my hopes were trampled by your indifference. There wasn't an ounce of love in your eyes. Once again, we meet tomorrow. You're showing me your city. You're going through a rough patch in your relationship, and I'm taken. What do I make of it? Maybe the way it has turned out so far tells the story. The promise of us was broken the moment we broke the promise of not meeting until a year later. Both single, hopefully. Why did we get in touch again, forsaking the wait. It has swallowed the concept of us. What used to be our dalliance has turned into a mere acquaintance, with words taking the place of possibility. Of replaceable replacements taking the place of benign belongingness. Of nothingness taking the place of infinity. The promise of us. The promise of us not meeting. After a long time, coming back to YQ. It’s funny how every time I feel restless, I think

When we stopped talking, I'd proposed that we should meet again at the same spot a year later where we'd first met. Mimicking the movie Before Sunrise. During this time, we won't talk. We won't meet. We didn't for the longest time, helping us get over each other. Then we met, at a literature festival. You were cold like the winter. I was hopeful like a loser. It wasn't the best meeting, when my hopes were trampled by your indifference. There wasn't an ounce of love in your eyes. Once again, we meet tomorrow. You're showing me your city. You're going through a rough patch in your relationship, and I'm taken. What do I make of it? Maybe the way it has turned out so far tells the story. The promise of us was broken the moment we broke the promise of not meeting until a year later. Both single, hopefully. Why did we get in touch again, forsaking the wait. It has swallowed the concept of us. What used to be our dalliance has turned into a mere acquaintance, with words taking the place of possibility. Of replaceable replacements taking the place of benign belongingness. Of nothingness taking the place of infinity. The promise of us. The promise of us not meeting. After a long time, coming back to YQ. It’s funny how every time I feel restless, I think

Nojoto Art

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Paris Street; Rainy Day is an oil on canvas painting by Gustave Caillebotte, brought an unusual monumentality and compositional control to a

Paris Street; Rainy Day is an oil on canvas painting by Gustave Caillebotte, brought an unusual monumentality and compositional control to a

thegirlwithearphones

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There I found a friend in the crowd of strangers..... Please read the caption It's not often that you come across a stranger and chitchat through the night very nonchalant random stuff for hours specially on virtual pl

There I found a friend in the crowd of strangers..... Please read the caption It's not often that you come across a stranger and chitchat through the night very nonchalant random stuff for hours specially on virtual pl

Meera Ali

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There is much more pain in my poems than the girl who lives on the other side of my wall. Every night I listen her singing and every morning I read her poems. I speak of identity and she lives in the world of anonymity. I hear her crying her name out loud in her poems which says she is dead yet alive. I wrote about the existence and she shredded her abandoned poems setting them ablaze each time, when reading phoenix. This time I took the pen to soak the blood dripping from her veinless poems but she dumped all the ashes on my way as premature babies and yielded herself to the asylum asking for help but she left her house unlocked and still every night, I hear the cries of newborns. For better reading. There is much more pain in my poems than the girl who lives on the other side of my wall. Every night I listen her si

There is much more pain in my poems than the girl who lives on the other side of my wall. Every night I listen her singing and every morning I read her poems. I speak of identity and she lives in the world of anonymity. I hear her crying her name out loud in her poems which says she is dead yet alive. I wrote about the existence and she shredded her abandoned poems setting them ablaze each time, when reading phoenix. This time I took the pen to soak the blood dripping from her veinless poems but she dumped all the ashes on my way as premature babies and yielded herself to the asylum asking for help but she left her house unlocked and still every night, I hear the cries of newborns. For better reading. There is much more pain in my poems than the girl who lives on the other side of my wall. Every night I listen her si

Shivansh

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How many times love brings death undercover of euphoria? (Caption...) (Read caption...) Every breath lingers on my skin with a meaningless hope to breathe, Every desire to live is diminishing, How much patie

How many times love brings death undercover of euphoria? (Caption...) (Read caption...) Every breath lingers on my skin with a meaningless hope to breathe, Every desire to live is diminishing, How much patie

Sai Manohar

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But once we possess everything, what else is left to seek? Then by principle, we seek nothing. Which now becomes difficult to attain. #CuSP (3) Why is nothing ever enough? You can have the perfect life. Great friends. Unlimited attention. Words flowing from your fingertip

But once we possess everything, what else is left to seek? Then by principle, we seek nothing. Which now becomes difficult to attain. #CuSP (3) Why is nothing ever enough? You can have the perfect life. Great friends. Unlimited attention. Words flowing from your fingertip

Jita Sahu

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is a silent reminder to tell you that you are there still existing. Good morning, writers! 😊 "There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen." - Rumi Did you know? 🌸 We've all made donations of some kind, b

is a silent reminder to tell you that you are there still existing. Good morning, writers! 😊 "There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen." - Rumi Did you know? 🌸 We've all made donations of some kind, b