New gonjiam asylum Quotes, Status, Photo, Video

Galoli

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@Asylum.. Innocent ਹੁੰਦੇ ਹੋਏ ਵੀ ਬਣੇ ਰਹੇ accused ਚੇਹਰਾ ਖੁਸ਼ ਤੇ ਦਿਲੋ ਰਹਿੰਦੇ ਸੀ ਮਾਯੂਸ ਹੋਇਆ ਨਯੀ ਹੋਣਾ ਪਹਿਲਾ ਏਦਾਂ ਸੰਸਾਰ ਵਿਚ ਲਗੇਗਾ Asylum ਸਾਡਾ ਇਸ਼ਕ ਦਰਬਾਰ ਵਿੱਚ ਨੀ ਤੇਰੇ ਦਿੱਲ ਵਿੱਚ ਲੈਣ ਲਈ ਪਨਾਹ Galoli ©Galoli #SAD asylum

@Asylum.. Innocent ਹੁੰਦੇ ਹੋਏ ਵੀ ਬਣੇ ਰਹੇ accused ਚੇਹਰਾ ਖੁਸ਼ ਤੇ ਦਿਲੋ ਰਹਿੰਦੇ ਸੀ ਮਾਯੂਸ ਹੋਇਆ ਨਯੀ ਹੋਣਾ ਪਹਿਲਾ ਏਦਾਂ ਸੰਸਾਰ ਵਿਚ ਲਗੇਗਾ Asylum ਸਾਡਾ ਇਸ਼ਕ ਦਰਬਾਰ ਵਿੱਚ ਨੀ ਤੇਰੇ ਦਿੱਲ ਵਿੱਚ ਲੈਣ ਲਈ ਪਨਾਹ Galoli ©Galoli #SAD asylum

ss

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There is a place called an asylum and there is a place called graveyard. Most of the time they are the same thing. #yqbaba #yourquote #asylum #graveyard #quote

There is a place called an asylum and there is a place called graveyard. Most of the time they are the same thing. #yqbaba #yourquote #asylum #graveyard #quote

Smruti Ranjan mohanty

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A LOOK-269 Live in reality. Live in your dreams,whims and fancies. But don't run away from yourself. Never live in a solitary asylum, in a noman's land where there is none except yourself. Smruti Ranjan Mohanty© 17.7.2021. A LOOK-269 Live in reality. Live in your dreams,whims and fancies. But don't run away from yourself. Never live in a solitary asylum, in a

A LOOK-269 Live in reality. Live in your dreams,whims and fancies. But don't run away from yourself. Never live in a solitary asylum, in a noman's land where there is none except yourself. Smruti Ranjan Mohanty© 17.7.2021. A LOOK-269 Live in reality. Live in your dreams,whims and fancies. But don't run away from yourself. Never live in a solitary asylum, in a

Sweta

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How cruelly you used to chain me up in a scary corner ? How barbaric your staffs were to accord me shock treatments despite telling the truth ? Yeah, you were haunted. If not then, you'll be now for, I won't spare the murders of mine. 《Refer to Caption》 July 27,2020 Dear mental asylum Remember the days, when I was not what I am today. I was not even mentally retarded huh! Still, you treate

How cruelly you used to chain me up in a scary corner ? How barbaric your staffs were to accord me shock treatments despite telling the truth ? Yeah, you were haunted. If not then, you'll be now for, I won't spare the murders of mine. 《Refer to Caption》 July 27,2020 Dear mental asylum Remember the days, when I was not what I am today. I was not even mentally retarded huh! Still, you treate

Bhavya GV

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Every writer is overdosed with the drug called as , "I'm not giving up yet". And get admitted to asylum called "Fantasy" forever. "I'M NOT GIVING UP YET". The only line which perfectly describes the writers who fight. Fight with time, fight with past, fight with their

Every writer is overdosed with the drug called as , "I'm not giving up yet". And get admitted to asylum called "Fantasy" forever. "I'M NOT GIVING UP YET". The only line which perfectly describes the writers who fight. Fight with time, fight with past, fight with their

cressy adoline

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This lockdown and the leaders and the other *****motive behind it 🤦🤦🤦 Isn't it too late for a meme? Well, it's Kishore Kumar's birthday and one gotta be quirky like him to celebrate the day! 🥳 Eccentric f

This lockdown and the leaders and the other *****motive behind it 🤦🤦🤦 Isn't it too late for a meme? Well, it's Kishore Kumar's birthday and one gotta be quirky like him to celebrate the day! 🥳 Eccentric f

The Dream Doodler

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If 'Pather Panchali' had been a pendulum, oh Bibhuti, railroads would have overpowered Surbanarekha's hum, oh Bibhuti. 'Ashani Sanket' dances at knive's invisible, whimsical scratches, In that battered fear, how can rapids and falls sing humdrum, oh Bibhuti? Did you breath last or breath life at pravasi Shantiniketan, Gouri Kunja? I saw a dreadful but a life at that bittersweet chum, oh Bibhuti! What would you do, Doodler, if the world tags poets, lunatic? Will I not run to you and to the asylum, the sane place for moments some, oh Bibhuti? I literally forgot to write. But this is something on the note, we didn't have a good experience on the rocky roads of Ghatsila, with much

If 'Pather Panchali' had been a pendulum, oh Bibhuti, railroads would have overpowered Surbanarekha's hum, oh Bibhuti. 'Ashani Sanket' dances at knive's invisible, whimsical scratches, In that battered fear, how can rapids and falls sing humdrum, oh Bibhuti? Did you breath last or breath life at pravasi Shantiniketan, Gouri Kunja? I saw a dreadful but a life at that bittersweet chum, oh Bibhuti! What would you do, Doodler, if the world tags poets, lunatic? Will I not run to you and to the asylum, the sane place for moments some, oh Bibhuti? I literally forgot to write. But this is something on the note, we didn't have a good experience on the rocky roads of Ghatsila, with much

Dr.Sameeksha Koundal🐾

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When you spill the injection during injecting...still don't tell anyone Isn't it too late for a meme? Well, it's Kishore Kumar's birthday and one gotta be quirky like him to celebrate the day! 🥳 Eccentric fact a

When you spill the injection during injecting...still don't tell anyone Isn't it too late for a meme? Well, it's Kishore Kumar's birthday and one gotta be quirky like him to celebrate the day! 🥳 Eccentric fact a

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