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Bliss Rosetta
It's 2 o' clock at night. I hear the silent breathing of my siblings, rhythmically playing with air in a way which seems like the rise and fall of the small tides that toddle towards the soft sand from the sea, competeing with each other in a race.
Sita Prasad
The fickle minded think, modernism lies in flaunting, Just see the nature, it does too, but without taunting. #wcfickle #wcwordoftheday #yqbaba #wcfeature
Hansika Bansal
That Delusion ... An ecstatic experience that was, A lovely delusion that was, Like I was in my own world , Such a sweet tale that was. My mind became his slave, Being my love for him so grave, A Shakespearely romance that was,
marmalade ツ
if only fire had a shadow Night is but known for the stars that fill it up and not for the voids it carries. Night is but known for the moon that's a silver sphere and not for its onyx square blanket. Night is but known for the fireflies it holds and not for the fire that it itself holds. Night is but known for the dawn it is to culminate into and not for the dusk as its beginning.
marmalade ツ
~~~~ The red mark caught my sight. The red cross on my paper. Every other word and verse started to fade and somehow it was just the cross and me on a journey unknown. Taking my diary, I drew two slanting lines, leaning against each other. They leant like grape vines on walls and trunks of other trees. Parasitism as it is called. It's like clouds sailing like paper boats in the wet ocean. Never knowing when would the waves begin to engulf them. And, then? Paper would crumble away... forever.
marmalade ツ
The Fireplace Title : Searching for halcyon in the fiery fireplace Sitting by the fireplace, the friction reduces its speed. The crackling of fire increases both its voice and whistle just on the gesture of ruthless winters.
marmalade ツ
°°Of Memoirs and Memories°° | caption | °°Of Memoirs and Memories°° Keeping the book back on the desk, an unknown feeling of a known desire rushed upon me. I knew the answers of my questions but alas! I think I forgot the questions themselves. October faded and a mist of November was deposited on my window.
marmalade ツ
°°To The Dried Dandelions°° | caption | °°To The Dried Dandelions°° i. I always forget the word, the word that is to be used. Nevertheless, I still remember the verses, at least some of them. These dried dandelions smell like coffeebeans sometimes to me. Though, I know there's no particular odour for dandelions to possess. Still, the dryness and thirst within these dandelions make me feel at home. ii. Recluse, I say is the best and breathless word to not only describe but also define this traveller here, that's me. Looking at the sk
marmalade ツ
°° Seeing Mass Poetry °° | caption | °°Seeing Mass Poetry°° Looking through streets, alleys and roads, I find poems. In the auto driver, who keeps on shouting the names of various places, some of which I don't even recognise. His voice and the inflections in it, forms the poem's verses. I sit at a tea shop, and see
marmalade ツ
°°Searching for success in goodbyes°° You would hear it roaring down the apartment while you stand in the balcony, glaring at flora that overwhelms the heart. I look back at the window. A sudden feeling of frisson fills up within me.