Best pertinaceous Shayari, Status, Quotes, Stories

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An empty matka. (Read in caption) What's my life if not an empty matka? I stand in a long queue under the rage of sun~ holding the neck of my life and its body hugging my waist in right. I grasp my parched throat and try to gulp them. But it gets cracked every time I try to make a move. I wish my air filled life to be replaced by water.

An empty matka. (Read in caption) What's my life if not an empty matka? I stand in a long queue under the rage of sun~ holding the neck of my life and its body hugging my waist in right. I grasp my parched throat and try to gulp them. But it gets cracked every time I try to make a move. I wish my air filled life to be replaced by water.

Miss xyz

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My first death anniversary. (Read in caption) The pyre of my funeral hasn't stopped burning yet. It has completed 365 days, still it refuses to calm. Relatives have gathered. Some kept mopping tears and others hid their wilt inside the

My first death anniversary. (Read in caption) The pyre of my funeral hasn't stopped burning yet. It has completed 365 days, still it refuses to calm. Relatives have gathered. Some kept mopping tears and others hid their wilt inside the

Miss xyz

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A leaving poem. (Read in caption) Our presence made the night gleam with the tint of love adorning the sky. Where, I was the scattered stars of shady glint, and you were my Belle of night. But then, the night dwindled stirring up the orange. I wish we

A leaving poem. (Read in caption) Our presence made the night gleam with the tint of love adorning the sky. Where, I was the scattered stars of shady glint, and you were my Belle of night. But then, the night dwindled stirring up the orange. I wish we

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THE DAY I MADE THE NIGHT The 5-year-old me was asked to draw a scenery and fill them up with their respective colours. Yellow for sun, blue for sky and river, pink-red and orange for flowers, green for grasses and trees~ this was all I had assembled in my empty paletted brain. I drew the sun with dripping sunshine; letter 'V' flapping its wing and taking the shape of a bird. After putting down all the elements into the drawing sheet from my brain, I opened my crayon box to pour colour into my drawing. Alas! My box had

THE DAY I MADE THE NIGHT The 5-year-old me was asked to draw a scenery and fill them up with their respective colours. Yellow for sun, blue for sky and river, pink-red and orange for flowers, green for grasses and trees~ this was all I had assembled in my empty paletted brain. I drew the sun with dripping sunshine; letter 'V' flapping its wing and taking the shape of a bird. After putting down all the elements into the drawing sheet from my brain, I opened my crayon box to pour colour into my drawing. Alas! My box had

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Second slice: A photograph I'm having photographs for lunch. But they're stuck between the platter of the plastic sleeves of album. They've lost their original colour. They're stale. They've become pale. Still I plucked and threw them into my mouth circumventing to gulp rather to chew. Ah! But memories got lodge inside my mouth. I need to chew. I can't gulp them down. They've surrounded my taste buds uniformly with non-uniform taste. some parts are sweet, some

Second slice: A photograph I'm having photographs for lunch. But they're stuck between the platter of the plastic sleeves of album. They've lost their original colour. They're stale. They've become pale. Still I plucked and threw them into my mouth circumventing to gulp rather to chew. Ah! But memories got lodge inside my mouth. I need to chew. I can't gulp them down. They've surrounded my taste buds uniformly with non-uniform taste. some parts are sweet, some

Miss xyz

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Writing for me is like wearing a saree – getting a simple and elegant look by draping around a six yards cloth. It's like the 26 alphabets of english draped around the writer's ink. I begin with the petticoat – it is neither the first line nor the last line, it's the thought that later cascades the word by placing it at right places, to give a modest look. Blouse is the underlying support for the saree drape – I wear it to support the drape that allows to compose subsequent lines with the articulation of the first line. It's the first line that holds the interest of the reader and permit them to gaze forward. I then go for making the pleats, the pleats hold so much in so less, just like broken words of folded pleats. And then comes the pallu – It defines the length of the sentences. It shouldn't be short nor long, it should get along with the width to get the perfect variation of the sentence. And in the end, pinning is as important as punctuation in writing. I stand infront of the mirror to re-read, where I reflect the ink of the writer and the saree, reflects the elegance of the writer. Wearing a saree is difficult, but it becomes easy when we get into the flow of fabric, just like words in writing. #yqbaba #writingforme #saree #pertinaceous

Writing for me is like wearing a saree – getting a simple and elegant look by draping around a six yards cloth. It's like the 26 alphabets of english draped around the writer's ink. I begin with the petticoat – it is neither the first line nor the last line, it's the thought that later cascades the word by placing it at right places, to give a modest look. Blouse is the underlying support for the saree drape – I wear it to support the drape that allows to compose subsequent lines with the articulation of the first line. It's the first line that holds the interest of the reader and permit them to gaze forward. I then go for making the pleats, the pleats hold so much in so less, just like broken words of folded pleats. And then comes the pallu – It defines the length of the sentences. It shouldn't be short nor long, it should get along with the width to get the perfect variation of the sentence. And in the end, pinning is as important as punctuation in writing. I stand infront of the mirror to re-read, where I reflect the ink of the writer and the saree, reflects the elegance of the writer. Wearing a saree is difficult, but it becomes easy when we get into the flow of fabric, just like words in writing. #yqbaba #writingforme #saree #pertinaceous

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I'm rakuyou, an adopted autumn who hates spring. (Read in caption) I'm neither here nor there, I'm an odd petal who was made escape out of love. I'm the left out petal which none expects, but is left alone in their untoward situation. ~ I don't know what made me

I'm rakuyou, an adopted autumn who hates spring. (Read in caption) I'm neither here nor there, I'm an odd petal who was made escape out of love. I'm the left out petal which none expects, but is left alone in their untoward situation. ~ I don't know what made me

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me day by day and reflection, night by night. (Read in caption) I drink the night sky sip by sip, by taking the salted stars piece by piece with every glimpse. The reflection of my drenched soul, made my night dessert~ a savoury dish. With every rain that rolled down my cheeks falling from my

me day by day and reflection, night by night. (Read in caption) I drink the night sky sip by sip, by taking the salted stars piece by piece with every glimpse. The reflection of my drenched soul, made my night dessert~ a savoury dish. With every rain that rolled down my cheeks falling from my

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•On lies• I woke up to a shady morning today. Eyes kept falling like the fallen curtain. And stomach started roaring like the hungry lion. I felt like my morning routine was becoming hectic step by step. I saw lies lying on the table for breakfast. It was dipped in excess amount of oil. The roaring inside my stomach couldn't resist to have it. My excited hand tried once, twice, thrice and then, it became its favorite. The oil from the food made my hand messy, and flowed down through my hands. Maa from

•On lies• I woke up to a shady morning today. Eyes kept falling like the fallen curtain. And stomach started roaring like the hungry lion. I felt like my morning routine was becoming hectic step by step. I saw lies lying on the table for breakfast. It was dipped in excess amount of oil. The roaring inside my stomach couldn't resist to have it. My excited hand tried once, twice, thrice and then, it became its favorite. The oil from the food made my hand messy, and flowed down through my hands. Maa from

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What if we're all white lies hiding from the dark of bitter truth. Let's listen to the chord of silence. We will listen to a voice. A voice of our own, crying to heal our reminiscence. We'll wish to wake up from our sleep.

What if we're all white lies hiding from the dark of bitter truth. Let's listen to the chord of silence. We will listen to a voice. A voice of our own, crying to heal our reminiscence. We'll wish to wake up from our sleep.