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#poets corner
g0j0s · 3 days
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turning 25 is so strange. i feel like i’ve lived so much yet everything seems to have just started. i remember being five and frolicking through my dada’s khet, climbing trees and playing lukka chuppi. my dadi would apply surma on my waterline & mehendi on my palms while humming folk tunes. 10 was even more fun as we moved away from my ancestral home into a bigger house of our own. i would spend my days watching senseless television with my sisters getting to know them even more closely. out on our terrace we wish upon shooting stars like kajol from some movie. i’m glad i didn’t know this then, that after 12 a girl is no longer a girl but an entity. as an incomplete being, she travels towards a different reality. but it’s not until a decade passes that she becomes whole and gains that kind of agency. by 15 things had changed drastically. the world became very bleak and constantly changing. my girlhood was slipping from my fingers and everyone was teaching me to be more careful. a rage had started to brew in the pit of my stomach. with that kind of fury, i could’ve burnt villages and cities. 20 was tormenting. i was almost a woman but still a girl. love and hatred claimed me equally as i swayed from one side to the other constantly. a lot of lessons and choices were thrown in my face until i dealt with them diligently. but 25 has arrived in all its glory. liberation permeates through every part of my being. finally, the colors have returned, bringing along an array of fragrances and melodies. i realize now that everything that happened was just to bring me to this moment. oh, how glad I am that it did!
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maybe-event · 7 hours
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soulinkpoetry · 3 days
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Dream of whoever you love, but don’t cry because you can’t have them, smile because they exist.
@soulinkpoetry
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jaggedjawjosh · 2 days
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It's not new love that scares me, it's the old wounds it might reopen.
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illbeyouranchor · 1 day
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I longed to explore him
Every thought
Every inch
Every desire beneath his surface
And what was more?
I wanted to let him deep beneath the depths of mine
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sfsolstice · 2 days
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i glance in the pool of algae,
and i reflect back to me
an image like narcissus, but
who i see is murky green
with a darkness underneath
eyes— a violent sea—
not due to the sprigs and leaves
or all that dirt and all the bees
that have drowned in it like me—
in another life, another time—
but only because who i see
is not who i know myself to be,
suddenly awash with a horrid wish
to be nobody.
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हो सके तो कभी कभी ख्वाबों में आके मिला कीजिए
हकीकत से तो जा चुके हैं, ख्वाबों में ही सही आ मुझे गले से लगाया कीजिए
फिक्र ना करें मैं इन मुलाकातों के बारे में किसी को नहीं बताऊंगी
आप बस मेरा हाथ थाम मेरे बगल में बैठ जाना, तब मैं दुनिया से छुपाया हुआ अपना हर आंसू आपके सामने बहा दूंगी
फिर आपकी गोद में सिर सुकून की नींद सोजाऊंगी
आखिर ये तो ख़्वाब है, यहां तो वैसा हो जाएगा जैसा मैं चाहूंगी
मगर फिर एक मनहूस पल आएगा जब मेरा ख़्वाब टूट जायेगा और मेरा सामना मेरी हकीकत से हो जाएगा
तब मैं अपने सिरहाने रखी आपकी तस्वीर को देख कहूंगी
हो सके तो कभी कभी ख्वाबों में आके मिला कीजिए
दिशा
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they say that lavender softens anxiety, and i wonder whether i can plant a garden so dense in your mind that the knots in your chest unravel and never tighten again.
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gargiyadav · 9 hours
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What do I do with my grief?
I know not how to handle my grief.
Where to put it, how to tame its insurmountable spirit.
How to sing it lullabies for my voice always crackles up.
How to call out its name without fearing the worst.
What to say to it when it comes running to me like a child.
What to whisper in its ears so as to soothe its wild nerves.
I know I can very well discard it, get rid of it forever, but if that would have been possible, i would not be writing this poem today titled, "what do I do with my grief"
I know not how it's so capable of being so alive when I, the harbourer, has died so many times.
Isn't this grief that I carry in my belly, my child?
If that's the case, it should have died long time ago.
But here it is, chuckling and stretching its limbs, looking at me with its endearing eyes, waiting to be picked up with utmost affection.
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infprincesss · 20 hours
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coldagain · 2 days
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age
I'm growing older,
i can feel it in the slow numbing of my heart,
and the way exhaustion had indented a home in me,
in the way they tell me to suck it up,
(because you're worthless if you don't make them proud)
in the way I can't remember a time I wasn't decaying inside.
but I'm not growing up,
i still dream of fairytales, and dancing with the love of my life
i dream of flowers in a garden I grew in a home I made,
and friends who would stay,
i wish on shooting stars for pirate ships and magic,
swordfights, aliens, and travelling the world.
I'm growing older, but I'm not growing up.
but maybe, just maybe, that's a good thing.
- I survived 17 years on this round ball of gas and mud!!!!!! Here's to hoping that we're all going to be okay. :))
also, with the current rate I'm writing poems, I'm pretty sure I'll burn out in a few days lol.
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mysterieuxclairdelune · 10 months
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I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.
-Sylvia Plath
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strokeofserenity · 4 months
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Slyvia Plath
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soulinkpoetry · 3 days
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We still break even if we’re not allowed to put our broken pieces on display.
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jaggedjawjosh · 3 days
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Maybe I'm settling for a life too small, when the world is vast and waiting to be explored.
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delirium-mind · 7 months
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I miss the way I viewed the world before I knew too much about it
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