DarkestofRoses

Hey everyone,
          
          I'm experiencing somewhat of a writer's block right now so, this message might not be as coherent (bear with me). However, there is something I wanted to talk about– it's almost Rakshabandhan. For the context, it's basically an Indian festival where traditionally the sisters tie a sacred thread (rakhi) on their brothers' wrist and the brothers in turn promise to protect them.
          
          To me, personally, it has always sounded sexist– for self explanatory reasons (leaving the detailed breakdown for another day)(I'm kinda burnt out ngl). Thus, I simply put up with it for the sake of my religious family that values 'tradition'. And subsequently for many years it only remained a day marked by irritable mornings with me being forced into rituals surrounded by relatives. The only highlight of the festival for me was/is tieing a rakhi to a close female friend of mine, which began as a cute gesture in tenth grade.
          
          However, recently, I did notice that although it didn't mean too much to me, it did mean something to my younger brother. He came to me tonight – asking for the chocolate I'd like to have tomorrow– which was usual. But I was a little moved when my mom told me he wanted to pay for it himself. (Which btw he's literally a kid). (Kinda emotional ik lol) So, I asked her to add his favorite chocolate too, and I'd pay for it obviously. I also decided that he was also going to tie a rakhi to me tomorrow. It almost felt like, for the first time in my life, I wanted to do this with all my heart.
          

Hey everyone, 
          
          I know I'm probably on a yappathon at this point but since the poem I published yesterday, called "The Traveller and the Tree", is quite close to my heart– I have a tiny clarification to make since I showed it to my friends and realised it could be interpreted differently. 
          
          The poem contains a stanza, where it shows the traveller leaving for an exploration – which could be interpreted as the traveller leaving the forest to search for better options. And tbf it does piece together really well with the central message of the story. However, I do want to also convey the storyline I originally intended while writing. 
          
          From my side, the traveller does not leave in search of a better landscape, rather he decides to explore different parts of the forest. A traveller's identity is primarily marked by taking long journeys before forming an opinion of the place. 
          To him, it felt stupid to be already in love with a place he had never visited. Thus, he lied and left in search of proof. 
          
          Subsequently, on the journey, he faced– "the mosquito bites" and had "torn shoes" from the 
          long walks he had made. He now knew both the 
          beauty and struggles of living within the forest, yet there was none other like it. Honestly, I just heartly wanted to highlight how the traveller finally accepted love after viewing the forest as a whole not just the gorgeous parts of it, he initially witnessed. For in life, we often believe that we would be loved for our perfections, but in reality vulnerability (flaws) are what make us human and facilitate connection. 
          
          
          Love Love. 

                                  The Traveller and The Tree 
          
          
          
          Oh how I was traveller– 
          A traveller in love with the green woods,
          A traveller longing for the taste of the spring,
          A traveller who'd ever only known autum–
          One who desired a creeper with flowers coling.
          
          The greens were capricious–
          The shade as gorgeous as a dream undreamt,
          But it was when the breeze kissed me slowly–
          That I flew high like an autum leaf and fell,
          Not the scent, the scene, the relese, yet a spell,
          –was cast upon me.
          
          The traveller was in love– 
          The autum leaves flew into a heart and curled,
          And to put it into better words, it was spon on. 
          Thus by nature, I lied and took my bags untold–
          For how stupid it'd be for a traveller to just fold.
          
          The traveller thus set off–
          Towards closing trees, waterfalls, hilly greens unknown–
          An exploration was needed to say for sure,
          But the deeper I went– the longer I longed to stay, 
          The echo of those birds, heart'd never give away.
          
          The greens are capricious –
          The folded traveller sat under a tree and said,
          "Maybe I want forever", I let out the words unsaid, 
          The green pristine, and the mosquito bites too,
          I've walked so far I think I've torn both my shoes. 
          
          The Traveller was in love–
          The petals all flew into a heart and curled,
          The hope to wake up every day to the chirps, 
          The traveller let his bags down on the earth,
          And the spring felt okay being autum with her.
          
          Humankind might never comprehend–
          The trees weren't the most capricious,
          The traveller wasn't the greatest one.
          The flowers only flew from the wind of–
          What they caused each other to become.
          
          As human says–
          There will always be better green trees,
          There will always be better travellers, 
          Yet no tree'd ever look like him again.
          Yet no traveller'd ever look as she did.
          
          
          Love Love 

@blueberriesared <3 
          
          
          In subtle and quiet gentle ways, 
          A thread of mine is weaved into her soul; 
          It's a secret only we know.
          
          Her poetry holds pieces of me, 
          That no one else can see.
          
          You will find me in her certain habits, 
          My love runs deep inside her veins.
          
          Our love is like that-
           Deep within the skin and bones.
          
          -
          
          As I walked into this lonely town,
          The world was no less than a blurr, 
          I only saw a red thread– oh it was her
          
          Beneath a pool of blood my heart lay,
          But she warmed it with her red crochet 
          
          You will find all her songs in my gallery, 
          And ones recorded for memories I wanted to stay.
          
          She was the first girl who made me feel truly,
          – that I was never too much in any way.
          
          Not too emotional when I cried mid argument,
          Not over the top logical when I rambled politics.
          
          Not stuck up when I stressed over routines,
          Not delusional when I talked about world peace.
          
          That is just how deep our love runs, 
          One might not know how to put into words.
          
          Yet our love's just like that–
          It runs deep within the skin and bones. 
          
          -
          
          Love Love (Touchwood) 
          

Hey everyone, 
          
          I just published a new poem, "Lord of Heaven's" in The Eclipse(Poetry). Do check it out and let me know what y'all think!! 
          
          Love Love 

Congratulations! You’ve been invited to compete in the VIP section of the End of Summer Poetry Contest! https://www.wattpad.com/story/414774303?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=LoreleiDay

Hey everyone, 
          
          Just a thought– so a while back a video came into my feed–It was something along the lines of– "Do you know why arts and humanities subjects are looked down upon by society, because the govt is afraid to make critical thinkers"
          
          At the time, it felt conspiracy-ish because personally, I do see historical reasoning behind the degradation of humanities subjects– such as intense economic pressures, social status biases, lack of clarity in career path, lowering starting wages, the fallback myth and the blind STEM preference. Also, frankly as far the curriculum here goes, I doubt if the govt really needs to be apprehensive about such things. As someone that studies humanities I mostly find the curriculum to be flawed. You can be as right as you want but the fact is – only some students will question things, reading a textbook that only provides methodology. However, for the vast majority it is not enough to encourage practical learning. What even is the point of taking subjects, when you derive nothing meaningful out of them long term.
          
          Although to be positive, there have been efforts, like for instance the addition of those (so called) "competency based" questions lol. (I mean, take this with a grain of salt I'm bitter).
          
          This is because, what I observed was that– the Indian market sells everything, thus the questions that are originally meant to encourage ' critical thinking' get drawn to "another type you should learn to score well before the exam". It's as if they are desperately trying to whitewash a wall that clearly has leaking pipelines underneath it. I genuinely wonder if a curriculum that rewards memorization and scores, will ever be able to foster learning at its fullest potential. 
          
          

Hey everyone,
          
          Nothing dramatic, just wanted to share something that came to mind– I was re-reading my old works and it made me realise that well, I'm not too fond of them (to say the least) . I mean, I don't  despise them because they do represent my journey at some point of time. But also, I can't help but criticise myself in a decent amount of areas. A lot the ideas had so much potential, only if they had been executed better. Younger me wrote what she liked and wanted those who read it– to understand her ideas too. And I pretty much still have the, "My writing has to speak to me"– "well and to everyone else lol" *sprinkles glitter. lol. Let's make people look at things differently boom!! 
          
          Now from one side of the fence, all this is saddening,  because as an author, the stuff I'm proud of today would be 'meh' an year down the line. Infact, there is a real possibility that the pieces I adore as gorgeous mosaics today may turn into messed up Legos. 
          
          Although a more realistic note, such changes also reflect growth in ideas and evolution of perspective. Who knows, maybe, if you are still looking at an idea you had when you were younger with nothing to add onto it– it may indicate that you just aren't thinking deep enough. Thus, overall it does help me feel nicer about the stuff I binge read. And honestly, I think it's a common feeling most artists experience, so I hope it made those who relate feel less alone. 
          
          
          Love Love 
          
          
          
          
          

Hey everyone, 
          
          I just published a new chapter, "The Tiny Pieces" in my book "You said be Quiet, I wrote this". I did post this one as an announcement first yesterday, and thus have made a couple of changes in it, since this morning. I would love for you'll to check it out!!!
          
          
          Love Love 

                              Song of the Violin 
          
          
          [PACK UP EVERYBODY!!!] *Loudspeaker echoes 
          [THIS IS AN EMERGENCY, WE'RE TRYNA FIGURE IT OUT BUT WELL—] *suspicious noises 
          [loud crashing noises] [Old television glitches]
          
          —Uh, what is this drama now? 
          — Don't worry babe, they probably have another flood around here...
          —No, but, Wait...
          — What?
          —There's something on the window, oh holy–
          —Uhmn? You oka-
          —Soo,.. I think we might be in an apocalyptic kinda situation righhh- no-
          
          
          [Crashes] [NO STOP] 
          
          
          V1- I look into your eyes to find love 
          But oh now your entire soul is green 
          You can only think about yourself oh 
          But you are now biting on my seam 
          
          V2- And baby I let you kinda do it 
          Bury your teeth in cause I like it 
          Maybe it's my fault I couldn't stop it
          Now you can take me with you too 
          
          PC- We have matching scars now 
          But why are my eyes still blue?
          And why can't I help but love you 
          even as my wounds turn blue? 
          
          C1- God I'm standing on the side with a shovel 
          Just tryna bury you at the deepest level 
          But as your hand creeps up and holds my leg 
          I try to let go but then I'm stuck once again 
          
          C2-Now we're sittin' alone in this silence (uh s-silence)
           As my sobs sound silent  in the violin  ( t-the violin)
          And I say, I'm not gonna be the one to beg (no uh babe)  
          As I wait for the violin's string to break (yeah) 
          
          V3– I look at the world in my peripheral 
          Woods wrecked and no sign of grass 
          All the greens, that'r there of your blood 
          Perhaps the apocalypse ate all life away 
          
          V4- And how may years does it take..
          For something wrecked to maybe change?
          Wish I could lie in a coffin next to the 
          Decayed yet green fern tree in my peripheral 
          
          PC- We have matching scars still..
          But why are my eyes so full of gloom? 
          And why can't I help but love you..
          even as the cycle of time breaks it's loom?