Images about: #poemsofinstagram (2056151 posts)

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2019-11-21 08:04   0 0

 

#Poetrystribe #poetsofinstagram #writersofinstagram #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #poetry #madewords #quotesofinstagram #wordporn #igpoets #smile #bymepoetry #untwineme #writerscommunity #poemsofinstagram #omypoetry #micropoetry #writersnetwork #lovepoems #poemsporn #poetryporn #spilledink #wordswithqueens #wordswithkings #igpoetry #instaquote #poetryisnotdead

I’ve never believed in prayer 
Too many have gone ignored
Maybe the well’s run dry
But I think I’ve got one more 
A prayer for the silent ones
And the souls that we have lost
A prayer for the weeping angels 
And for all the lines we’ve crossed

Is it too late to cry for me
Have all your tears bled dry
A vagrant sun illuminates
Judgement on a cloudless sky

I pray for the soundless whispers
Encompassing all sorrows end
Tonight I rest, and say a prayer 
For the friendless, and the friend.
.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Apologies for the super irregular posting, to anyone who enjoys these. I’ll try and work out a schedule or something and get these out when I can (which isn’t bad. I have a ton of pieces that I love that I just haven’t don’t anything with)
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2019-11-21 08:01   0 0

 

I’ve never believed in prayer Too many have gone ignored Maybe the well’s run dry But I think I’ve got one more A prayer for the silent ones And the souls that we have lost A prayer for the weeping angels And for all the lines we’ve crossed Is it too late to cry for me Have all your tears bled dry A vagrant sun illuminates Judgement on a cloudless sky I pray for the soundless whispers Encompassing all sorrows end Tonight I rest, and say a prayer For the friendless, and the friend. . -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- Apologies for the super irregular posting, to anyone who enjoys these. I’ll try and work out a schedule or something and get these out when I can (which isn’t bad. I have a ton of pieces that I love that I just haven’t don’t anything with) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . #art #artistsoninstagram #artist #artwork #artoftheday #artistoninstagram #artofinstagram #poem #poetry #poems #poemsofinstagram #poemoftheday #poemsaboutlove #poemsofinsta #poetrycommunity #poetryofinstagram #poetrylovers #poetryislife #poetryisnotdead #poetrysociety #friends #friend #friendship #friendly #pray #prayer #prayers #praying #love #lovewritings

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2019-11-21 08:01   1 0

 

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2019-11-21 08:00   8 5

 

Mention your Special 💏 Follow me @arhan_writer . Keep supporting 😇 .  Keep following 😊 . ↪️ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ 🎭@arhan_writer --------------------------------------------------------- ↪️ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛs, ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ☺️ ↪️ᴛᴀɢ ᴀ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ 😍 ↪️ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ 🖐️ ↪️keep Following 🔝 --------------------------------------------------------- #shayri #loveshayri #sadshayri #urdushayri #instashayri #hindishayri #shayri143 #shayri_ki__dayri #poetrycommunity #poetrylovers #poemsofinstagram #poemsdaily #couplegoals #dpz #like4likes #likelike #shayarioftheday #arhan_writer

⚔️Rid of you
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2019-11-21 07:58   5 0

 

⚔️Rid of you . . . #poetsofinstagram #writersofinstagram #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #poetry #quotesofinstagram #writers #wordporn #igpoets #writing #poemsofinstagram #micropoetry #poets #poemsporn #poemsdaily #spilledink #instaquote #bymepoetrylove #ridofyou

All I hear are the defeaning bells of your absence, like something vicious chased away the child inside you and I'm aimlessly searching for those faded steps.

2019-11-21 07:58   2 1

 

All I hear are the defeaning bells of your absence, like something vicious chased away the child inside you and I'm aimlessly searching for those faded steps.

श्रीकृष्ण रुप 🗣️
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2019-11-21 07:49   6 1

 
ग़ज़ल ❤️
अपना अपना हाल सुनाकर रोयेंगे
गुस्सा होकर यार मनाकर रोयेंगे
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जिनको दुनियादारी बिल्कुल ले डूबी 
दुनिया से फिर हाथ मिलाकर रोयेंगे
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जिसने उसको पास बिठाए रक्खा है
वो सब के सब मन बहलाकर रोयेंगे
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चुप रहने में जिनको भी आसानी थी
रुक जाओ ये सब चिल्लाकर रोयेंगे
.
इश्क़ वफ़ा का नाम लिए जो बैठे है
यारों ये भी धोका खा कर रोयेंगे
.
हमने खुद को आखिर में ये समझाया
अब बस हम ख़ुदको समझाकर रोयेंगे
.
रास नहीं जिनको अब मैं पहले जैसा
इक दिन मुझको ये ठुकराकर रोयेंगे
.
ज़िंदा हूँ तो गौर नहीं करते मुझपर
मरने पर जो कब्र पे आकर रोयेंगे
.
उसने उसके यार का नाम बताया है
नम आँखों से हम मुस्काकर रोयेंगे
.
हम है यारो हर पल बस हँसने वाले
हम दुनिया से आँख बचाकर रोयेंगे -Raj Monil Shrivastava

Photo Credit - @sahababhishekk❤️
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2019-11-21 07:45   23 3

 

ग़ज़ल ❤️ अपना अपना हाल सुनाकर रोयेंगे गुस्सा होकर यार मनाकर रोयेंगे . जिनको दुनियादारी बिल्कुल ले डूबी दुनिया से फिर हाथ मिलाकर रोयेंगे . जिसने उसको पास बिठाए रक्खा है वो सब के सब मन बहलाकर रोयेंगे . चुप रहने में जिनको भी आसानी थी रुक जाओ ये सब चिल्लाकर रोयेंगे . इश्क़ वफ़ा का नाम लिए जो बैठे है यारों ये भी धोका खा कर रोयेंगे . हमने खुद को आखिर में ये समझाया अब बस हम ख़ुदको समझाकर रोयेंगे . रास नहीं जिनको अब मैं पहले जैसा इक दिन मुझको ये ठुकराकर रोयेंगे . ज़िंदा हूँ तो गौर नहीं करते मुझपर मरने पर जो कब्र पे आकर रोयेंगे . उसने उसके यार का नाम बताया है नम आँखों से हम मुस्काकर रोयेंगे . हम है यारो हर पल बस हँसने वाले हम दुनिया से आँख बचाकर रोयेंगे -Raj Monil Shrivastava Photo Credit - @sahababhishekk❤️ #urdughazal #rekhtafoundation #shayariquotes #kumarvishwas #urdupoetryworld #rajmonilshrivastava #urdu #urdupoetry #ghazal #sher #virsaaapoetry #hindipoetry #rajmonilshrivastava #rekhta #shayari #poetry #poem #poet #poetsofinstagram #writersofinstagram #writing #poetsofig #rekhta #ghazal #shayari #poetrycommunity #poemsofinstagram

● French is infintely and eternally more poignant and intimate than english.
● Remember the forgotten - the daily man, the quiet girl, the critical genius doubting himself - who fight the same fights and breath the same air as the more arrogant and beautiful but equally frail creatures too many of us are. ● Once you remember them, love them.
xo aurélie •
•
•
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2019-11-21 07:42   5 0

 

● French is infintely and eternally more poignant and intimate than english. ● Remember the forgotten - the daily man, the quiet girl, the critical genius doubting himself - who fight the same fights and breath the same air as the more arrogant and beautiful but equally frail creatures too many of us are. ● Once you remember them, love them. xo aurélie • • • #poeme #poesiefrançaise #poesie #poetsofig #november #novembre #war #society #poemsofinstagram #beauty #poems #poetrycommunity #poetry

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2019-11-21 07:41   30 4

 
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2019-11-21 07:37   18 6

 
Life’s perspective! 
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2019-11-21 07:36   3 0

 
|Sad house of mortality|

The yellow summer waned by our sweaty palms, and us, triumphing in our long lazy dreams woke aghast when the night arose to hide the sun.I felt a sick air in this house and everyone was slowly dying, some between chains of captivity, some in their pious inclination to die and not get lost, some in their infantile dreams and sobs and their tiny shoes that don't fit too well. A little child, i claim to know but infact we are all strangers gathered under a stolid roof, the eaves of which is inconspisiouly crumbling every lonely year; he, in his infancies, prayed to god to protect him that vicious demon, and often out of dread of those fables that inflated his restless heart with awe and reverence , refrained himself from being malicious. Each dusk, somewhere between seven and eight, the forks clattered to incite a song of defeaning charm, and us, unnecessarily vain of our punctuality, sat to savour what our mother made with our hungry ungrateful eyes, and she again desolate in her inert corner, watched us with motherly eyes. I cried less abruplty of the reproofs i received, while they themselves weren't aware of what absurdities left their old lips, but I understood it was necessary to quench their wrath, and hence i rolled my eyes like a rotten imp and innerly sobbed like a bruised child. ''I'll visit your house someday'' was what he had said the night he was enamored, and i hadn't dared to believe it would be pleasant, but when he retold the next morning my doubts dissolved, and hence if it were true we'd probably care less of being punctual to dine, or of the songs of the spoons, or of those tiny shoes that never fit anyone, or of my grandmother's holy scriptures, or my father's indifference or my mother's solicitude; and in between all these old stale habits and their forgetfulness for one strange night I'd tug him to sleep under my mortal ceiling and ask him to come again someday.
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2019-11-21 07:34   6 1

 

|Sad house of mortality| The yellow summer waned by our sweaty palms, and us, triumphing in our long lazy dreams woke aghast when the night arose to hide the sun.I felt a sick air in this house and everyone was slowly dying, some between chains of captivity, some in their pious inclination to die and not get lost, some in their infantile dreams and sobs and their tiny shoes that don't fit too well. A little child, i claim to know but infact we are all strangers gathered under a stolid roof, the eaves of which is inconspisiouly crumbling every lonely year; he, in his infancies, prayed to god to protect him that vicious demon, and often out of dread of those fables that inflated his restless heart with awe and reverence , refrained himself from being malicious. Each dusk, somewhere between seven and eight, the forks clattered to incite a song of defeaning charm, and us, unnecessarily vain of our punctuality, sat to savour what our mother made with our hungry ungrateful eyes, and she again desolate in her inert corner, watched us with motherly eyes. I cried less abruplty of the reproofs i received, while they themselves weren't aware of what absurdities left their old lips, but I understood it was necessary to quench their wrath, and hence i rolled my eyes like a rotten imp and innerly sobbed like a bruised child. ''I'll visit your house someday'' was what he had said the night he was enamored, and i hadn't dared to believe it would be pleasant, but when he retold the next morning my doubts dissolved, and hence if it were true we'd probably care less of being punctual to dine, or of the songs of the spoons, or of those tiny shoes that never fit anyone, or of my grandmother's holy scriptures, or my father's indifference or my mother's solicitude; and in between all these old stale habits and their forgetfulness for one strange night I'd tug him to sleep under my mortal ceiling and ask him to come again someday. . . . . . . . . #writersofinstagram #writerscommunity #writing #writingcommunity #writer #poetry #poems #poemsofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #poet #deepquotes #deepthoughts #wordporn

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2019-11-21 07:32   538 2

 

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• PHOEMS Series • ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
This should've been posted a long time ago, life is crazy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
📷: @15_kyleh ❤
[Thank you for allowing me to create art out of yours] •
•
• 
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2019-11-21 07:29   8 2

 

• PHOEMS Series • ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- This should've been posted a long time ago, life is crazy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 📷: @15_kyleh ❤ [Thank you for allowing me to create art out of yours] • • • #photography #photooftheday #wordporn #poemporn #poemsporn #poemsofig #poetsofig #spilledthoughts #spilledink #poemas #poetry #poemsdaily #poemsofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #quotes #lovequotes #igwriters #igpoems #igdaily #igart #igartist #naturephotography #writer #writersofinstagram #writerscommunity #lover #love #bymepoetrylove

"Home"
•
I want to let go.
I swear I do,
to swim in the ocean of love
and drown when my hands get tired,

to touch the wind
and have a taste of your skin,
as my fingertips try to remember your touch
forming memories out of thin air.

Do you know I think about it all the time?
How your words are like gentle caresses 
on my burning mind

like your voice is water and
i have been thirsty all along

Is this how one forgets the pain?
by letting someone else drink it 
from our love infused hands,

by breaking our mind into a river
and being rough on the rocks ashore.

I don't know if I am there yet.
I don't know if I can give you all of me
because it's not something I have all to myself.

I am scattered in my poems
and someone on the other side of the world 
is reading me and is thinking
if this is how one forgets the pain?

by seeping into the words that fall on a paper
and get stuffed at the bottom of a dustbin.

I don't know if I am there yet.
I don't know if I can call love 
a home.
•
-Adam Vera
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2019-11-21 07:28   13 1

 

"Home" • I want to let go. I swear I do, to swim in the ocean of love and drown when my hands get tired, to touch the wind and have a taste of your skin, as my fingertips try to remember your touch forming memories out of thin air. Do you know I think about it all the time How your words are like gentle caresses on my burning mind like your voice is water and i have been thirsty all along Is this how one forgets the pain by letting someone else drink it from our love infused hands, by breaking our mind into a river and being rough on the rocks ashore. I don't know if I am there yet. I don't know if I can give you all of me because it's not something I have all to myself. I am scattered in my poems and someone on the other side of the world is reading me and is thinking if this is how one forgets the pain by seeping into the words that fall on a paper and get stuffed at the bottom of a dustbin. I don't know if I am there yet. I don't know if I can call love a home. • -Adam Vera . . . . . . #poetry #poem #words #wordshurt #wordswithkings #wordporn #poemsporn #poemsofinstagram #livebywords #writings #insftagood #instapoets #omypoetry #poetsofinstagram #pdoetsofig #writersofinstagram #writersnetwork #bymepoetry #untwineme #penguinpoetrynyc #poetdds #poetryofig #poetrycommunity #spilledink #spilledwords #doortooursouls #childerenofink #madewords #thegoodquote

/6/
How many bodies are we carrying in our bones? We’ve lost track of the cracks between smiles that tell us we’re okay. We’ve lost count of the doubts that bubble up in our shins like sharp pains reminding us to always be on guard, to shift like phantoms from one home to the next, to sift our doubts through twelve-year-old fantasies and play hopscotch with our minds.

We were born with fear in our bellies. It fell deeper into our memories until it became us. We became fierce, shy creatures in the night. We slept in salt and lavender and sipped tea till twelve past three when dreams came to take us. We settled into sweet embers with every new love, forgetting the fires that raged in our fists like lessons from a lineage we’d never known.

We turned off our brains to wait out the winters, when we’d drop into our nest like sparrows, huddled close to warm our feathers, to sing and stretch and echo like caves, to dance in circles until someone trips.
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There was a dance in my body by the time I was born—a soft murmur of mémère, the ballerina. Je te vois. Je t’aime. Tu me manques.
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2019-11-21 06:42   4 0

 

/6/ How many bodies are we carrying in our bones We’ve lost track of the cracks between smiles that tell us we’re okay. We’ve lost count of the doubts that bubble up in our shins like sharp pains reminding us to always be on guard, to shift like phantoms from one home to the next, to sift our doubts through twelve-year-old fantasies and play hopscotch with our minds. We were born with fear in our bellies. It fell deeper into our memories until it became us. We became fierce, shy creatures in the night. We slept in salt and lavender and sipped tea till twelve past three when dreams came to take us. We settled into sweet embers with every new love, forgetting the fires that raged in our fists like lessons from a lineage we’d never known. We turned off our brains to wait out the winters, when we’d drop into our nest like sparrows, huddled close to warm our feathers, to sing and stretch and echo like caves, to dance in circles until someone trips. . . . There was a dance in my body by the time I was born—a soft murmur of mémère, the ballerina. Je te vois. Je t’aime. Tu me manques. . . . #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetryofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #poems #poemsofinstagram #writing #writersofinstagram #writer #creativewriting #women #femaleart #femalepoets #womenpoets #poetic

I want to cry
I want to scream
BUT I am trapped in the mind games of looking pretty
- Alisha MUKHTAR.
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2019-11-20 12:04   1 0