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writingsbyamna
15/F/Pakistan Writer and a certified bookworm. I'm trying to improve my writings and poems. / Follow me on Instagram @writingsbyamna where I try to post poems regularly.
Screaming in silent hues Into the sky, diffuse Like my mind that I abused My trepidation from it oozed. I try to keep, but in vain My broken thoughts inside my brain Out of control, they proved bane Never content within their terrain And when all is ordained and said I look down at my palms with dread Glaring in disgrace and sins of red The person in the mirror is dead
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Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 10:05 AM UTC
Uncontrollable Thoughts
They warn "The Devil's spawn is what you are after." Then why do I see halos draped over you, like a regal cape your sturdy shoulders, your neck claims; just like how once my sinful hands did.
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Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 3:37 PM UTC
Devil or Angel
The Heavens are closer to Earth tonight to sing for you and hold you in their silk arms. But you are frowning at the sidewalk, looking for pieces of your broken heart. Just look up, darling.
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Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 11:33 AM UTC
Look Up
Maybe if I write about you my heart will be at ease; maybe the butterflies will stop. I can't acknowledge you because then, I'll have to admit to crimes that even I don't know I've committed.
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Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 8:15 AM UTC
Writing About You
The clouds grumble as if on cue with my rage. My palms streak the lightning with utmost familiarity. A pet loyal as ever; always awaiting the slightest nod to curse all who ever belittled me.
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May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 6:45 PM UTC
Lightning
The sprinkled moondust hovering above the wisps of clouds, veil the puzzle pieces as they linger in the pools of wisdom left behind by the sages, where the thinkers have bathed and left their sorrows, to come out immaculate; leaving a legacy for the new intellectuals to put together.
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May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 12:52 PM UTC
The Intellectuals
The night fills my lungs with whispers ancient. Singing in my ears so fondly. I'm afraid that if it goes on I'll melt right there in it's velvet touch; for no one but the night has ever loved me that way.
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May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
Night-time
You, one step forward. Me, one step backward. "This is a bad idea", I voice as stably as I can. I am a menacing typhoon Curated by the sighs and whispers Of the burnt and the buried. I am their reincarnation. I am designed specifically To be masked like a poker player. Do you think you know me? Too much behind these foreboding cards. Your soft kind flame has rekindled my combustible mould of stone. But I must keep you safe from me By keeping you at arm's length. Don't be foolish, I am hard to love. What did you think, honey? The cherry-red beneath my eyes Are no dark circles.
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Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 3:55 PM UTC
Don't Fall For A Typhoon
Brittle, broken, beaten I carry in my chest a moldy stone. It used to flutter once and beat harmoniously. Medusa's hair, coiling around this planet finally found it.
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Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 8:31 AM UTC
Moldy Stone
Under the serene starry sky lay a hushed beating heart In a field as far as the horizon offered always allured by God's majestic art Two glistening eyes on Draco fixated Orion seemed the epitome of delight Deciphering the secrets the cosmos held in awe of the gloom broken by celestial light Almost as if the stars were reaching out too cradling the little one in their truths unraveling their mysteries to the heart of the wild in their lullaby, ease and soothe The galaxies above used their magic to fill the obscure heart with emotions aplenty and all that chained it to the insipid earth were mundane realities and gravity
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Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 6:33 AM UTC
Serene Starry Sky