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Angira

@little.__scribbles

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I guess adding a poem as caption to a reel isn't a very good idea. But I'll do it anyway.

The night is a slate of electric colours,
merging through multitudes of hues
with each fleeting moment.
You look on in a haze,
as the performers chase the clock :
the incessant scudding
across the paved stage.
Oh, how you wish to slow it down!
To shake the puppets temporarily alive,
in a world filled to the brim with immediacy
and transient moments we can never revive.
Oh how you wish to meander down the street,
discovering hope buried in the brick face,
to bask in the glow of the streetlights
breaking away from the death race.
But things aren't in your control,
cause you're fettered with a worn out rope
to the stump of mundane living.
You're just another onlooker,
a momentary spectator in the ever-changing crowd,
a nomad at heart in the world of stagnant puppets,
a monochrome in the prism of life.

#thenightwemet #lordhuron #nightpoetry #poetsofinstagram #poetsociety #poetrycommunity #globalagepoetry #writersden #writersofinstagrampoetry #thailandstreets #krabithailand #thailandnightlife #nightlifepoetry #poetryinmotion #writerscommunity #poetryislife by @little.__scribbles

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3 years ago

made this 3 years ago.
Inspiration : Pinterest.

#doodle #doodleart #doodling #doodles #doodlesofinstagram #doodlesketch #doodleartist #benedictcumberbatch #benedictcumberbatchdrawing #sherlockholmes #sherlocked #sherlockholmesbbc #artoninstagram #follow #reach #newpost by @little.__scribbles

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3 years ago

@faten.fz came up with this wonderful initiative of a poetry collection crafted by fellow pro-Palestinian authors.

The process of bringing this book to life has been incredible, deepening my passion for writing. I am truly grateful to have had the opportunity of participating in this collaboration.

I appreciate how, as non-Palestinians, each of us envisioned ourselves living under occupation, expressing the struggles through poetry.

Exciting news: the book is available for free on the WeInk app, a platform allowing readers to enjoy books without charge while authors are compensated based on readership.

Given our collective sense of powerlessness, we've decided to donate the proceeds to the people of Palestine. Share this with fellow poetry enthusiasts and pro-Palestinians, and let's turn the power of words into positive change together.

Show some love to our author : @faten.fz ❤️

It has been a pleasure collaborating with @sanaaqdilawarzada , @rain_brewed_words , @readwithhibba , @dhi.ya.e , @fallen_crescent , @minniejam__ , @tabadulbooks , @nusratadibah , @writingsmess by @little.__scribbles

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3 years ago

Empty spaces-
liquid silence creeping stealthily
around pockets of sun-kissed dust.
Phantoms of lost conversations
drifting, in search of new meanings.
Unsaid words tumbling down walls,
hopping up stairs, staring at me.
Leftover memories laced with
edges of nostalgia,
stored in corners and railings
and desk drawers and door hinges
and behind photo frames-
dormant, but still alive.
A wisp of madness escapes
and capers around joyfully.
Empty spaces speak to me,
an uncanny resemblance
with what lies within. by @little.__scribbles

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14 days ago

The hills melt to paint,
waves of red, pink, white,
careless brushstrokes on a palette.
Like water colours dripping down a canvas,
they wish to be adorned
in bright hues and pastel shades,
quite unlike the colours that define me-
black ice that glaze frozen rivers,
damp, muddy greens of swamp water,
charcoal greys and rusty browns,
corroded, peeling, like old paint
in desperate need of redoing;
each part like an oil-stained page
coated with a membrane of dust,
the oil etching a quiet gloom in varied hues,
the murky shades obscuring softer ones;
all of them plunging down to
the floor of pitch dark consciousness,
swallowed by the mad tempest
dwindling away slowly into nothingness. by @little.__scribbles

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21 days ago

The streetlights are shrouded by a mist of melancholy. A stranger passes by, donning a wistful smile. I wonder what secrets lie behind that facade. There's a half-smoked cigarette carelessly thrown on the sidewalk, still raging on with fierce intensity until its last breath, before extinguishing into oblivion. A cat wakes from its deep slumber, stretching and warming up before it embarks on its hunt for the night. Evening announces its arrival earlier than before by the sudden drop of the dark curtain, obscuring all the play of light. The shadowy phantoms of September keep drifting slowly around the sidewalk, the silence more threatening than their presence. My eyes stay glued to the scene that looks like a half-heartedly painted backdrop, watching it all unfold in liquid silence. The minutes and moments and lights blur together into one, exuding an almost hallucinatory feeling. I wish to become invisible for a while, until the intensity of the feelings diminish. Feelings so sharp, capable of slicing through the darkness. A phantom passes by me. We nod. by @little.__scribbles

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a month ago

I was listening to a podcast recently, about the Golden Record sent off into space - a cosmic message intended for unknown life forms out in the universe. The very act speaks volumes about the hope mankind has for a better future.
I've realised the feeling of hope is deep rooted in whatever I write or scribble from time to time. And that hope might be the fundamental concept at the core of human existence. We love the concept so much that we've tried to articulate the feeling by creating metaphors and figures of speech, derived from nature, from human experiences, from collective consciousness. The light at the end of the tunnel or that creeps into a vessel through a crack, the single leaf on a barren tree, wildflowers growing on an abandoned wasteland, a random child smiling at you when you're having a bad day. A tiny fluttering yellow bird that comes and sits on your outstretched palm-- you name it Hope. It's embedded in nature, in the rise and fall of the tides, the golden glow of the setting sun over the highest mountains with the promise that it'll rise again, the melodious chirping of birds, in everything we do, everything we desire.
.
All the pictures were taken while on a trek to Thamri Kund in Munsiyari, Uttarakhand. April '24. by @little.__scribbles

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7 months ago

When life sucks you into a pit of darkness, the only thing you can do to save yourself is to hold on. Just hold on.
If you can't find anything to hold on to, hold on to words. Words have the power to save you, the power to heal. Also, words make sturdy boats, to carry you across the sea of despair.
My favourite word to hold onto is kindness. It's so simple, yet so powerful. Kindness is empowering, kindness is liberating. Kindness can move mountains. It gives you hope, urges you to hold on, reminds you of the beauty out there in the world.
Hold onto the word. Grip onto it so tightly that no matter how mightily the waves lash out on you, the boat of kindness will always keep you afloat. The storm may rage fiercely and menacingly, but you shall hold on with the belief that the word won't let you drown. In the end, when the storm subsides and the air becomes sharp and flat, you'll realise that the boat of kindness has helped you reach the shore.
You'll realise that during hard times, times when you feel lost and defeated and just want to give up, a little kindness towards yourself will help you through, will keep you sane. by @little.__scribbles

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8 months ago

Something I wrote one year back, after one month of leaving home and staying in a different state. It's been thirteen months here now and I still feel the same.

One of the beautiful things about living in a place where you don't understand the language spoken by the majority, is that you realise the value of simple things such as smiles and kind gestures.
A stranger on the bus asking to hold your heavy bag ; a lady with a crying baby smiling apologetically, changing instantly to a radiant smile when you smile back reassuringly ; a policeman kindly assisting you to the correct lane with a smile ; a shopkeeper donning a smile of achievement after being able to decipher the thing you want ; a tea stall lady smiling proudly when you appreciate the flavour of the tea ; a grandma on the bus blessing you with a gentle pat on your head when you offer your seat ; the smile of the auto driver uncle after voluntarily playing hindi songs and seeing you enjoy them.
The simplest thing that can exist. An acknowledgement. A reassurance. A thanks. An 'I see you'. A 'you're welcome'. An 'I hear you'. A 'how may I help you?' A 'you're doing fine, young lady'. taken in Lighthouse Beach Kovalam by @little.__scribbles

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8 months ago

by @little.__scribbles

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10 months ago

Shillong '03.
Sometimes you find yourself thinking about the friends you made, the kids you played with, before you had any clue about buying 30 watermelons for a maths problem or learning the difference between a political and a physical map of India. The girl with whom you made pinky promises, the boy who accidentally tore off your drawing sheet that made you bawl for two hours straight and traumatise him in return, the kid whose birthday meant a feast for everyone. You find yourself hoping that these kids have grown up to have good, happy lives. Sometimes all that remains of kindergarten is a heart full of memories and stories that you hear from your parents on loop while growing up. Remnants of a time long gone, long forgotten. by @little.__scribbles

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a year ago

by @little.__scribbles

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a year ago