Late – MicroPoetry

maybe that’s why letters always arrived late weighed down by all the love and regrets * * * * * #badbookthiefpoetry Find a whole bunch of my pieces on Instagram. Just visit the link below. Happy writing till we meet next. Until then, carpe diem! 🙂

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4 am

you’re adrift barely breathing you’re sleeping but your ghosts are lurking although draped in slumber in your head you’re wide awake… For 4 am, is the hour to sire fresh dreams to leave behind all that couldn’t be… For 4 am, is a new bend those haunts need to rest the voices better wait they…

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Apocalypse – Micropoetry

it was breathtaking the way she sat there like a winner ready to consume the apocalypse surrounding her * * * * * #badbookthiefpoetry For my poetry, Happy writing till we meet next. Until then, carpe diem! 🙂 ~~~~~ © Asha Seth Never want to miss a post? Subscribe Now: Youtube| Twitter| Instagram| Facebook| Tumblr | Pinterest

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Drunk – Micropoetry

evenings were drunk on love that didn’t exist by dawn * * * * * #badbookthiefpoetry   Follow me on Instagram and Pinterest for my poetry. Happy writing till we meet next. Until then, carpe diem! 🙂 ~~~~~ © Asha Seth Never miss a post! Subscribe Now: Youtube| Twitter| Instagram| Facebook| Tumblr | Pinterest

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Rejections are tough. But they are more difficult when you’re a writer. Because with every rejection, sometimes, comes a dose of dejection that gradually eats you. And it’s hard to think of the way forward.It is astonishing when you think about the number of writers who give up with every rejection. But it is important…

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Pain or pleasure, makes us better. Each of our experiences makes us a better artist. And that is more than a sufficient reason to believe that whatever happens, happens for good, to teach us something, to leave lessons with us, that is our own, and only ours. These experiences should be harnessed to power up…

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Writing Inspiration #43

Well, this isn’t the first time an author has tried to emphasise on the importance of reading for writing a book. Most writers read a good deal before even starting to pen down their ultimate novel. I wouldn’t know how to write if I hadn’t taken inspiration from the books written by authors successful today.…

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When the last of the winds have stopped howling even a dead leaf’s stir will cause an uproar Follow @badbookthief on Instagram for more micropoetry. Happy writing till we meet next. Until then, carpe diem! 🙂 ~~~~~ © Asha Seth Never miss a post! Subscribe Now: Youtube| Twitter| Instagram| Facebook| Tumblr

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And baby, here’s why you couldn’t ruin me because even before we met a thousand fires had burnt me a thousand seas had drowned me Follow @badbookthief on Instagram for more micropoetry. Happy writing till we meet next. Until then, carpe diem! 🙂 ~~~~~ © Asha Seth Stay in touch. Subscribe Now: Youtube| Twitter| Instagram| Facebook| Tumblr

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Every time…

And every time, breathing felt like a mountain weighing you down I wish you’d come running into me… that you’d allow me to cradle you to sleep… And every time, living felt like a burden drowning you down I wish you’d come running into me… that you’d allow me to cradle you to sleep… And…

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पुरानी यादों को निचोड़कर कभी ख़ुशी तो कभी ग़म पी लिया करते हैं जब याद तुम आते हो दुनिया से छिपकर रो लिया करते हैं अपनी खामियों पर खुद को जी भरके कोस लिया करते हैं जब याद तुम आते हो दुनिया से छिपकर रो लिया करते हैं तुम्हारे वादों में ज़िन्दगी का मकसद ढूंढ…

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An illusion…

but it is an illusion to want to have that what may never live you’ll forever find what was never there if you continue to look you might just see why you never had it but it is an illusion to want to have that what may never live walk ahead but look down that…

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Blank Stares

when he looked at me it felt as though  he was trying to solve a mystery in the beginning, I wanted more much more than them blank stares they didn’t make sense why wouldn’t he say why not even try steal glances, he did but in the moment that our gazes met I swear, I…

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वो पापा ही थे …

बारिश की उन रातों में डूबे हुए नम यादों में घूँट घूँट उन घंटों को पीते थे हाँ, वो पापा ही थे सुबह की न होश न खबर सूरज की किरणों से परहेज कर खाली बोतलों में अधूरे सपनों को समेटते थे हाँ, वो पापा ही थे ख्वाहिशों की शैय्या से दूर बुने अपने बेशर्त…

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जब निकले खुदको ढूंढने…

हर पल तेरी ही यादों में खोये जाने कब हम खुदसे ही बेगाने हुए शब्द तो मेरे थे पर ज़िक्र तेरा शहर तो मेरा था पर बसेरा तेरा जब निकले खुदको ढूंढने हर गली में मुलाकात हुई तुझसे सोचा तुझसे ही खुद का पता पूछ लूँ पर तेरी गलियों में इस कदर गुम हुए मानो…

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ख्वाहिश बस इतनी सी थी…

रात की खामोशियों को चीरती हुई एक आवाज़ गूंजी जानी पहचानी सी उस शोर की तलाश में कदम मेरे कभी अंधेरों का पीछे करते कभी तेरी यादों का ~~~ सन्नाटों से लैस एक चौराहे पर फिर दूर खड़ी तेरी परछाई मुझे देख मुस्कुरायी हज़ारों सवाल लिए मेरी नज़रें तेरा मन टटोलती रहीं सेहमी सी तेरी…

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