Chandrima Mishra

will you moon gaze with me over a cup of coffee?

[chandrimamishra]

And you’ll find me sipping herbal concoctions under the moon, when I’m not hovering over your mind.

[chandrimamishra]

Humans were made to climb trees for fruit, sunbathe without clocks, sniff the earth in their coffee, feel grass underfoot, and make love with their partner at every chance, like it was instinct.

But then, someone sold us the capitalist dream — now we spend our days squinting at screens and typing into bots, just to afford a place to sleep.

[chandrimamishra]

Dear Women,

May we give ourselves the permission to relax, receive, and release. May we assure ourselves that it's okay not to play every role out there. May we learn to soften, trust, flow and surrender to the divine rythm.

Sincerely, in softness and strength.

[chandrimamishra]

I was scrolling through my 'Featured' section, and realized it is more like a slideshow of the seasons of my existence.

A naive young writer who once dreamt of conquering the world with her words. A gardener who channeled all the love in her heart into growing food—at the end, aren’t we all deep nurturers? A wanderer traveling far and wide in search of a home, that felt only hers. A lover, endlessly, contemplating every facet of life.

Maybe that’s why you should click enough pictures and document your thoughts. So someday, when life feels tough, you can turn back the pages and hug yourself a little tighter for surviving it all.

[chandrimamishra]

so, what do you believe is the most intimate act of love?

watching him sleep beside me. relaxed. off guard. vulnerable. 

when he wraps his entire body in the blanket, leaving only his face visible—i see the wrinkles around his eyes soften, his breath perfectly syncs with mine. a few of his overgrown moustache strands brushes against the corner of his lips, and that unruly hair falls all over his forehead.

waking up in the middle of the night to his sleepy voice reaching for the water bottle, sometimes, feels like a daydream. 

damn. how privileged am I to witness this? to be here in this moment. very few people would be this lucky.

and man ! 

i can watch him sleeping beside me forever. relaxed. off guard. vulnerable.

[chandrimamishra]

The first human instinct after a heart break is an unfaltering attempt to hate the person who hurt you.

The mind wants to shield those fresh wounds with a shroud of hatred, because you aren't really hurt by them but the fact that you allowed yourself to be vulnerable enough to be shattered. 

You did let them to cut through your chest and squeeze some organs off your body, such that it has become hard to breathe. 

But then, it's all a fallacy. 

How do you counteract love with hatred? 

The glass is full. You pour a few ounces, and that'll just splash out. 

So, all you can, is to embrace love in its most naked form. With its beauty and scars. Smile and tears. As a boon and curse. Life or death.

Embrace what it brings to you. That's how you stay authentic to yourself.

[chandrimamishra]

How dire a desire does the evening hold to embrace light that it paints itself in its color before losing in the sublimity of darkness!

Does it ever realise how beautiful it looks in this desperation?

[chandrimamishra]

Wrap your arms around your shoulders and sit for a day hugging yourself. Run those fingers through your scalp and relax. Relax until your nerves calm down and heartbeats are in pace. Declench your jaws and ease your tongue. Let loose of those stiff muscles and relax. Relax until you can hold yourself together again. 

Be kind to yourself. Because no one else will be.

[chandrimamishra]

As a kid, Santa dropped me a gift every Christmas, either beside my pillow, on the couch, or in the hung stockings on the window.

Surprisingly, it used to be something, I secretly wished for. 

Later in my high school days, I learned that it was my mother who always knew what I wanted. 

But who cares, be it Santa or Maa? 

It's all about the joy of getting a gift, rather 'feeling cared for'.

Today, I'm the Santa for my sister, and yes, she believes that Santa, himself dropped her a gift this morning. 

Isn't this the beauty of folklores? 

It celebrates love in all it's forms. It reminds us of our power to be the source of joy for others, to love beyond limits.

So if you don't have a Santa in your life, be someone's, more profoundly—be your own Santa!

Merry Christmas!

[chandrimamishra]

i want you to trail a different path tonight

through each curve of mine,

the moonlight kisses every night

caress my contours with your bludgeoning passion

till my skin smells of you,

kiss my restless breath 

as I hold them longer to moan your name 

let our bodies entwine in the flame of desire

till we sip in each other, through every inch, this night

—chandrima

[chandrimamishra]

Listen to your parents' stories.

Laugh at your buddy's lame jokes.

Help a stranger on road. 

Hold on to your love. 

Don't just tell, show that you love them. Then love a little more—a lot more.

Hug them randomly. 

Kiss their forehead, on the tip of their nose, on the lips, and then in between, with their tongue in yours. 

Dig your nose in their hair and every nook, you wanna inhale them. 

Exchange longer eye contact and learn how their pupils dilate when you hold them close.

Notice how their damp skin smells and tell them how it's your favorite scent, whatsoever. 

Don't just loiter around. Stay for them, with them. 

There's not a lot of time you've got. 

Not many people you'll connect to, in this lifetime.

—chandrima

[chandrimamishra]

one score and a more

one score and a more

one score and a more

uncovered our despise to changes and

evanescence of “i need a break”,

being a constant hymn before;

In these days, my vision reversed

to see,

being a part of the race was never cursed,

as often i believed;

Books, music, art are not life long ecstasy

not at all to replace the mundane work,

which was now, more of a fantasy;

That I am still…

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[chandrimamishra]

Of The Moon- A Journey to self

Crystal Khushwaha, a poet, a fighter, a mother, a soul prefers to stay anonymous, so she uses her pen name Azri, after her verses. We will do the same to respect the spirit of such a wonderful person.

But I want the world to know every person with a distinguished gesture towards life and this lady is no exception, so here’s a picture of her I could somehow gather.

In the word of Azri “…

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[chandrimamishra]

yesterday i was the moon : BEST FROM MY SHELF

yesterday i was the moon : BEST FROM MY SHELF

Noor Unnahar, a young voice whose verses and art will touch your heart with it’s simplicity and aesthetic norms.

She’s a writer, blogger, you tuber, illustrator, flower photographer and her verses says, she’s “ART”.

yesterday i was the moon, is a collection of verses where I, personally seek a universe. One would not easily keep the book back in shelf , before perceiving the portrait…

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[chandrimamishra]

seekers

When we don’t get love in our home, we seek it outside. We turn into wanderers, vagabonds at times, predator.

We are seekers.

Seekers of love, happiness, CV

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[chandrimamishra]

solitude

i tried to taste solitude

and it gulped me down.

lost. in crowd

yet loved it,

it seemed my victory

to be away. with myself

reached my goal, i felt.

i asked. are you happy now ?

but there was silence.

loved the silence too.

slowly the crowd cleared

step by step. one by one.

all left.

and i was alone.

smirked, happy now ?

silence around.

i tried to taste solitude

and it gulped me down.

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[chandrimamishra]

You or the night ?

……. these are the nights

most peaceful.

I’d blind my vision for night ‘n

rise up with the dainty aura,

“you are back in town”

yet grievously

these are the nights

I fail to sleep.

when eyes deny to unite

in zeal and heart

buries in melancholy

maybe….maybe

it’s no more your

company that I love

but this night, I

lust !

For more of such musings, look up for me here 👎

https://www.yourquote.in/chandrim…

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