Artlexicons

A public sphere is a well-structured process which creates the public opinion as a synthesis of individual thoughts acting for the common interest. The concept was given by Jurgen Habermas who defined it as "society engaged in critical public debate". Since the public sphere has gone through many changes over the years, now there is a growth in the  Personal sphere  where people, instead of interacting with society are more self-involved. A personal sphere is one where one can truly express themselves. Individuals use it to have a secure space where he or she can present themselves however they want and social media through its virtual reality has made it a lot easier. It has given rise to individualism where people can be their true selves or whatever self they wish to portray on the social media network since they consider it their personal sphere. They seek only the knowledge they want. This can be seen in the form of personalized feeds on social media networ

I've hated the person I was years ago but turns out I've still been hating myself for being that person and it's so wrong because all that WAS me and this is also me so there's no point in hating. But I think you're doing the same thing with yourself for whatever reason. The way things ended in your relationship, you hated your past self for it but you've been hating ur present self too. And this isn't right because it makes you so fragile and vulnerable and you're stronger than that. It makes you a people pleaser and you shouldn't be. I don't think you are like this way with other people but you are definitely like this with me. And I DON'T feel good about that. Maybe it's because you see HER when you talk to me or maybe you just see yourself. But I have evolved from the phase you're going through. I still have some shortcomings that I'm trying to work on but I don't make myself dependent on just ONE another person anymore

When that bubble of happiness bursts, you'll see the sprinkles spread miles wide. It is like the hollowness inside you starts to expand and slowly you are crumbling from the inside. Who can help you when your enemy is yourself? The hardest battle to fight is the one where the world can't see the fight. It happens with you, within you and there's no surrender. First, the physical exterior starts to break off. The thing that made you feel strong, always, is now working against you. You see your defences weakening. Without your body, your mind starts giving up and you lose before it had even begun. All the walls you create, the barriers to your head, the pillars supporting every thought you've ever had, the place that hides behind lock and key and the monsters lurking behind it, they come out to play. To taunt you and tease you, to see you fall as they appease you. No struggle, no thrashing, it goes swiftly in denial. All the work you did to make you wh

Mai akela masjid ke bahar khada use dekh rha tha. Uska chehra uske aaj ki kahani mujhe ab kyu nhi suna rha tha? Itna kya badal gya inn salon mei ki wo aaj, mere saamne ek bachi ko mere hi lafzon mei allah ke baare mei wo bta rhi thi jo kabhi mai use btaya krta tha aur wo manne se katrati thi. (Alone I stood outside the mosque looking at her. Why wasn't her face telling the story of her life anymore? What had changed over the years that today she was repeating my words in front of that kid, telling her about Allah when she herself used to refuse to believe it?) “Kitni gamzada hai na begum humari?” (Isn't my darling melancholic?) Maine dekha toh mere sath ek aadmi bhi ussi chehre ko dekh rha tha pr alag nazariye se. (When I looked, a man standing next to me was looking at the same face, but with a different perspective.) “aapki begum hain?” humne poocha.  ("Your darling?" I asked) “Meri khushkismati aur uski badkismati se.”  (Because of my fortune an

I can imagine Virgina, With her pocket full of stones, Still trying to convince Sylvia The oven was meant for baking scones And Amy Winehouse sitting back With a glass filled with cognac Taking fashion advice from Marilyn While the wallpaper stares at Perkins And Parker tries again to slit her wrist And yet amidst these literary heroines And giants of the past There’s this terrible agony I wonder where it comes from? Was it passed down from the first taunt ‘This ain’t how girls behave?’ Control and endure and don’t try To make a name. Akhmatova begging for her son’s life I can picture it so clear. Rowling accused of being a witch Arundhati surrounded by sneers. What is it that makes people so contemptuous Of their life? That made Miao-Chin leave the pen And pick up a knife? On the occasion of World Poetry Day, my tribute to history's most impactful females and how they suffered.  

Out of the thousand words I misspoke, And a couple hearts it broke, I could fill up the pages of a novel Where does it end and who picks up the shovel? My hands and eyes are growing sore. I just don't like that anymore. There's no going back to before. Why should it matter anymore? From the ten and twenty conflicts, I learned so many new tricks, To weave some better words. But they'll never be heard. For there are so many waves on the shore I just don't like that anymore. This emptiness makes it more Hard to be okay anymore. With every empty silence And little thoughts of violence I draw an unfair portrait The lines are never drawn straight. There's a lock now on every door I just don't like that anymore. And the misery in my core, It won't go away anymore. Now here's a song that I wrote But I don't like it anymore And there are words I can't control But I don't fight them anymore.

For all your love and kind words That I never could reciprocate All I give Is five songs and heartache Two weirdass poems, With ink bleeding on my skin You gave me all of yourself I couldn't even let you in For all you gave, I took and took Yet when it's your soul at stake I drink And I give you five songs and heartache The shades of my pencil Draw things in abstract So when you look at the canvas It ain't your face that looks back The person you believe in Exists but I'm not in state To ever love So take my songs and heartache. When I dream while awake These feelings hit me I never told you about them Because they don't belong to me And all the words that I wrote Made me tired and now it's late So before i forget I write the final song with more heartache