they buried a poet
sprinkled his words over coffin
tossed a book into dirt alongside
and waited few decades
to have a leaf sprout
for winds to carry his lines
far
to one with open ears
another circle in a world of squares
have phrases strain down the cheeks
into ink smeared on paper


buried in a trashcan
in a diary
in a library
in dirt
everywhere really...

As I witnessed the
attendance of past
daylight that's how
I see the beginning
and the end of its
night because,
I couldn't sleep

Eyes closed - frigid wind
mouths open to tease snowflakes
onto waiting tongues


Leaving branches bare
we licked the icicle spears
floating in midair

I meet a woman in the story
I introduce myself as a writer
She introduces herself as the character I write about
She's so smart
I really like smart people
She tells about her life
She is happy to share every experience
She's so beautiful
She doesn't like the word beauty
Beauty only makes things that come to be gone
I understand it
I agree with her opinion
In the first paragraph, I introduce myself
In that paragraph, she also invites me to enter her world
I write about her
She accepts my writing
I write all about her
She reads herself
I continue to write the second paragraph
She says I need to stop
I ask, why?
She says she is tired
I ask her to rest
She agrees
I'm writing again
And I realize
She's just my imagination
I miss her so much
I've never done this before
And I go back to write about her
But I can no longer find her
She is no longer in my writing
I think too much about her

“Falling in love” is a contradiction in itself, because in love there is only the rising, the ascending, not the falling.
You can not fall in love, but rather, rise.

Blue Marble.
Terrarium!
A terrarium
really.
That’s
all it
is.
Around
only void.
Birth place.
Consciousness,
conduit.
Great and
small,
all the
same.
From a
distance
all the
same.
Blue Marble.
Compendium
of human
knowledge,
accomplishment.
Library resonance.
Vibrations of
all.
Vibrations of
humanity.
All
recorded,
stored within.
Spinning
orb of
history.
Spinning
orb of
resonance.
Waiting.
Spinning.
Accumulating.
Storing.
Waiting
to be
downloaded.
Story
to be
told,
downloaded
and
absorbed!

calm, the way you used to talk me out of all my bad dreams
lovely, the way you used to fight my demons

I knew my love could not be true, so I gave you a ring to declare immortal friendship.
I have put away my desire.
Now I am empty.

Smooth, the touch of a lovers hand upon your skin
which wakes a beating heart within
it stirs the sparks of bold desire
and fans the flames a little higher

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

I want to cope,
But I cannot.
I try music,
You know, listening to it??
Singing it?
Writing it?
But my mom says shut up.
I try to sleep,
You know, until the next day?
When I sleep on it and it's better in the morning??
But my mother says I am too lazy.
I try,
But it’s not hard enough.

there are two types of sadness

there’s the kind of sadness
we ignore and
try to get rid of it
by finding new things to do
or we find someone to talk to
by blatantly avoiding any type of conversation
about feeling sad
about having any feelings at all
and then there’s that kind of sadness
that takes over
and it consumes any activity we do
we know it’s there
and there’s no possible way to avoid it
so we feed it exactly what it wants
it craves the sad music
it craves the isolation
it craves the anxiousness
and the sadness comes storming in
it has no manners
here we are calling sadness, an “it”
when all it is
is a feeling
that most people
call home

In a world of dreamers,
are you awake or asleep?

In a realm of promises,
which do you keep?

In a land of tomorrows,
when does he beseech?

Within thoughts of conclusion,
does she retreat?

In the be all end all,
why does she screech.

I think we're all dead now,
we weep
we
weep.

Uneasy in her silence
Vulnerable and bare
His words cut so deep
She struggled not to care

Pensive for a moment  
She felt inadequate, yet free
Taking time to reflect  
On the woman, she’d come to be

The strength she'd sought so desperately
Showed up a little too late
Devoid of any resolve
Perhaps she'd met her fate

It's 11:11
and for the first time
after a very long time
I'm wishing for myself
and not for you

Writing.
Fighting
Demons that should've
Let me rot years ago.
I take my breaths;
Inhale deep and slow.
I consume the world around me,
But never grow-
Stultified caterpillar
With nowhere to go.
I know
There is more to this.
Whatever this is.
But until
My eyes are allowed
See salvation;
You can find me here.

Everyday that dawns,
you slip away a little more.
The distant stare,
the apathetic eyes.
Your love is as dead
as the roses in
the trash.
Your heart is an
abyss that I'm
lost in forever.
Belladonna drew me in.
The poison kept me there.

You are not the love of my life,
You are the life of my love ❤️

A fresh stage is set and I'm stamping this day
as the day I finally cleansed the clouds
and crossed your name.

You've taken a fall from your pedestal
and I see you now,
with your domino on the ground,
my fair-weather friend (that's a kind way to put it),
my boiling point can't cook up a better fit.
I've played your ruthless game for the longest stretch,
I let a ******* decade slip through my fingers;
and I've still lingered,
for the sake of something I can't recall anymore.
Your betrayals are the mindless hand to an hourglass
and I'm counting the sand you spilled.
No sea of apologies can wash away this wreck.
I'm done with pointing fingers and holding daggers to your neck.
I'll lay my shield and armour down, and walk you out.

A fresh stage is set and I'm stamping this day
as the day I let your hand and my grudges go
and asked your ghost to stay.


Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

i think that the most damaged people in the world
are the kindest
and the softest

because they know
that scabs can be picked
and you can bleed

In the deep corners of 3am,
I find her.

"What is life?" She said.
  "A sharp knife" he whispered.

The emptiness in my eyes,
The truth behind my lies,
The fall before my rise,
And the goodbyes;

It scares me.

The dark beneath my skin,
The light within my sins,
The voice that loudly sings,
And my broken wings;

It scares me.

The wounds I can't heal,
The pain I can't feel,
The loss I can't deal,
And when I am real;

It scares me.

The silence in my little talks,
The stillness in my moonlit walks,
The thought of separate ways,
And my numbered days;

It scares me.

The demons under my bed,
The words spinning in my head,
The blood in my sweat,
And my cold breath;

It scares me.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj