Dying slow in the mountains seemed much easier than simply breathing at sea level.
I've been thinking that maybe I was happier when I was still drinking.
I tried to write a poem called Pointless and never made it beyond the title.
Dying seems easier than breathing at sea level.
r ~ 11/7/14
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
I had the perfect plan
The perfect route, the perfect places
I traced the path, I thought of chats
I readied myself, I thought of jokes
I prepared and saddled my bird
And everything was in place.
I would have shown you where the squared ones dwell
I would have told you where the Laputians work
We would have crossed a jungle in rain
We would have gone through the lowest places to reach the highest
And we would have had a bird's sight
And a majestic sunset as the sun said goodnight
Just for us.
I would have taken you through beautiful deserts with exotic flowers,
We would had jumped off cliffs
And descended slowly
I would have taken you back to the noisy city,
And we would have taken refuge 'somewherelse'
A haven which is also a cafe
There I would had asked you the strangest questions,
I would have unveiled a little more of your deep mysteries
And I would have learnt you.
Everything was ready, all was in place,
Only you weren't there.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
/
When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly
When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity
Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme
Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm
You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically
You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously
The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic
Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
Rid me of this bitterness
It's getting the best of me again
They try to help, but I protest
Thinking I can carry on
Trying to pretend
Rid me of this jealousy
It's hard enough to just let you be
I could not believe my eyes
But somehow I'm not surprised
That you weren't the one for me
Rid me of this aching heart
Everyday I fall apart
I'll just drown in my own pride
And set the love aside
So that it seems like I felt nothing at all
Wearing hate as a disguise
Truthfully hurting inside
I can forgive
But I will never forget
Letting you in, will remain my biggest regret
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 6:09 AM UTC
Things fall apart,
Flowers grow between the cracks,
The sea will hurl itself into a fit,
The inside of our bodies
will do the same.
To be brave enough
traversing this hurricane,
Is a paradise at sea
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC