biplav-shrestha - Hello Poetry

Unguided a ship sets sail towards the void of nothingness Embarking in a peaceful voyage under the stars Pushed forward by merely the somber breeze The salt seeps within its hollowness A quiet symphony of memories persists Swaying in shades of burning embers How long till the waters give in? Till it is winter again.

0

Nov 16, 2019

Nov 16, 2019 at 10:21 AM UTC

Conrad.

Unguided a ship sets sail towards the void of nothingness Embarking in a peaceful voyage under the stars Pushed forward by merely the somber breeze The salt seeps within its hollowness A quiet symphony of memories persists Swaying in shades of burning embers How long till the waters give in? Till it is winter again.

8

Falling raindrops The waves wash away your memories Only to reappear as echoes During sleepless nights Your silhouette seems so distant And yet so close I can almost taste it Maybe again One day You'll come haunt me Thursday evenings Under grey skies For I feel like I've known you many lives And not at all

0

Oct 24, 2018

Oct 24, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC

Only in Dreams

Falling raindrops The waves wash away your memories Only to reappear as echoes During sleepless nights Your silhouette seems so distant And yet so close I can almost taste it Maybe again One day You'll come haunt me Thursday evenings Under grey skies For I feel like I've known you many lives And not at all

13

"You're like an open book!" she told me, "only with most of the pages torn out". As the sounds from the vehicles outside plaster my thoughts with smoke and grease, all I could muster out of my core was a broken smile and an unnoticeable nod. Aslaysha could always read people better than they would ever bother to understand themselves. Back then, I was one of those people. Dumb and naïve,drunk with youth, the world was my canvas and I used it to clean the filth off of my boots. "You're different from the rest; I can almost see the vines wrapped around your bones". "If only you would let me". Things were different then as things are different now. I was yet to experience my first real heartache, my first real kiss, my first plunge into the abyss that would eventually crush my spirit and then rebuild me from my ruins. Aslaysha was my anchor, the only thing holding me together. Needless to say, the day she left was the day the whole world went away. Perhaps the answers to all of life's mysteries can be found at the bottom of another bottle. (10/30/2017)

0

Oct 30, 2017

Oct 30, 2017 at 11:21 AM UTC

Memories of my memories.

"You're like an open book!" she told me, "only with most of the pages torn out". As the sounds from the vehicles outside plaster my thoughts with smoke and grease, all I could muster out of my core was a broken smile and an unnoticeable nod. Aslaysha could always read people better than they would ever bother to understand themselves. Back then, I was one of those people. Dumb and naïve,drunk with youth, the world was my canvas and I used it to clean the filth off of my boots. "You're different from the rest; I can almost see the vines wrapped around your bones". "If only you would let me". Things were different then as things are different now. I was yet to experience my first real heartache, my first real kiss, my first plunge into the abyss that would eventually crush my spirit and then rebuild me from my ruins. Aslaysha was my anchor, the only thing holding me together. Needless to say, the day she left was the day the whole world went away. Perhaps the answers to all of life's mysteries can be found at the bottom of another bottle. (10/30/2017)

1

You like meeting people you need to keep up with. It's usually the other way round with you, isn't it? The world never lacked people whose demons your demons couldn’t dance with! Now you come across someone who can tame and silence them and you choose to run. You're so far away from everything, And still I'm close to nothing.

0

May 29, 2016

May 29, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC

Matilda

You like meeting people you need to keep up with. It's usually the other way round with you, isn't it? The world never lacked people whose demons your demons couldn’t dance with! Now you come across someone who can tame and silence them and you choose to run. You're so far away from everything, And still I'm close to nothing.

6

*Days of gloom and distant thunder Tired eyes yield empty slumber Of silent nights and scarlet skies Songs of autumn and lost goodbyes*

0

May 11, 2016

May 11, 2016 at 5:13 AM UTC

Drought

*Days of gloom and distant thunder Tired eyes yield empty slumber Of silent nights and scarlet skies Songs of autumn and lost goodbyes*

4

I was listening to the winter winds With one ear leaned against the wall Thinking of where I had been With just myself and nothing more What else could I have asked for? What else could I have done? With pages as blank as the skies above What more could I have sung? I dreamt a dream when I was 12 Of frozen trees and scattered grey Into the night I stood awake Till all my fears had strayed away It is the frost around my reflection Reason the season stays constant within me The weight conceded within elation The remedies of these tragedies Lead to nothing but more agony

0

Mar 28, 2016

Mar 28, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC

-Frust.

I was listening to the winter winds With one ear leaned against the wall Thinking of where I had been With just myself and nothing more What else could I have asked for? What else could I have done? With pages as blank as the skies above What more could I have sung? I dreamt a dream when I was 12 Of frozen trees and scattered grey Into the night I stood awake Till all my fears had strayed away It is the frost around my reflection Reason the season stays constant within me The weight conceded within elation The remedies of these tragedies Lead to nothing but more agony

17

I look for love at all the wrong places Like at the mosh pit at a metal gig Or at an empty art gallery at 2 in the afternoon Like a bee hovering over a Venus fly trap I look for love at all the wrong places I search for friends at the loneliest of places Like a solitary recluse in the densest of mazes With a hungry appetite for even the slightest of gazes I search for friends at the loneliest of places I seek music at the quietest of places Leaning firmly against hollow boxes Slow my breath as I flip through the pages Like a clock without an hour hand I seek music at the quietest of places .

0

Mar 6, 2016

Mar 6, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC

- Wrong Places -

I look for love at all the wrong places Like at the mosh pit at a metal gig Or at an empty art gallery at 2 in the afternoon Like a bee hovering over a Venus fly trap I look for love at all the wrong places I search for friends at the loneliest of places Like a solitary recluse in the densest of mazes With a hungry appetite for even the slightest of gazes I search for friends at the loneliest of places I seek music at the quietest of places Leaning firmly against hollow boxes Slow my breath as I flip through the pages Like a clock without an hour hand I seek music at the quietest of places .

15

It's not every day that you get the inspiration to write something. And when I say "write", I mean"write" in general. In my case,I experienced a coffee rush for the first time today after what seems like forever and for some reason it has lasted for almost 5 hours. Anyway, TobyKid tells me that many great writers are in agreement that you can't (want) to write! That you have to (need) to write and if you don’t need to write then you shouldn’t write.I am someone who has always found it hard to socialize with people. As a kid I was usually the one who didn’t fit in anywhere. And for reason unclear, I didn’t want to fit in anywhere. So that was fine and I never felt sorry for myself. I was the type of kid that usually sat somewhere in the middle of the class,doodling and scribbling on the backs of notebooks and wooden desks. If it weren't for the dress code, I think I’d probably have shown up wearing a hoodie that covered up my entire body. If I were an insect, I'd probably be a soil dwelling worm. You can put money on that! Call me a hipster for liking Linkin Park and The Weeknd before they were cool! It wasn't long before I found out that keeping things to myself had consequences. The symptoms of which included paranoia, insomnia, depression, OCD, (ODD) obsessive day dreaming, blah!! This is when I discovered art, poetry and literature. I never understood why people worshiped musicians like they were gods till I heard Trent and Maynard for the first time. Well! Now I know. For a while I could turn off the world around me and get lost in the euphoria of my self-isolation. Sometime it lasted for a minute, sometimes for days. Like it matters anyway! Contrary to what culture and society perceives as normal behavior here, I have been writing and sketching my feelings down ever since I had the motor skills to move a pencil across paper; though I must admit that I'm still crap at it. But none of that really matters to me because it's probably the only thing keeping me sane and functioning in what I would otherwise perceive to be a meaningless and mundane world.I have always found it hard to find inspiration. That being said, there's nothing poetic about the thoughts that nest themselves inside my head. Although I have met quite a few people who likes to think otherwise. I don’t share any of them verbally as I think that they're so muddled up that I myself lack the skill and knowledge to decipher them. Instead, I write them down as I am writing this very commentary to try to get a sense of what it is that I am getting out of this coffee rush. I am still unclear of it but as long as I'm having fun hitting away at the keys with all that jazz, it's okay. Now I know what Victor Frankenstein was feeling while he was digging up all those graves to create his.. Adam.There is no easy way to put it. Everything you see me do is an act. Or is it? I can’t really tell anymore. Does a worm know that it’s a worm? I remember reading something by Stephen King where he was talking to a bunch of kids in a college and he talked about how he didn’t know what would happen to his characters and his stories until they were written. He also talked about how writing the last words of your novel before you've written it is like licking the icing off of the cake and then eating it.But then again, he's a genius and I am just some ******* trying to make sense of my life off of a coffee rush.(8/21/2015)

0

Dec 10, 2015

Dec 10, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC

Prolog

It's not every day that you get the inspiration to write something. And when I say "write", I mean"write" in general. In my case,I experienced a coffee rush for the first time today after what seems like forever and for some reason it has lasted for almost 5 hours. Anyway, TobyKid tells me that many great writers are in agreement that you can't (want) to write! That you have to (need) to write and if you don’t need to write then you shouldn’t write.I am someone who has always found it hard to socialize with people. As a kid I was usually the one who didn’t fit in anywhere. And for reason unclear, I didn’t want to fit in anywhere. So that was fine and I never felt sorry for myself. I was the type of kid that usually sat somewhere in the middle of the class,doodling and scribbling on the backs of notebooks and wooden desks. If it weren't for the dress code, I think I’d probably have shown up wearing a hoodie that covered up my entire body. If I were an insect, I'd probably be a soil dwelling worm. You can put money on that! Call me a hipster for liking Linkin Park and The Weeknd before they were cool! It wasn't long before I found out that keeping things to myself had consequences. The symptoms of which included paranoia, insomnia, depression, OCD, (ODD) obsessive day dreaming, blah!! This is when I discovered art, poetry and literature. I never understood why people worshiped musicians like they were gods till I heard Trent and Maynard for the first time. Well! Now I know. For a while I could turn off the world around me and get lost in the euphoria of my self-isolation. Sometime it lasted for a minute, sometimes for days. Like it matters anyway! Contrary to what culture and society perceives as normal behavior here, I have been writing and sketching my feelings down ever since I had the motor skills to move a pencil across paper; though I must admit that I'm still crap at it. But none of that really matters to me because it's probably the only thing keeping me sane and functioning in what I would otherwise perceive to be a meaningless and mundane world.I have always found it hard to find inspiration. That being said, there's nothing poetic about the thoughts that nest themselves inside my head. Although I have met quite a few people who likes to think otherwise. I don’t share any of them verbally as I think that they're so muddled up that I myself lack the skill and knowledge to decipher them. Instead, I write them down as I am writing this very commentary to try to get a sense of what it is that I am getting out of this coffee rush. I am still unclear of it but as long as I'm having fun hitting away at the keys with all that jazz, it's okay. Now I know what Victor Frankenstein was feeling while he was digging up all those graves to create his.. Adam.There is no easy way to put it. Everything you see me do is an act. Or is it? I can’t really tell anymore. Does a worm know that it’s a worm? I remember reading something by Stephen King where he was talking to a bunch of kids in a college and he talked about how he didn’t know what would happen to his characters and his stories until they were written. He also talked about how writing the last words of your novel before you've written it is like licking the icing off of the cake and then eating it.But then again, he's a genius and I am just some ******* trying to make sense of my life off of a coffee rush.(8/21/2015)

1

"When is it ever the right time for anything? When is it ever just about the music?" I think to myself as the band that I had come to see becomes inaudible background noises to the voices of my own making. "It's what you want, not what you need."As much time as I spend singing to myself in silence in grey - hazy days, any urge to open myself up to people lasts only momentary. The mask slips back up faster than the voices can end their sentences. That's how it always is! I walk past my days in auto pilot, leaving but a whisper behind. I've grown used to it over the years! Stand in line. Say "Good morning" to people at work.Talk about wine, **** and women on rooftops of cold abandoned houses. Discuss art, music and poetry with people whose faces resemble my mask. You keep walking because that's what everyone else is doing. There are occasional outbursts of static excitement that I try to hold one to. But my fingers are always a little too big to get a good grip. It's like trying to watch your favorite TV show with a weak signal. My days become indistinguishable. Every day is the same. Even when you get what you want, you're not satisfied. I never liked the word"numb" but I don’t think that there's a better word for the way I mostly feel. I often find myself walking on social eggshells, pushing myself closer and closer to the boundaries I know I shouldn’t cross. It's cold outside and I need to get home.

0

Dec 10, 2015

Dec 10, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC

Eggshells

"When is it ever the right time for anything? When is it ever just about the music?" I think to myself as the band that I had come to see becomes inaudible background noises to the voices of my own making. "It's what you want, not what you need."As much time as I spend singing to myself in silence in grey - hazy days, any urge to open myself up to people lasts only momentary. The mask slips back up faster than the voices can end their sentences. That's how it always is! I walk past my days in auto pilot, leaving but a whisper behind. I've grown used to it over the years! Stand in line. Say "Good morning" to people at work.Talk about wine, **** and women on rooftops of cold abandoned houses. Discuss art, music and poetry with people whose faces resemble my mask. You keep walking because that's what everyone else is doing. There are occasional outbursts of static excitement that I try to hold one to. But my fingers are always a little too big to get a good grip. It's like trying to watch your favorite TV show with a weak signal. My days become indistinguishable. Every day is the same. Even when you get what you want, you're not satisfied. I never liked the word"numb" but I don’t think that there's a better word for the way I mostly feel. I often find myself walking on social eggshells, pushing myself closer and closer to the boundaries I know I shouldn’t cross. It's cold outside and I need to get home.

1

There is a frost around my elation The celebrations and the laughter all around me Seem distant through the glass of my window The hollow figures follow me into the night Serenading me with lights that hurts my eyes The rise and fall of these days all feel the same The name of the game is to blame the one who sings Of things that make sense to the ones who listens With precision to the words and sights Of the things they write into meanings and metaphors That open new doors to absolute trivialities of reality.

0

Oct 25, 2015

Oct 25, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC

Swinging in the Rain

There is a frost around my elation The celebrations and the laughter all around me Seem distant through the glass of my window The hollow figures follow me into the night Serenading me with lights that hurts my eyes The rise and fall of these days all feel the same The name of the game is to blame the one who sings Of things that make sense to the ones who listens With precision to the words and sights Of the things they write into meanings and metaphors That open new doors to absolute trivialities of reality.

11