dee_oddity - Hello Poetry

We are pushed everyday

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Apr 7, 2022

Apr 7, 2022 at 7:09 AM UTC

I have died many times in the white wilderness. A heartbreak, a numb hand, a fiery tear from the gentle flames of a bonfire. Death is preparing us, every day with its shadowy hiss. If we're quite enough, we can be comforted by the gatekeeper. But if we thrash & slither, the mountains will swallow you. Death in White Winter, up in the clouds, in the mountains. What a way to go!

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Jan 27, 2022

Jan 27, 2022 at 4:34 AM UTC

Death in White Winter

I have died many times in the white wilderness. A heartbreak, a numb hand, a fiery tear from the gentle flames of a bonfire. Death is preparing us, every day with its shadowy hiss. If we're quite enough, we can be comforted by the gatekeeper. But if we thrash & slither, the mountains will swallow you. Death in White Winter, up in the clouds, in the mountains. What a way to go!

6

I see you scanning me, and let me tell you It’s not a nice feeling to being ‘Seen’ The weather’s nice, what about that makes you see through my clothes? Is it too much to yearn for some contact of sunlight on my skin, just as you do? I’d like for you to be seen the way I feel seen Trust me, you wouldn’t like being judged It would be an alien concept in your world You'd feel VIOLATED! I hope for a day when you can stop thinking That you govern my body It IS my vessel after all. But a mere vessel.

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Sep 9, 2021

Sep 9, 2021 at 5:46 AM UTC

Leave me at ‘Unseen’

I see you scanning me, and let me tell you It’s not a nice feeling to being ‘Seen’ The weather’s nice, what about that makes you see through my clothes? Is it too much to yearn for some contact of sunlight on my skin, just as you do? I’d like for you to be seen the way I feel seen Trust me, you wouldn’t like being judged It would be an alien concept in your world You'd feel VIOLATED! I hope for a day when you can stop thinking That you govern my body It IS my vessel after all. But a mere vessel.

11

With every 'woosh,' each blade left behind, My admiration for the giant fan grew and grew... Until the windmill, itself felt as big as the earth. I held her hand and inched towards big, menacing slabs of steel swishing past us. Her grip tightened around my wrist as well. I could tell she was embarrassed to admit that this was a terrible detour. My dad stood by our Santro, like a distant observer. A gentle guide. I have a million memories, so many that I can just pick and play and replay it in my head, whenever I want to. ~ In reality, she's gone now, so has the menacing wind monster and so has the gentle, young man. But in my reality, they'll always live.

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Jul 16, 2020

Jul 16, 2020 at 9:20 AM UTC

Gone with the wind

With every 'woosh,' each blade left behind, My admiration for the giant fan grew and grew... Until the windmill, itself felt as big as the earth. I held her hand and inched towards big, menacing slabs of steel swishing past us. Her grip tightened around my wrist as well. I could tell she was embarrassed to admit that this was a terrible detour. My dad stood by our Santro, like a distant observer. A gentle guide. I have a million memories, so many that I can just pick and play and replay it in my head, whenever I want to. ~ In reality, she's gone now, so has the menacing wind monster and so has the gentle, young man. But in my reality, they'll always live.

11

Nostalgia is the worst. I know I mustn't dwell in times that seem simpler, for what I go through now is future nostalgia fodder. "But can we help it?", I wondered as I pressed play on one of my favourite old Tamil songs. It is called "Ninaikka Therintha Maname Unakku Marakka Theriyatha" Join me on my mood, won't you?

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Mar 4, 2020

Mar 4, 2020 at 7:36 AM UTC

Pazhaya Pattu

Nostalgia is the worst. I know I mustn't dwell in times that seem simpler, for what I go through now is future nostalgia fodder. "But can we help it?", I wondered as I pressed play on one of my favourite old Tamil songs. It is called "Ninaikka Therintha Maname Unakku Marakka Theriyatha" Join me on my mood, won't you?

5

I was on my way back home, holding my phone in my clammy palms, skipping stone along the way. Suddenly I had to squint. What was that shiny thing, on the ground, between the grass? Something glimmered and I almost lost it when the clouds blanketed the sun. I waited, stiff, afraid I'd lose my vantage point. Slowly the clouds parted and I managed to find it again. The eyes, of a girl, knowing eyes looked back at me. She was worried, I could tell. I wanted to reach out and pull her out of the earth. But at the bink of an eye, something happened. I suddenly saw the same eyes staring at me with the sky at the back of her head. I try to look behind me, but there is no space. I roll my eyes to the side and all I see is darkness. I look up to see the girl is now gone. I was gone. All I could do right now, was wait. Wait for me to come back so I can switch. If I can.

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Mar 4, 2020

Mar 4, 2020 at 2:23 AM UTC

Rest Arrested

I was on my way back home, holding my phone in my clammy palms, skipping stone along the way. Suddenly I had to squint. What was that shiny thing, on the ground, between the grass? Something glimmered and I almost lost it when the clouds blanketed the sun. I waited, stiff, afraid I'd lose my vantage point. Slowly the clouds parted and I managed to find it again. The eyes, of a girl, knowing eyes looked back at me. She was worried, I could tell. I wanted to reach out and pull her out of the earth. But at the bink of an eye, something happened. I suddenly saw the same eyes staring at me with the sky at the back of her head. I try to look behind me, but there is no space. I roll my eyes to the side and all I see is darkness. I look up to see the girl is now gone. I was gone. All I could do right now, was wait. Wait for me to come back so I can switch. If I can.

16

THE VOID: Times are strange. Nothing excites me and all I do is shuffle. Between responsibilities piling up and Not wanting to grow up, I am torn. I don't remember why I wake up anymore. Don't get me wrong, this is hardly a self-deprecating poem. Because I know when the clock strikes 1800 hrs, my ride will arrive. HIM: He is about 60 years old and I have been riding with him in search of housing. He is my broker. To hear him banter and smile and truly enjoy his job. Not as part of his job description, but because he is happy. Almost makes me not want to find the perfect house, oddly. Because to find happiness in you, you must find happiness in others. Then for the rest of the evening, I am not unhappy anymore.

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Mar 3, 2020

Mar 3, 2020 at 5:28 AM UTC

The Ride

THE VOID: Times are strange. Nothing excites me and all I do is shuffle. Between responsibilities piling up and Not wanting to grow up, I am torn. I don't remember why I wake up anymore. Don't get me wrong, this is hardly a self-deprecating poem. Because I know when the clock strikes 1800 hrs, my ride will arrive. HIM: He is about 60 years old and I have been riding with him in search of housing. He is my broker. To hear him banter and smile and truly enjoy his job. Not as part of his job description, but because he is happy. Almost makes me not want to find the perfect house, oddly. Because to find happiness in you, you must find happiness in others. Then for the rest of the evening, I am not unhappy anymore.

16

If you can't see the magic in putting simple words together that evokes a passion, equal to the power of a thousand horses, then WHO ARE YOU?

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Jul 23, 2018

Jul 23, 2018 at 8:00 AM UTC

WHO ARE YOU

If you can't see the magic in putting simple words together that evokes a passion, equal to the power of a thousand horses, then WHO ARE YOU?

2

Do you know what it is like to see and believe in love yet not feel it inside of you? It is like living inside of a glass coffin, knowing air is our there, seeing the trees dance with every swish of breeze. Yet inside you are slowly dying. Dying and rotting. I am rotting.

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Jul 10, 2018

Jul 10, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC

A thought occurred today

Do you know what it is like to see and believe in love yet not feel it inside of you? It is like living inside of a glass coffin, knowing air is our there, seeing the trees dance with every swish of breeze. Yet inside you are slowly dying. Dying and rotting. I am rotting.

4

Because my thoughts, ever day, are turning unconventional. My beliefs are cementing. I don’t call every walking human being an ape for being himself. I call myself an ape. Why, you ask? If I like my tea sweet then he must be free to take his tea the way he wishes. I simply can’t ****** sweetness down his throat. My beliefs are cementing. I would rather choose to sit alone in my apartment during my 40s, resenting love for being all around me, yet not in me.

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Jul 10, 2018

Jul 10, 2018 at 7:13 AM UTC

Don't punctuate me

Because my thoughts, ever day, are turning unconventional. My beliefs are cementing. I don’t call every walking human being an ape for being himself. I call myself an ape. Why, you ask? If I like my tea sweet then he must be free to take his tea the way he wishes. I simply can’t ****** sweetness down his throat. My beliefs are cementing. I would rather choose to sit alone in my apartment during my 40s, resenting love for being all around me, yet not in me.

8