He started walking quicker.
Deep inside, he felt scared and hollow.
For as long as he walked under streetlights,
He’d be leaving a shadow to follow,
But if he walked where light didn’t shine,
It’s the darkness that would consume him whole and swallow.
Coz it started by seeing the crimson on the concrete,
Dripping down the street,
Cop just standing there, standing on both feet
But doing nothing to the man holding a ****** knife sitting in the Lexus’ backseat
And not stopping the passers-by from taking a pic and putting it in a tweet.
But our main guy, he’s no saint,
He saw the whole thing go down,
He watched the killer plunge the knife with little more than a frown,
And he stared at him slamming the Lexus door and rolling on downtown.
But he just let the murderer get away.
Because on his hands he’s got the same taint,
Just a bit greener coz all he does is steal,
And after all, isn’t there a gun right below his heel,
For later in the night, when he goes to make a “deal”?
But seeing a fellow criminal made him stop and understand something,
He rips off his mask and begins to kneel,
In his head, the whole feeling is so surreal,
Because the big question on his mind was, “Is a sinner finally beginning to heal?”
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 2:57 AM UTC
“Smile, my boy.”
The dad, with a smile, said.
The boy just shook his head.
“Please smile, son.”
The dad said, his voice pained.
Jaw muscles, the boy hadn’t strained.
“Smile, look at the cam, boy.”
The dad said with a frown.
The boy looked down.
“SMILE, BOY!”
The dad shouted loud.
The boy no longer bowed.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
Every scar narrates a story.
Just like every drop of ink illustrates wars fought.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
Shaky hands reach out
Wrinkled hands, bony fingers;
All for a little bit of salvation
From the heat and the hunger.
Ribs sticking out of his chest
Lungs wheezing,
Struggling to breathe properly
Inhaling the unforgiving dust and smoke.
Sleeping on the cold concrete
With a frayed mat for warmth.
Worry lines permanently etched
Around his weary eyes
Realizing he can barely support
His family because of his sorry state.
But still he gets up and works;
Begging in alleyways,
Rummaging through trash bags,
Working in factories that tax him
Making him look gaunt;
All so that his loved ones
Can sleep with food in their tummies.
A poor man with a responsibility
Is the toughest soldier
This world can craft.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
The monster that has no name.
The faceless beast that makes one feel
Utterly helpless
Simply by pretending to be
As warm as a blanket on a cold night
But really wrapping one
In a layer of despair and melancholy
Wound so tight that
We can barely feel the heaving of our chest,
Reducing the bravest souls
To a weeping, dishevelled mess
Curled up in a ball on the unwelcoming concrete
Eyes shut tight
Trying to block out anything
That may ever inflict pain
Ever again.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
I live in Kerala, South India
Where it's usually unbearably humid and hot.
But it’s been rather different lately,
Cool gusts of wind have been brought,
Along with some rains that have turned into floods
Poisoning even fresh water with mud
And so the people, just like the fish our local fishermen catch,
In a net they have been caught,
Leaving friends and family distraught,
Coz trapped by water, a symbol of life,
People have suffered death
And been left to rot
In the houses where water breathes in human space;
Imprinting in our minds a memory we would like to erase.
Everywhere I look I see prayers, with help sought,
But people are just having their hopes shot.
The only grace is that atleast those who have their heads above water
Are having their prayers slowly answered.
I thank God for the army,
Who for the safety of our lives have fought
Pushing through broken homes with everything they’ve got.
I thank God for the navy,
Who have sent men in fleets
Just to save our countrymen off the flooded streets.
I thank God for doing everything to keep us safe and alive,
All so that we would not have to make that final dive.
Quite literally.
Right now, we may mourn this disaster that has led to our demise,
But I promise you, our beautiful state will rise,
And when I say this, I assure you, I speak no lies.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
The worst part of writing with a quill
Is when the stories don’t flow no more.
After a point, there are no more secrets to spill,
Without sounding shrill and repetitive,
And falling to the floor, tired of this ****
Trying to make your words sound ‘lit’,
While in fact just disappointing your readers
Just that little bit.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
There’s a truth beyond
What the world sees
And what the world believes.
I stand on the edge
Of these two worlds
And I just try not to
Lose my footing
And keep balance.
Your stories are beautiful,
I wish I lived your life,
They’d say,
I’d think of the scars
My soul wears as
Reminders of the wars
And I would smile,
But my thoughts would
Run wild
With memories from
When I was still only a child
It’s an awful place to be,
Wanting to be understood
Yet hiding behind tall walls
Or somewhere in the woods.
But I do find solace in the fact
That there’s always tomorrow
Maybe I’ll finally get to meet
A person I can follow,
Someone who understands my pain
And makes it easier to swallow
You know?
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 12:45 AM UTC
I just sit and gaze,
And watch my walls burn in a blaze,
As I become captive to her eyes,
I see my darkest dreams
But I take a glance
In thought that I have a fleeting chance
Of escaping from her,
Not yet, it seems.
I fall to my knees
And I utter my pleas,
But she just smiles,
In the darkness, her smile gleams.
My demons scream and yell,
But it's no use,
Coz I’m under her spell.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
He stared down into those deep brown eyes.
He loaded the gun.
He took a deep breath.
He sighed.
It was now or never.
The small, gentle hands of the young boy were trembling, scared of the reflection, showing him holding a gun to his head.
He decided.
He couldn't take it anymore.
He pulled the trigger.
But not before he moved his hand away from his head.
The mirror in front of him shattered.
Society's opinion of him was in a similar condition.
But for the first time in months, he smiled.
Unlike the millions before him, he defied the world.
He was alive.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC