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Aug 23 · 60
Sunset.
Kairosclere Aug 23
There are millions of stories
Drifting clouds paint
Each day brings
A new sunset.
I saw this take on white woman's Instagram but for Indians and I fit all categories so I think I fit myself into the stereotypes of the societal standards and this is scary.
Aug 22 · 161
Shine.
Kairosclere Aug 22
It's a pity, really,
That things bright and gold, subtle,
Cannot simply be caught on camera.
It demands the presence of the observer
Who in their true mind
That cannot conjure up it's radiance,
To watch it personally
With awe.
Tbvh this is a case of blue curtains
Aug 21 · 29
Loop.
Kairosclere Aug 21
We are stuck in a loop
Where we are objects ourselves,
Learned to put on a display,
Well sought after prices
And used as the display cases
To flaunt the prowess
Of whoever owns us for this moment.

I yearn for someone
Who sees the person within,
And I know so do you.

Count your blessings, I say,
And ours is time,
Until eternity.
An edgy dialogue from a psychedelic play I wrote. We don't know simplicity here.
*drowns in work*
Aug 13 · 1.1k
Sky.
Kairosclere Aug 13
I cried a few times
When the sky did too
And decided
That the sky reflects my mood.
Today, the sky cried,
And I cried with it too,
I took it upon myself
To reflect the sky's mood.
Well, I didn't cry but seemed like a nice thing to write about. Also because I wanna post something nice next lol.
Jul 20 · 54
Nurse.
Kairosclere Jul 20
A man died under my care today.
Several do, tears swirled,
Such is the state of the world
Drowning in dismay.
He held my hands,
The grip of a newborn holding on
To dear life, Will his weapon.
I look at the thin bands
Of his fingers against mine
And see flashes of several before
Which held on with the same fervor
Inevitably falling limp, then their ashes in brine.
There is no structure or integrity
In a mind not allowed to dwell
On circumstances that make your heart swell.
I still look down in brevity.
Since long I have been detached
Lest my heart give out, hiding,
Behind an illusion of my tidings
And clothe myself in denial unmatched.
Jul 20 · 49
Blending.
Kairosclere Jul 20
I sit amidst the bustling crowd
Of children and parents
Under a lazy winter sky
With a book in hand,
Seeing but not looking
At the passing sigmoid shapes-
Brightly clothed, brightly toned
Squeals of joy, few of which
Catch my passing eyes.
I see her in parts, this child,
Her hair, petulant, untamed,
Flying, as though it is a mane,
With enough rebellion against gravity
That matches her scream of joy
As she slides down
Right into the arms of her laughing father.
A small smile peeks over his shoulder,
And my lips tilt in response,
To that one soul who knew I sit here.
I quickly look back down into my book.
I blend in again into a scene
Where I clearly don’t belong,
Except for a smile bestowed
In acknowledgement
Of a timid existence.
I never got to know her name.
Jun 30 · 1.1k
Bland.
Kairosclere Jun 30
I refrained from reading
Books of poetry
Due to a festering fear
Of confirmation
Of my subpar talent.
With hesitation,
I opened my first,
And what an interesting surmise
Our poems
Were all equally bland.
If I go down y'all are going down with me.
*angelic smile*
Jun 28 · 258
A Contrasting Ideal.
Kairosclere Jun 28
To wonder whether
The object of your romanticism
Would never match
A harsh reality;
We say the cup is half full
Or half empty.
I don't know that which is real,
Because I put a rosy filter
Over life's hardships
And cast a darker shadow
Over fairytales.
And you begin to wonder
Where the two things mix
And stay in the sweet middle
Of a contrasting ideal.
Jun 25 · 57
Everyday.
Kairosclere Jun 25
MAJOR TW (mental illnesses)

It feels oppressive lately. Blindly ticking things off a schedule, halfheartedly, just because I want to tick the entire thing, and hence check out the boxes, even if I had dome the things without much consent or interest.

These boxes that I drew for monthly tasks, daily tasks, twenty or so of them to include in my 24-hour day. So, my mental exhaustion was surprising and contradictory, considering I was the one who set those tasks out for myself. It is the 15th of December, 2019, a year is coming to an end, and I feel like so will everything else on Earth. Well, not because I’m a sociopath, but it is a strong gut feeling. I’m standing at the precipice of burnout, having bitten so much more than I can chew.

Every day I take on more tasks, not knowing when to say no when to stop. I think I can juggle everything, but it did not mean that it didn’t drive me nuts.

I have had zero creative outlets lately. And for so long, I sit down wanting to be productive and head out having done nothing. I beat myself up for my inadequacies. I should really be better than this. And yet, my mind and heart are so utterly exhausted. Lately, I have also developed body dysphoria. I cannot look at myself in the mirror without coughing out a little hate.

I used to think I was one of those people who had come to terms with being themselves and loving themselves. Well, I still think I am, but in love with a far away version of who I will be, who I have the potential to be, and not this version of me whose empty eyes gazed back every day. Maybe that is the cause of the hate, holding myself to the high standards I’ve set for myself and always, always coming up short. It makes me want to lash out at a lot of people, and at a lot of minor things. Well, lately, I have been.

But I do not feel any better. I fact, I feel like I’m drowning every day. I feel that I don’t belong. I’ve read that almost all of these symptoms are of anxiety. A friend even pointed out that it might be of depression.

Ask everyone else whom I interact with and they will surely say I’m one of the most outgoing people they have ever met. I’m good at masking; good at pretending. I do not lie, but I deceive, with slender word-plays and elaborate loopholes. Maybe all of this makes me a horrible person. That’s what I have been beating myself over every day, for very long.

Hindsight isn’t an amazing superpower to have. I don’t think I am stuck in place with regrets, though. Always jotting down plans, consequences, and places I will be in if I chose a particular course of action. And yet, you cannot keep devising plan after plan when every single thing you’ve thought would happen doesn’t, or even if it does happen, in some brutal mockery of it.

This does not mean I have stopped. I still make plans. Still, schedule, as if it is a ritual every day. But, I think I have reached a point of a standstill when I can see that not much that I do can change what’s to come.

I mean, why work when you’ll definitely not end up where you want to be? In contradiction, how could you know if you will have achieved it if you just stop trying?

Every thought contradicts itself, and the next, changes course entirely.

What am I working towards? Am I working hard enough?

That is all relative because however hard I try, there will always be someone more talented. An impostor in my own skin, these thoughts don’t leave me alone.

I have knowledge without depth. Ideas and personality formed from a culmination of all sorts of inputs I’ve got in my life. I fear I am not original. Accepting compliments for the same leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I feel like sometimes, I am not even a real person. Just a shell that manages to tick off the daily tasks.

So, I try to be the most genuine person anyone has ever met. Earlier comments about hiding parts of myself notwithstanding- I hide only the darkest parts of myself. The side that will make people pity me. The side that is so swathed in the darkness that the glimmer of hope that people speak of, there is zero hope of even encountering it.

I have a pile of books waiting beside me, yet, encountering them is the last thing I want to do. Well, I do not know what I want to do. Always stuck in a negative spiral of emotions and I fail to see the way out. Not always, no, but on days like these, when nothing seems to go right.

Maybe it is easier to say “this will pass” and look forward to a future than deliberating, as I have been doing for countless days, but ignoring and wishing these thoughts away doesn’t do much to silence them.

It's funny how well I seem to pick apart and arrange, categorize and analyze what’s going on inside, but in reality, I sit with a blank expression, scratching away conflicting thoughts trying to make some sense of them.

Small blessings, that the tear-stains on my pillow are near-invisible.
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION
I REPEAT
THIS IS FICTIONAL
If you relate to this, I am sorry.
Jun 8 · 44
Indivi(duality).
Kairosclere Jun 8
I tremble at the very thought
That knowledge is a vice
As long as its not learnt,
Not imposed upon,
Free thinking individuals
Are a bane to the society
Because they say things
They actually mean
Unlike those that connive
And cheat and con
With their truth-seeming lies
To make the world spin
Just with the weight of their guilt
That nobody ever accepts
The taboo to simple truths
That requires a magnanimous courage
To even comprehend saying it:
They are of no benefit,
Individuals with a mind of their own
Simply because
They never cease to disagree to mediocrity
But aspire to influence
To inspire the heroic in man
Who might as well choose
To abscond the path to their greatness
And instead seek salvation
Without realising that both
Are one and the same.
ISTG THIS IS THE LAST ONE FOR THE DAY
Kairosclere Jun 8
I sat down
Trying to write a script-
Something to awe,
Before you decide to draw
This entire joke to a close-
And I think my hands
Moved of their own accord
Some ghost possession, I guess,
Or maybe I just wanted to write about ghosts
Anyway (read twice)
There was this human
Who turned Fae-
Argh no, scratch that,
Too cliche,
This Fae, she turned human!
Ahh see now that the story begins to weave!
I mean, I guess,
I weave the story
Or rather
This ghost guiding my hand.
He seems the same type as Casper, though,
Except with the creative range
Of a twenty year old
In the middle of college,
And lost all his imagination.
Words- WORDS!
Ah woe is me, she cried,
Because in a world where
She was supposed to be immortal,
She was stripped of her pride.
And there the straw ****** dry,
No creative juice these days
The ghost came by.
(Because he was intangible?
And anyway couldn’t consume
All that gave our meat sacks
Ill deserved pleasure?)
I pat the ghost on his head
Like an affectionate pet
And ask him to go on,
Because even though trash,
(HA, GOLDEN)
The only reason I was writing
Was through his pen.
She used to be a goddess in her own realm,
All powerful, all mighty,
Beautiful, very pretty,
(here we both are stuck-
To catch words, flowery,
That they would attract the best of bees,
To pollinate, and pass on the word,
Of this unfinished story),
And we keep the pen down
As an attempt
To at least attract wasps-
But now,
She gave up what she treasured most
For a love
That promised itself until eternity
Into this man
She had looked all from afar
And decided
It was either him or nothing at all.
I turn to him,
Yes, the friendly
Burnt-out college dude,
“Wait, isn’t this the plot
Of every major fantasy?
Or are you just channeling yours’
Through me?
All the time wasted on assignments,
And I become your bard
Guiding through a weird
Fanfiction?”
I don’t get an answer,
Obviously, because,
As I said, he is intangible,
Beyond words, beyond form,
A presence
That might not be here at all.
(I also cannot see him
Shaking his head
As I type word after word, muddled,
As he chews on imaginary bread.)
But somehow the words erase
(I know this because of the
Frantic clicking of the backspace bar
And a cursor
The seems to have forgotten
All that was written
By the predecessor-)
Written over minutes long,
As though my will does not count
Into all that he had planned.
So we begin our charade again:
Him, channeling all his pent up anxiety
Over ghost college-
Ah I think the
Math assignment due
Did everything but spur him on
To finish this poem,
And his lack of creativity
Into this newfound hobby.
She went on to confess
Her undying love
For this man, mortal,
And he looked at her
Long and lost,
And said,
“Who are you?”
Sounding so similar to
All those I had
Tried to speak to-
Ah! The trauma!
Woe is me.
There are shitposts
And there is poetry
The artistic skill required to
Merge them both
Is just treachery
To everyone who possesses a brain.
And when I am just
On the verge of pressing the cross
Not one that will lead to salvation-
But definitely one that will
Liberate the reader’s sensibilities
My mouse moves,
Saves the file,
And mails it to you instead.
If you sat through the previous one, why not another lmaoo
I do love tormenting people.
Kairosclere Jun 8
There once lived a king,
Only for the love of garb,
Who drained all the coffers,
To be adorned by something new each hour.
He cared not about the people,
Nor the soldiers at war,
Nor royal events,
Among other kingdoms,
Which failed to set a bar.
What can be said
Of a people,
Whose king himself
Was vain to a fault?
A glutton, nay, a fop,
Spent hours locked
Into a wardrobe much bigger
Than the royal throne room:
A room in which now stood two men
Before the billowing robes
Of a monarch whose face was barely seen,
And lay their case-
The only way to appeal
To a man ruled by cloth-
That they would make the finest
Most exquisite, most elaborate, wear,
Most adored, and adorn him in it,
A fabric that none can see
Except for the bright, and the fit,
Just the ones who were worthy
Of the seat on which they everyday sit.
The emperor, salivates, and says,
“Had I such a suit,
I shall know
The bright from the dim,
The wise from the foolish.
This fabric, nay, the stuff of gods,
Truth teller, must be woven,
For I will be then a king,
Who had it all”-
So as proclaimed, these rogues
Were put to work on the robes.
Given two looms,
And placed in the palace rooms,
They were provided with the finest of silk
The purest of gold thread
The sharpest of needles,
Never seen among their ilk.
They worked day and night,
Pretending to create something of might,
On something shimmeringly light
As thin air.
All the while usurping, pocketing
All the fine thread,
Sharing laughs at the dead of the night
At the foolishness of men.
Men were sent from the court
To check on the status of the weave-
No, the king wouldn’t come himself, no,
He had that much trust,
That a man of his status
Could see the working looms.
So, he sent others,
A test to their intelligence,
And all the people waited with bated breath,
For someone to proclaim
That what they beheld
Was, really, nothing, ahead.
The grand vizier,
Squirmed and stalled,
And the impostors, ever courteous,
Invited him in for a closer look,
“Oh, look at the colours, the designs,
The embroidery,
Will they suit the emperor’s fancy?”
Breaking a sweat,
Lying through his teeth, the wizened man said,
“Oh yes, indeed!”
He left with a long, parting look,
Looked and looked,
But could see nothing, so to save face,
He yells, hollers, to everyone who would hear,
That there is nothing more sheer
Than the one resting on the loom.
He spoke of the fabrics, and the designs,
The dyes and at lengths
Of the material.
With each visit from an imperial courtesan,
The knaves filled their knapsacks,
While the courtiers returned liars.
With each man
Spewing the cloth’s glory,
Each of the people claimed,
There were none as wise as he.
The emperor, further intrigued,
By hearing only praises, ears well fatigued,
Decided, on the word of two very honest men,
That the fabric would surpass everything he had ever beheld.
And on, he went to where the crafty impostors rested,
Crooned, “These splendid designs, these glorious colours,
Will soon become yours.”
He looked and looked, but could not see
Even a single thread passing the loom
And yet, exclaimed, “How wonderful,
Marvellous, stupendous, charming!”
And proceeded to empty his vocabulary
Describing something that didn’t exist.
Following his lead, his retinue echoed
Made sounds of affirmation and some of awe
For who would want to be a fool?
(in a world of fools)
The gentlemen presented the pretend weavers
With a riband, an order of knighthood,
Fitted to their button holes,
With the pretentious title of “Gentlemen Weavers”
The day before the emperor would wear the cloth,
They stayed up all night,
Pretended to cut and roll and thread
The stuff of gods
And with the first light of dawn, announced,
“The emperor’s new clothes are ready!”
They brought one article of clothing after another,
A pretentious show with nothing raised,
“Here are the trousers!
Here is the scarf!
Here is the mantle!
Here is the garb!”
To the backdrop of ooh’s and aah’s.
They made the emperor stand
And while they undressed him while he stood,
Looking at himself through the looking mirror,
Arranged and pleated the fabric, adjusted it to his tone.
Once done, the king turned this way and that
A whole round at that,
He examined his handsome suit.
“Do my new clothes fit well?”
“Yes, better than any royal garb!”
“All my people deserve to behold this lovely cloth!”
He marched through the streets,
With four men behind, holding up his trail
Men from all around the town agreed,
That none of his majesty’s other robes
Had ever made such an impression,
As much as these invisible ones.
A meek voice from the back,
One not prone to the ways of the world, said,
“But he wears nothing!”
Hands cupped his mouth, and he was dragged away,
While the whispers passed on.
Long poem but I hope worth going through.
May 26 · 59
Old poems.
Kairosclere May 26
I sift through years of work
To find a bright enough poem
That lights rather than puts out
The carefully cultivated theme
Of a place of comfort, though
Only a semblance.

Realisations are often compared to
Impacts, being hit, spontaneous,
And yet this one's nature,
An archaic unaffectedness,
That those old words
Don't seem to be mine anymore.
Here's to healing!
May 20 · 59
Rain.
Kairosclere May 20
I got your message
Through these winds,
Carrying all the weight of your heart,
And send back a reply.
They are done crying,
Over my shoulder,
So I send them back to you,
In paltry hopes
For correspondence.
I. LOVE. RAIN. *SCREAMS*
May 12 · 30
Potion.
Kairosclere May 12
Something's brewing
In that mind of yours
The words I yearn
A medley of spices
Off they go into the urn
Bottled and saved
For "future use"
/kindly speak what you think, supression does no favours to anyone/
May 12 · 34
Ripe.
Kairosclere May 12
Even fruits
That slowly ripe
Rot.
May 12 · 24
Brave New World.
Kairosclere May 12
We wonder what the future brings to us, expecting platters of silver and gold,
Such metals, precious, shine none without the rays of the sun, now so old,
Now have this thrum of energy sounding, music that means to push and pull,
The tides and the seasons, and all the will of man, to contain, now null.

We measure cowardice by the failure of tasks, the dauntless, we praise,
Eyes glistening with hope that these men at least, may let nature’s head raise,
With forlorn yearning, no, but pride, without the prejudice, as the days of yore,
This history of ours, to recreate, and live vicariously, to forget momentarily the gore.

So we treated, owned, and *****, all that we lay eyes on - claimed ours.
And now that this planet is done and dusted, with nothing more to yield, it mourns
For a respite that we cannot help but give, for what use is a lump of gray rock,
Without sweet sin, once green and blue and colors myriad, we draped in a dreary smock.

We send them out to scout, to find new ways to plunder, and regenerate, the daring,
All these resources, all this wealth, for why would we need gold platters, it holds no meaning
Devoid of air to breathe. And so we fashion the very fabric of existence,
To prove once and for all this is a species brimming with persistence.

As man takes his steps yet again, one by one, in another planet to make ours, expectant,
Gaze a million survivors’ faces toward the nether, hope abound, victory reluctant,
We hear echoes, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”, all abound,
The future of this race of ruin, yet again grows roots, to fashion into a brave new world.
For the person who said they missed my long form poetry <3
May 10 · 347
Fun.
Kairosclere May 10
So many things
Are easier said than done
And maybe there's where
Half the fun lies.
Would you really value something if it were easy?
May 10 · 42
Work.
Kairosclere May 10
We yearn for simplicity
Yet refuse to see
The bigger picture,
Demand results
Without doing the hard work.
This is a self call out xD
May 10 · 45
First page.
Kairosclere May 10
As all the good things are,
Yours to decipher.
So every journal I have begins with this line. Yes, I'm sentimental lol.
Apr 22 · 41
Blank.
Kairosclere Apr 22
What do you do
To fill the silence?
To paint the blank sheet
Of a life awaiting?
I shout, I splatter buckets
Of the choicest colours
And yet there's no vibrancy
When the world is in greyscale.
Kind of a longer version of "hi I had burnout and look! Darkness! Le olde fren!"
Apr 22 · 39
Meanwhile.
Kairosclere Apr 22
Myriad colours and patterns flash before my eyes,
A movie of sorts, fireworks,
And I see happy faces and sad
In the mind's eye
While the real one slowly closed
And my world is darkness.
Let's just assume it's hallucination and not a death wish.
Apr 22 · 240
Puzzles.
Kairosclere Apr 22
The fun about puzzles
Is seeing an entire mural
Come alive
One piece after another
Connecting ends
And patterns-
That seem not to work
At first glance.
And maybe life is only all that,
A series of universal coincidences.
I spend too much time talking to someone and bam I have adopted their personality.
Apr 7 · 39
Same Moon.
Kairosclere Apr 7
Why should all poetry
Be a search for meaning
Of life, of love, of pain
And paint each, blushing,
Until you can’t peel away
Those emotions, that
Emotionless and inanimate
Entities bring about.
Look at me,
I write awfully lot about
The sun, the moon, the stars
Those which have never uttered a single word,
Let alone shine on us
Individually,
And magically
I manage to belong.
We breathe in life
Into every word we pen down
And so did they-
In this poem of sorts.
When we look up
Into an unending darkness,
We still see
The same moon,
Don’t we?
repreive
Apr 7 · 30
Vapour.
Kairosclere Apr 7
How does a person
Go from knowing
The smallest of details about you
From knowing all your tells
All that causes you pain,
And know the right thing to say
To make you smile
Even with tears running down your face-
To complete strangers?

Now we just look away
When we hear our footsteps-
So intimate,
To know exactly how
Their feet fall onto the ground,
But can’t bring ourselves
To meet each other’s eyes?

How do you pinpoint the time
When you started looking over your shoulder
Checking if your brother in arms
Holds a hidden knife?
Or were you too far front,
To hear the tell-tale hiss
Of slithering serpents over your shadow?

I still can’t tell you
When we drifted apart;
Two balloons soaring together,
Only one to burst,
Hit midway by a sharp stone.
How do you feel,
Letting me go?

Do you remember my essence still?
Or is it just me,
Yearning
To catch vapour
With bare hands?
Ah yes bringing all those old dusty stuff just so I won't have to type a lot
Apr 7 · 26
Enemy.
Kairosclere Apr 7
I left your company,
So “precious”
The moment
You mentioned the name
There’s only so much hate
That a person could contain,
Can tolerate,
And nothing as potent
As that one name
To make me see red.
I thank you
For reminding me again
Why I had vowed
To never come across you.
It brings back, gushing,
The extent of your gullibility
And my blind trust.
You, like a broken puppy
In need of a shelter,
Still yap behind her
All day,
Unseeing the truth
That my eyes still hold.

And so, I left.
It keeps the pain at bay.
NaNoWriMo, I am late but I am here, and what better start than a hate poem lol
Mar 24 · 36
~
Kairosclere Mar 24
~
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?
Verse from Hamilton.
You don't know who, but you can make your story worth telling, right?
Mar 24 · 281
°
Kairosclere Mar 24
°
Rare is the urge to laugh,
Rarer to control.
I do not know where I was going with this except for the fact that I was cackling like a maniac today, at random things.
Mar 24 · 31
~
Kairosclere Mar 24
~
I keep biding my time
To say something that sounds right
Finally right, to the chaos in my heart
And I look around.
There's nobody to hear.
Mar 8 · 72
3.
Kairosclere Mar 8
3.
We speak of morality and mortality
While each breath
Each word
Poisons our soul.
Cliche but true: it costs nothing to be rude, and nothing to be kind. It's a choice, and I hope you go with the latter.
Mar 8 · 432
2.
Kairosclere Mar 8
2.
The world is my oyster,
And the entire ocean is polluted.
The pearl inside, dead.
Your surroundings make your label, despite how "pure" you may be.
Mar 8 · 59
1.
Kairosclere Mar 8
1.
How do you determine
That one form of beauty
Is better than the other?
Some may say your eyes are prettier than mine, comparison to determine worth.
A string of random thoughts.
Mar 1 · 34
Vulnerable.
Kairosclere Mar 1
What are those days
When you brim with tears
But are afraid to show
Even a semblance of vulnerability
Smiling for all the world to see?
For everyone who is staying strong for the sake of others.
Feb 23 · 74
Image.
Kairosclere Feb 23
I caught up with my reflection today.
She turned,
And I couldn't recognise her anymore.
Let's just pretend it's an I'm ugly joke and not some deep stuff.
Feb 16 · 509
Obscure.
Kairosclere Feb 16
An eye for an eye
Makes this a world
Of cyclopi,
And two,
Society goes back to
Being blind.
Morbid enough? Well. Things are worse.
Feb 11 · 214
Weight.
Kairosclere Feb 11
They say
Writing is best
When done with a heavy heart
So you delve
Deep
Searching for sorrows
To make stories out of.
And it feels queer
To carry the weight of the world
As if it's your own.
Feb 8 · 367
Doors.
Kairosclere Feb 8
And so
Opportunities fly by
Until another
Claims what was,
No, is, yours
All because
You paused
At the threshold
Of an open door.
Ha. No regrets. Right?
The denial and "it is what it is" attitude seems to be working well in deluding myself.
Jan 30 · 68
Riches.
Kairosclere Jan 30
Who's the richest-
A woman with a full purse,
Or a woman with a full heart?
A woman with a full stomach. Lol.
Meme 3: IN THIS EKONOMY?!
Jan 30 · 50
More.
Kairosclere Jan 30
Asleep
Knowing full well
Your presence remains
Paltry
Next to all her desires
Is a cruel
Kind of joke.
Meme 2: ah yes. Me, my wife and her 5 foot tall mareep.
Jan 30 · 264
Heavy.
Kairosclere Jan 30
It weighs you down,
This baggage you carry.
Today in poems out of memes: what's heavier? 100 pounds bricks or 100 pounds feathers?
Jan 21 · 86
Looking back.
Kairosclere Jan 21
This wouldn't be
Much more of a poem
Than the being
I'm trying to pose as,
But more of a meandering
Snake
(For a foolish mind)
Curves of instances
Untraceable.
And I was stunned
At a gradual realisation
That I'd not really like
To retrace my steps.
I'd like to have done more but don't have regrets. It's sad many can't say that.
Jan 19 · 48
Mortality.
Kairosclere Jan 19
If reminded of
Your own mortality,
Would you ponder over it
And see it as an inevitable end,
Or would you choose to live
In ignorance?
It is immaterial,
Because the living only matters,
And it's ways;
Knowing the ends
Doesn't grant you knowledge
Of the means.
Seeing bridgerton promoted me to read the books. Idk if I'd recommend it tho.
Jan 14 · 36
Wait.
Kairosclere Jan 14
How long
Should I wait
For inspiration to strike,
For that one moment
That would define my life.

You say I should work hard
So tell me how many poems
I need to write
Before being recognised as a bard.

Endless wait
Inaction
Such has become time.
Me writing about writing again.
Jan 9 · 184
Red threads.
Kairosclere Jan 9
Souls are said to be connected
With red threads
Forming bonds to last.
Whenever I feel lost
I trace the thread
Connecting me and you
And manage
To find myself again.
I'm really grateful to have you in my life.
Jan 8 · 58
Drought draught.
Kairosclere Jan 8
What would you call
The drought in your head
Devoid of thoughts and ideas
Sometimes I can stare at a wall
With nothing going through
And when brought to present
I wonder if it's normal.
Maybe only a draught
For this drought
Can shake me
Out of this
Internal monologue.
I'm not thinking anything then I think that I'm not thinking anything and end up actually thinking about thinking.
Jan 7 · 37
Worth.
Kairosclere Jan 7
Can you determine your worth
On how much you own?
And what you own
Among your riches
And your intelligence
And your charm
Smiling lies
And shards of truth.
What do I measure you with,
Your usefulness?
Refer to my video on YouTube for further context xD
Jan 3 · 58
Voice.
Kairosclere Jan 3
I voice out
Everything that cannot be spoken
Paltry, at times,
And write
That should never be read
The deepest recesses of my mind.
I have yet to figure out what to do with myself. Smh.
Jan 3 · 60
To create.
Kairosclere Jan 3
What can you create
That which wouldn't be destroyed
Hearts age
And stones wither.
There's yearning for immortalisation
But nothing on earth
That would last.
Why worry at all if nothing is permanent?
Jan 1 · 45
Spun yarns.
Kairosclere Jan 1
I tend to make stories
Out of everything,
Passing glances
From a pair of eyes
Across cars
While standing at the toll.
The crook of a neck
Bent to search
A fallen coin
At the store line
Among impatient taps
Of feet.
Across the sunset
And about the light that travels
Millions of miles
Just to land on
Your hands
Shielding your eyes
From the glare.
Of pain and happiness
I weave stories
Despite meeting none
Satisfactorily.
I wish to add
Vivid words
To match
The vivid lines
In your palms.
I nod at songs
Written ages ago
In sync with another century
Rather than my own.
I don't want to speak
And break this pregnant silence.
So I'll just look into
Those soulful eyes
And craft tales
To satisfy
My need
To romanticise.
Side effects of living inside your own world include having no sense of direction, to the great woe of my dad.
Dec 2020 · 29
Hiding.
Kairosclere Dec 2020
I leave hidden messages
In everything that I touch
A colour
A whisper
And a thought
Maybe you'll touch that same space
That I love so much
And it would be so
That you're right by me.
This is probably the kind of ghost I'll be tho. Causing tiny discontinuities and patterns to follow, only if you can find and see them first.
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