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Yash Jan 2020
Grey in Rainbow
Blood in capillaries
Gasp, oxygen
blood, turn blue.

Regular beat, relief
Racing car, Lightning McQueen
Anxiety, rush in Aorta
Dilute, soothe, disillusion.

Greek gods, medusa´s eye
Stone sculpture, eternal
Laid bare, ****
Draw me french.

Hands, save thy dignity
clutch the *****
oh my pearls
roll over eyeballs, curses.

Put a paper lantern
over your eyes.
Put your tinted glasses
rose coloured view.

Finger on the pulse
trigger, don't shoot
don't want 49 dead
progress, fear strikes back.

Hoot hoot
the clock strikes 2.02.
Rise up from your bed
you winged sucker.

Vampire, drink your fill
no limit but 6.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 greetings Charon
One coin to River Acheron.

Oink oink
little swine you are.
Pigman, hold your cleaver.
Pig blood, Carrie´s revenge.

****** red, sacrifice Jauhar
Euphrosyne´s joy, Euphoria
River Phlegethon, the path to Tartarus.
Cocytus, bathe me in Lethe.

Hypnos, spare me.
Himeros, May it be
Aporia, Limos, Hedone
Meet Curae, Nosoi, Algea.

Phobos, I am scared.
This poem is about the fear of ***, specifically *******. The poem talks about how in different ways, *** is a thing that haunts and hurts him. From greedy pigs who just want *** to manipulative vampires who want to **** all life out of him. It also talks about how the shooting struck fear in him. The poem then uses refrences to the greek underworld to express his emotions.
Yash Jan 2020
Oh Papa, perish the invading Persian armies.
Oh Papa, do or die at the D-day.
Oh Papa, fight the foreign forces at the front lines.
Oh Papa, go face your turbulent trials in the trenches.
Oh Papa, come back in one piece from the Pearl Harbour.

But Papa, why did you scare your own son into submission?
But Papa, why did you beat your own blood till he bled out?
But Papa, why did you scar your own son into suicide?

Your own son, the sun of your life.
But then Papa, why did you suppress your sun into the sunset?
But then Papa, why did you bury your sun in the horizon beach?

Johny Johny.
Yes Papa?
Did you disobey me?
No Papa.
Are you lying?
No Papa.
Turn your back.
Ah ah ah.
This was my first poem. This poem is about a child who knows that his papa is fighting the odds to survive and provide for his family but is confused and wonders why then, the papa turns around and does horrible things to him.
Yash Jan 2020
Tick tock, Slow clock
Piercing sound of Silence.
Disturbance of tranquillity
or is it the silence of the storm?

Eye of the storm
Hands of the clock
Wings of time
Ma'at or Isfet?

Coming of Christ or Kalki
Impending doom or
Time of tranquillity
What tidings do the stars bring?

Frozen, bloodied dove in Berlin.
Blaring sirens of the apocalypse
or news of the red man Gorbachev
which sound will come first?

Carrefour, welcome Hecate.
Blanche´s final invitation or
Lisa´s ticket out of Dissocia
which ride is it going to be?

Sylvia, Blanche, Lisa, Sarah.
Mahavira, Buddha, Moksh.
Time, Destiny, Moirai, Jury
What is the verdict?

So much sound, yet no voice from the trachea.
So much company, yet paint can only last so long.
So many words, yet not a single syllable spoken.
So much, yet none of it.

Storm of Isfet, Impending Kalki
Blaring apocalypse, Final Invitation.
Snip my scarlet line, Atropos.
Slow clock, Tick tock.
This poem is about the unnerving silence and what follows. The poem is a person wondering what will happen next, is it the silence of peace or the silence before the storm?
This poem was inspired by a moment in my life where, in the dead of the night, only the loud ticking of the clock was heard in the entire house.
Yash Jan 2020
My heart beating alone in a Ghosttown, dhak dhak
The ringing phone in an empty house, ring ring
The dripping of water in an abandoned home, drip drop
The soft breeze rustling the curtains in an isolated place, swoosh.

My soul in a Ghosttown, cry.
Sylvia in her kitchen, cut.
Whitney in her bathtub, drug.
Lucy Jordan in her house, laugh.

My love in a Ghosttown
Hades in Tartarus
Hestia at the Hearth
Kitty Genovese in New York.

Adam and Eve in Eden.
Zeus and Hera at Olympus.
Marilyn and John in the White house.
A Ball, A Ballad, A Masquerade.

A Dove in Normandy.
An Olive branch in Kashmir.
A communist in America in 1940.
Dreamers & Idealists in existence.

Mahatma Gandhi in 1948.
John F. Kennedy in 1963.
Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968.
John Lennon in 1980.

Imagine
I have a dream that one day
we need men who can dream
where there is love, there if life.

A heart beating
beats of isolation.
A soul weeping
the tears of loneliness.

My Soul
My Love
My Heart
all in a Ghosttown.
This poem is ultimately about chronic and deep isolation and loneliness. A poem about the deprivation and lack of love from the person.
Yash Jan 2020
The slow dance with yourself, prom.
No partner in crime, no getaway.
Caught, red and white all I see.
The sirens of my heart, ringing.

No Heer, No Ranjha.
No Paris, No Helena.
No Laila, No Majnu.
No Romeo, No Juliet.

Ties and Dresses
Corsage and Coronary
Royal Red carpets
straight from the heart.

Epileptic lights
Face in a sea of masks
Empty hands and waiting eyes
Welcome to the Lonely Masquerade Ball.

Where no faces exist
home of the masks.
Where no hip is free
Siamese twins.

Only heart that beats alone.
Only open eyed one
Only closed lipped one
Soulless, Loveless.

Hordes, Masses, Groups.
Flurry of flamingos
Cackle of hyenas
Litter of rabbits, garbage.

The ugly duckling
Oscar Wilde
Stars on Earth
Rainbows in storms.

Missing posters, wanted.
Revolving doors, wait.
Get the getaway car
Go Go Go.
This poem is about somebody who does not belong. A poem about isolation in the midst of traditional love. And a poem about getting away from that place.

— The End —