Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Can I ask you?

With vice and disguise,
Are you happy with what you are?
Inflated with pride,
Knotted with jealousy
The unknown balloon burst
With a just ***** of words.

Camouflaged beauty as you were,
Coated and polished to be the society,
Mastered were the words,
With strokes of affection,
Appreciated as I  felt.
I swam in the pits N holes
While thinking of the oceans

The deeper I tried to discover,
Shallower did you get.
Layers and layers of faces,
None uncovered to the core,
What you are still a mystery

I breathe in the pain of phrases,
Toxicity of incoherent love,
I feel the wrenching smirk,
Once which was a curved smile.

I hear the Echoes of my wails,
Strumming in the veins,
Tears were never there
But unseen scars dug deep.

In brighter days,
Darker shadow growing,
In hours,
A nightmare breeding.
You were what dismayed me,
Much more than breaking,  
Maybe a peaceful shattering .
Deciphering what you were ...
I was a piece more or less,
Unfit in the puzzle of society,
Framed and judged,
Broken and scraped,
Torn to the base.

I stood to be the thinker,
With thoughts as the mate,
As the wife is too a husband,
I kept courting with anxiety,
Maybe sometimes with fear,
Or with shame that world-acclaimed,
As the flaws of being me.

I stood there many times,
Neither to be oriented,
Nor to be included,
Just to be accepted with love,
As a poison is to nectar,
I was the toxin to them  
I was discarded and treated,
To purify the viciousness,
An be a part of the deprived fellowship.

I can't stand anymore there,
With the crime of resistance,
To not oblige with the rules,
As a cage is to the bird,
Statutes were the prison,
To my solivagant soul .

Shredded with the conclusions
I was qualified as an outcast,
Neither a human,
Nor a living being
All it was a prolonged-term
As a slave is to the master,
I was chained to the phrase.
To be always smashed,
Under the debts of acceptance.
From expecting to accepting.......
From the deep slumbers of past
She rose.
Arising from ashes of betrayal
Dirt and dust of untruths,
Shreds of inextricable fate,
Was all left in those
Languid hands.

She stood in the woods,
Surrounded by the Ravens,
In the mystic eternal forest,
Searching for her soul,
Once lost in the,
Temporary World.

"How naive was I?
To search the contentment,
In the erratic chains of illusions,
But the question is
Will I find them
In my solitude?"
To be continued......
I remember the smile you made,
When you tousled my hair,
Matted them in tiny braids,
And patted my head
With so many words unsaid.

I remember the time,
When you taught me to make,
Tea for everyone in the evening break
Little spoons of sugar
With ginger, boiling milk
And messed up kitchen
Waiting to be cleaned.

I remember the time,
The honey you fed,
From the fresh gardens,
Narrated the stories,
As I drifted in my dreams

I remember all of your presence,
Yet fail to collect the last,
Of that sparkling eyes n welcoming face
Were you happy to come back,
Or distressed to rely on us
Were you glad to know that we love you,
Or sad to know that we pity you

Sometimes it's best to know,
The unknown emotions you made
As deep down the memory lane,
When I comb my short pigtails,
Or breathe the aroma of tea
Or narrate the scary tales
Closing my eyes in anticipation,
Waiting to see your face,
And the delightful smile
That crept mysteriously
I miss my uncle and his welcoming face .
The house was burning,
Smothering in flames.
Blazing with fire,
Brightening the darkened world.

The wrath of fires streaming,
Dazzled the spectators,
As the skin glistened with warmer air,
And eyes reflected the red tints.
Nevertheless, nothing could save.
The planks at their ends......

Everything known broke in pieces.
Melted in the heated sparks
Little by Little,
All the colors,
Turned into black grey ashes.

All that remained,
Was a wooden piece,
Carved with forever.
Do we all bleed?
Yes, we all do,
In different forms,
With a simple plead.

As a little child,
We bleed in tears,
With trivial doubts
And unknown fears.

As a writer,
We bleed in words,
Each blank page,
Engraved with inks darker

As a musician,
We bleed in rhythms,
Strumming chords to fathom,
The passion reflected in symphonies.

As a painter,
We bleed in colors,
Reality getting duller,
And canvases conveying brighter ...

We bleed in diverse ways,
For mutual reasons,
To encore unheard, unread, unseen
Piled up emotions...
Yes little by little every day
What does it feel like.....

For all those who look for traces,
For indications,
For signs
To know what dismay looks like.....
It looks like nothing
A big blank nothing,
A nothing,
That manages to consume everything.

What does it feel like?
To look around,
Big spacious room,
Observe things, occupy spaces
Imaging it being vacant,
Would it affect anything?
Or will it just be nothing?

What does it feel like?
To hear voices,
Pretty lies and
Little rumors that resides,  
As they resonate mind with massive amplitude.
And cover the actual harsh truth
Does it damage just minor things?
Or break confidence that was building?

What does it feel like?
To search for something,
Perhaps support to cling,
Or slight hope in the surroundings?
Sometimes it could just be smiles,
Or a piece of advice.

It could be anything,
Anything at all,
That could redeem something
Of this existing dark empty being.
But maybe at some point eventually,
It would be renamed solely,
As too much of expecting.

That's what it feels like  
To move towards nothing,
As it consumes everything.
What does it feel like??
Next page