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nnyaa Feb 2015
Death puts an end to it all-
This sordid necessity of trudging through life;
Its continual struggle and perpetual strife,
The business of prosaic living;
Of gaining and losing,getting and giving
Death puts an end to it all.

And it doesnt matter how it ended-
Be it a cruel act of fate, a self-orchestrated blow.
That stemmed the life-stream's flow.
Were you hacked down in frenzy ,
or consumed in cold blood.
or preyed upon by disease.
Now you are shrouded in cold silence,
In eternal peace.
Really doesn't matter how it ended.

Now that you are gone,
your soul harboured to a transcendental realm
Whizzing past like a comet, a trail of ash behind.
Those forlorn mourners, at your requiem.
Dazed by the shock of its light, finally find.
Memories of you, is all they can live by
Now that you are gone.

Those who had loved you,
Bereaved broken hearts, shattered by your loss
Yearning to hear your voice, craving to see your face
With an infernal bundle of grief, that they can never efface
And since the morbid melody of your death knell
Life has been nothing short of a living ****
For those who had loved you

And how they lived through it-
Brave hearts, fighting private battles each day
The scab of time, hides the raw pain within
But sorrows gnawing at their innards, stay
for a long time, unheard and unseen.
With a steely smile,frozen on their face
They say, they have moved on; life's commonplace.
And though they laugh and talk now,
like the times when you were here.
Its when nobody is looking;
They wipe away those treacherous tears.
Oh, how they lived through it.

So pardon me,
For I weep for them , not you
Those bereaved by the loss of a loved one.
Because your life's setting sun,
spells an end to your miseries.
Theirs have only begun.
You smile out of picture frames
Into conversations creeps in your name.
Their  hearts are knived by brutal reconciliation
That life will never be the same.

You are a Star now;
Scintillating at the heights of heaven.
Lord is with you. I'm happy for you.
Do not get me wrong.
My thoughts dont misconstrue;
and pardon me,
for I weep for them , not you.
For those, who are still living;
After losing you.

nnyaa Feb 2015
Find me,
I'm lost in the whorls of a faceless crowd
Like a solitary bubble ; a lonesome cloud
I'm tossed by the froth of the azure waves;
By the wanton breeze, that rants and raves
I've stared at destiny's elusive face
Locked eyes with its million dimensions
But I cannot find myself ,
And I cannot find my place
So find me, Oh! find me,
For the map of my life, i cannot comprehend
I am lost, so find me
Find me and be my friend.
Tell me,
My winsome dreams are for real.
My honey-scented , rose coloured dreams;
And all wounds of past, time will heal
By the elixir of its ever flowing stream.
In whispers , like the swish of a seraph's wings
Like a wandering minstrel ; Be the one
To sing to me of all joyful things
Of hopes redeemed and battles won
So tell me, Oh! tell me
Sweet symphony to my silence lend.
I am listening , so tell me.
Tell me, and be my friend
Save me,
There are demons inside my head
In murky shadows of native fears.
From cold dark dungeons, I fear to tread
Its all in the caverns of my mind, it appears.
But it brings me down,
And I am pinioned by its chains
Neck deep in darkness all around
Marooned in uncharted terrains
So save me, oh! save me
Be a beacon of my path, God sent
I am ambushed, so save me.
Save me, and be my friend.
Like a willow in the midst of a wilderness untamed
I'm swaying to the tempest, in a pagan trance
Like the rise and fall of kingdoms unnamed
Like billows in ever shifting psychedelic stance
Find me, make me rise, I want to shine
Tell me of miracles I can yield , I want to shine
Be my stalwart sentry , lest my hopes descend
And be my friend , be my friend.
nnyaa Dec 2014
She could have been a Mediterannean goddess;
An enamoured artist’s ethereal muse.
Golden tendrils meandeared across her  visage ;
Her eyes greener than absinth ,  darker than the Black sea.
She was a daughter of the Tigris.
That burning serpent,
churning the blood of her brothers.
Infidel!  devil-worshipper!  they called her,
As they, burnt and ravaged all that she lived for.
The moon turned a shade of ochre,  like it was made out of dust.
Of the brown ashes of  Sinjar . Her vanquished motherland, that  fallen paradise.
She prayed and prayed, to the Peacock angel;
with eyes closed, and a heart clutched in terror.
So he would spread his wings and save her.
But when she opened her eyes, the Da’esh loomed like death,
All around her, like vultures;
who wouldn’t spare the last shred of flesh on her bones.
They had scavenged her like a piece of trinket,
From the great pile of rubble, her land was reduced to.
She was their spoils from the war,
Her golden hair, her green eyes ; all theirs.
Their ravenous eyes like augers; spewing venom,
They were traffickers of the soul, to the most unholy depths of the inferno.
She was meant to be a goddess;
To rise to the realm of the Peacock angel.
If he did’nt release her soul, her spirit would rise to meet him .
She only smiled, when she took her life.
She smiled, till her last breath seeped out of her,
Death was ever so merciful, tenderly lulling her to sleep.
The Da’esh could plunder to all their dark glory.
But they could’nt fetter her soul.
Jilan, she was the fallen angel.

Jilan, was a 19 year old woman, who was captured, amongst the thousands of Yazidi women from the Sinjar valley. She took her life, to save herself from a life of ****** slavery. Hundreds of young Yazidi girls have been driven to suicide. All that , the world will know of Jilan (from a rescued survivor) is her name, that she was very beautiful and that she knew they were coming to take her, so she slashed her wrist. This is a eulogy for all those tortured women, whose names we will never know.
nnyaa Jun 2014
"Isn’t it funny,
when you’ re looking at this world , with a child’s eyes.
Like children, with all of their ruthless innocence.
Beyond a bend, all things are painfully uncomplicated,
all shades; pitch black or white as moon,
all words; like scriptures etched on stone,
all reasons ; cast to the winds like ashes,
and all promises; believed like prophesies foretold eternites ago.
So its only inevitable,
this churning sense of disillusionment,
when you’re finally caught in a blurred haze..,
between that asphalt road and the milky white moon,
a haze of hundred saturnine wisps of grey where,
all shades; collude with each other..
all words; are malleable under the tyranny of an iron hammer
all reasons; are straightjackets for reckless spirits
and promises…are only meant to be broken."
nnyaa May 2014
There are certain days, when I feel,
Maybe my soul was milked out of a willow tree.
Opalascent sap, maneuvered into a soul kind of thing.
And placed, right where 'twas supposed to be.
But then, it strikes; souls don't have shapes,
form or matter. They cant be seen, or touched.
But if mine could ; it would feel like wet clay,
That clings to the fingers, that knead through it.
With a soft persistence; refusing to let go."
nnyaa May 2014
I look into the mirror of Erised,
I  see myself with you.
  Apr 2014 nnyaa
A poet in love
Is a match soaked
In gasoline.

follow my writing!

it will kick you in the diaphragm.
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