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In That Moonlit Night Standing In The Abaft,
Watching The Towed Flaccid Wooden Raft,
I Thought That I Saw An Angel Resting,
Lying Exhausted There In That Craft.

I Call The Girl Out Unbeknownst Of Her Kind Name,
"Hey Young Lady!!" To Which She Didn't Much Respond,
She Looked Up Towards Me Once In Anguish & Collapsed,
I See Desperation In Her Amber Eyes & Resolve To Help Her.

The Crewmen Had Now Been Doing The Paddles After Resting,
I Summon My Captain & Ask, "Do You See That Girl In The Raft?"
The Senile Captain Smiles To Say, "Commodore, Better Get Married,"
I Look Just Clueless To Which He Simply Replies, "There Is No Girl."

True He Was As She Had Simply Disappeared,
I Started Thinking Of My Sleep Needs That Day,
I Looked Around Again In A Hope To Find The Girl,
I Had Compromised My Routine As The Commodore.

Then I Immediately Realized It Was My Wild Phantasm,
Now This Was Just A Plain Illusion Of A Tired Sailor's Mind,
No Mermaids Could Have Ever Existed In Reality & Were Fake,
I Turned Towards The Deck To Go Back To My Bunk For Sleeping.

As I Climbed Down The Stairs To Enter My Room Amazed & Dazed,
I Saw Her Standing And Waiting For Me By The Side Of My Bunk,
I Accepted That Delusion Of My Mind & Started To Lie Down,
She Said, "I'm As Real As Your Thoughts, Don't Fear Me."

She & I-Me & Her, Had The Best Time That Night,
In The Morning She Was Gone & Was Just Gone,
Disappeared Into Thin Air While I Was Asleep,
Each Day I So Dearly Long For Her To Return.
November 28, 2012 poem.

7 Stanzas Of A Beautiful Open-Eyed Dream Written In A Lonely Evening Reflecting Upon What I Lost Due To The May 7, 2010 Accident.

Read the entire Angel Saga by me, Atul Kaushal.
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/13567/the-angel-saga/

My HP Poem #19
©Atul Kaushal

I thank you all so much for the overwhelming response that this poem has received.

If you get interested in reading any of my novels after having read this poem then do visit https://www.amazon.in/Atul-Kaushal/e/B00NIQ5MTC/ for buying any of my stories.
Late mornings or early nights
Internal struggles an eternal fight gripe when ever cradling life
A gift endowed upon is heavy
Handed stranded with opinions
The pen becomes a machete
Instead of jotting
turns paper into confetti
spilling my blood
on looken like spaghetti
expedient measures
the recipe warrants a recipient
of a John beard
ingredients inter-whine
you could smell it in the air
master sommelier  
An acquired taste took years
1 meal serves plenty
Being great takes time
It stole many!!!
it stole minds!!!
So many!!!
I gave it my all I'm so empty
Tapped reserves
what my soul lent me
If I was trying to impress you
Would you then befriend me?
If you was impressed?
Doubt it
So I Feel alone when its crowded
When I'm alone I'm crowded
With these thoughts surrounding
Hounded whicha what way
There's a certain price
you pay
for talent
Sometimes you just feel so
zombie esque it hurts to breathe.
The twitches
of a witch's
evil eye.

Mirages,
of a former ghost.
My personalities paid host.
Posessions, demonic in blood relations.
I'm lost, in my own sea.
Dead like the one before me.
If not but for the illusion that we are alone, this would all be so easy.
Magnetic
We needed each other

Electric
A passion I will never forget

Carrying on with your absence is hectic
But it turns out you're too sweet and I'm a diabetic.
 Jun 2017 Apachi Ram Fatal
Aishah
The past is where she
once lived.
But she has moved home
since then.

She loves every
moment;
every laugh she
feels now.

I heard she once thought,
‘You fail
to love yourself, dear.
Move home.’

So, she packed her bags.
She did.
But, left them there with
The past.

And went on to build
her dreams.
She believed and she
loved her.

It’s this that saved her
Her life

And she’s saving it

for life.
Take out your knife
Carve out your sins
Never forget  where your story begins

Lay down your head
Listen to me
This is not how it's supposed to be

Lay down, pick up the knife
And think of your life
Give up slowly

Get that cigarette
It's not over yet
When you're addicted, addicted, addicted
To dying

Shut off the world
Farewell little girl
Now put down your head
We're better off dead

Fighting with life
No end in sight
Wish you were dead
Cut ****** and red

Lay down, pick up the knife
Think of your life
And give up slowly
Take that cigarette
It's not over yet

When we're addicted, addicted, addicted
To dying
My most recent song lyrics
.
The serpent around my eye
in perpetuity eating its tail.
A sigil to represent fluidity,
sheds its skin to no avail.

The Truths play around my head in loops eternal,
infinite possibilities of *******,
fractal gems cavorting in lustrous oceans,
that cleanse an hours disgrace.

Pan-Dimensional
and Omni-Directional
Truths are connecting.

Ouroboros, protector of the Tree of Life,
his apple is the gift of Knowledge.
Are those tempted weak and futile?
or hungry for the secrets of Cronos.
The fruit of Wisdom picked, and devoured,
in the garden quest for clarity.

And the serpent around my eye,
like a monocle allowing sight,
flows Truths into my mind,
reflecting matrices taken to flight.

© Pagan Paul (09/06/17)
.
If someone asks a question
that appears to be a riddle.
Just play it really safe
and put a Haiku in the middle  ;-)
PPx
.
left with a pencil sans eraser, a paper
denoting, “this is what to do if you feel self
harmful or aggressive.” down from there
a list of things to do in the sanctimonious occasion.

from the hall you can only see rooms
room after room after room
inside, i hear it, the reminder
of where i am.

a girl in a blue sweatshirt smiles
waves. makes polite gestures and suggests
maybe things aren’t awful for everyone
but they are for me.

i recognize her face from somewhere
and i realize there are so many
****** souls here that i used to
only see in dreams.
after allen ginsberg's "a meaningless institution"
while your hands traced the curves of my body and touched the breath on my lips
i knew that i would be doomed with another thing to write about
that you would create bruises wherever your skin ignited mine
like the nape of my neck, or the back of my hand.
or my eyelids. yeah a very funny place to be kissed at.
or the spaces in between my legs
they will rot and mourn the passing of another lover another abuser
i put your name right next to the first man that touched this body they call a temple
and i call a warzone
i was two years old then, and i was twenty two when you claimed what you thought
was rightfully yours to take
somenights i wonder that when your brain takes you back to that room
what do you remeber?
i remeber yellow sunny lights
my hearts catapulating, my eyes blurry
my legs open like a cave
my body getting prepared to please another
to take refuge of you only to never see you again
i hope you remeber the last time you touched my body and
called it comfortable was when
i couldnt feel anything but death on my tongue
now i lay here
four prescriptions , ten suicide attempts later
trying to remember
which list to put you in?
where you a lover? or where you a abuser?
or where we so complicated in the mix that
i made a burning house out of my body
and burnt you down too.
i still sit  at 3am waiting with that
blade in my hand waiting to make that last
final call
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