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1.1k · Jan 3
I don’t have a shadow.
Shadows are impersonations.
They move around
In the sneakiest of ways.
Lurking and inching and cheating.
Trying to escape the mirror.
The darkness died when the hero won.
It didn’t.
It just followed them, lurking to get back.
The core is darker of the fake.
They’re dark,
because they tell them of the time gone by.
In monochrome,
the color died, it lives in the real world now.
I don’t have a shadow.
I am one.
844 · Jan 28
Fresh Snow and Water.
Rollercoaster Jan 28
I have been to the mountains where I have cried.
I climb hills not for the vista.
I climb for falling down the rabbit hole.
Then, I plummet down the icy gully.

I have drowned in bathtubs where I have smiled.
I swim in cold bathtubs not due to recklessness.
I swim to delude my presence.
Then, I hitch-hike upto the peak.

I do these things I cannot understand.
Reality slips away,
like fresh snow and water slip from my bare hands.
I climb to the mountain and fall to the bathtub.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Her hardened feet and cracked heel
brush against the muddy ground.
She travels on foot to fetch water
as she withers away into the befouled.
562 · Nov 2020
Then. Now.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
He’s ash now.
He played with ash back then.
He’s dirt.
He was dirt back then.
He snatched their slums
and their palaces
But now he can’t live in either.
He pumped out dirt
into the river back then.
He’s going back
to the river now.
562 · Jan 15
Six decades of Intimacy.
Rollercoaster Jan 15
In a bus, sat an old couple
and held each other’s hands.
Two hands were clenched together,
as they had when they were just born.

They were at peace with what would arrive,
yet sweaty and energized like they had been
when they played in the green grounds
as little, naive boys.

Six decades of intimacy
running through their minds.
Both chanted and repeated prayers
and wishes for each other and others.

They were mid-desert
but their bond well-irrigated.
Their fields had borne flowers.
And water was plenty.

What had happened was that
a band of robbers had attacked.
They threatened to ****
and so, they did.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I could be mean to you.
But where would that get me?
I'm not a conceited brat. Just tryna be a good person.
477 · Mar 7
Dancing at night in dark blue denims.
You left the taste of lemon
in my mouth when you asked me to drink it.
I smiled out loud when I heard of your visions.

Dancing in the diner parking lot.
The cheap speaker you brought
is still playing our music.
I yelled that we were infinite just like you taught.

Dancing at the railway station by rail cars.
Looking at the stars,
thinking about the ones to which we belong.
I point to a pretty pair and you smiled at the dark.
420 · Dec 2020
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Sometimes all we have to do is trust each other.
402 · Dec 2020
Grow Up.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
We're kids- all of us.
why do we force each other to grow up?
362 · Nov 2020
Nightmare or dream.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Words aren’t spoken.
Words aren’t written.
They are felt.
Words are unknown.
Words are dead.
Until we come to terms with them.
Words are heavy.
Sometimes bold.
To speak is an art
that everyone fails.
****** by words is wretched more.
But they can heal.
They eventually do.
Tend to wounds as no-one can.
Oh words can bring to life
and send to sleep
a person’s nightmare or dream.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Peaceful nights
and then morning rains,
living through midday fantasy
with fruits for brunch.

Roaming in kaftans
and then cycling in the fields.
To guffaw at our jokes
and sit under the tree.

We're drinking water,
filled to the brim in the glass
to quench thirst
after our outdoor rendezvous.

Dancing to the sounds
of our breaths
and feet tapping to
the throb of our hearts.

Hold me in a
euphoric embrace
as historical wrongs
are corrected.

We'll sleep peacefully
through the night
and wake up at the crack of dawn
to see each other again
in euphoria.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Your face reminds of the places I want to visit.
As your hands explore, I’m reacquainted to dreams.
I find my thoughts after aeons in darkness as we sit cross-legged and chat.
Thoughts of wonder commence as you curl your peach-coloured lips to read me poetry.
I can feel a heart beating through those lips.
The rumble of your heart makes me discover that I have one too, though stunted by the lovers I never met.
I ask for you, and you agree.
PS: The heart remains stunted as I never meet this lover.
340 · Dec 2020
In the Vampiric Mansions.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
A chalice filled with the wine of word,
love rotted with time into hurt.
The viscous, darkened liquid
runs in veins instead of blood.
Bubbling liquids spew out
of my decaying mouth.
Bloodshot eyes are searching for
a familiar hand to hold.
Do not ask about the soul,
it's already sold.
It's dark. I know. I don't mean the stuff about the sold soul in real. Thanks @SkylarRusso for the title suggestion.
336 · Dec 2020
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Your eyelashes fall down as you close your eyes to sleep.
You stretch your legs under the blanket
and twist and turn if you're not able to leave reality.
Your peach lips slightly move as you speak while you dream.
Your hand is under your head while you board a night taxi to partake in fantasies.
Wherever you might go, but I don't deserve you.
301 · Dec 2020
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
New dew on the lush olive green leaves,
coherent chaos awaits.
Yes, we can.
It hurts when the darkness takes over.
After that, it hurts no more.
Dead before the storm is felt then on.
It continues on and on.

The storm is supposed to arrive but
prolonged silence is “not” heard.
It fears something inevitable.
What’s nagging is the unknown.

When the storm does not arrive at all,
the dead before it persists.
It stays there, asking about the storm.
I sigh- “It did not arrive at all.”
265 · Dec 2020
12:04 AM regret.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I am stuck in the trappings of poetry.
I have an exam to answer at 8 am.
I read and rejoice.
But I am sure
that I'll be overwhelmed
by regret in the morning.
258 · Jan 3
Stuck on the verge.
I’m stuck on the verge
of meandering outside
or wandering inside all the time.

I need to know if the sun shines
and if the moon still glows.
I haven’t seen the stars in a while.
The trees are in disguise,
and leaves don’t fall down by my side.
I haven’t stepped outside.

I need to know if my lungs pump out air
and if my brain still responds to stimuli.
I haven’t visited my heart in a while.
The emotions are in disguise,
and tears don’t fall down my eyes.
I haven’t stepped inside.
253 · Dec 2020
You can stop.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
You can take something,
but can you take nothing?
You can take their life,
but can you take their soul?
You hit alright,
but can you hit no more?
You can start,
but can you stop?
You can stop.
You can stop.
253 · Dec 2020
"Goodnight, sweet dreams"
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
"Goodnight, sweet dreams"- I used to say.
Then when I came back home
after staying at grandma's for the holidays with the cousins,
I listed their names as I went to sleep,
good night, sweet dreams accompanied with each.
"Good night-sweet dreams, Nani Ji"
"Good night to everyone whenever your night might come"
"Sweet dreams to everyone whenever your night might come"
Nani Ji is maternal grandma in Hindi.
252 · Nov 2020
Neon Haze.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Under an old display of neon lights
two gilded exteriors meet.
Their gold needs to melt
and the lead core bared.
Wilde's prince's lead core didn't melt,
so won't their austere cores.
Their gold melted in the neon haze,
but didn't have the heart
to see their leaden heart
in the bright of the day.
Started with those neon lights that you find in the movies and it just went from there. I'm referring to the Happy Prince and his leaden heart from Oscar Wilde's works. (I'm 14, I've never been to a place where there'd be a neon haze.)
230 · Dec 2020
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I look at your fences
and your flimsy nests.
The wind comes in and breaks them.
You rebuild, the bear comes in and breaks them.
Yet you still rebuild.
Why do you do that when you know it's pointless?
211 · Feb 5
Calling for help.
People’s feet are hurting,
dresses and shoes are a size smaller than theirs.
They’re taking chances, and going to dances
and the truer selves are calling for help.

They’re dressed in their nicest,
their inner screams are the quietest.
Under the gleaming smiles,
their broken, imperfect selves are quietly calling for help.

The smoothest white marble floor lies,
in the reflection they seem to be perfect
while they’re numb inside.
Living corpses are calling for help.

They’re breathing slowly,
to cope with the swift dancing.
The masses are strategizing and scheming
on how not to call for help.

All is calm and feelings are suppressed.
Chandeliers are falling,
glass is on the dance floor
and hoofers are calling for help.
210 · Dec 2020
Break Down.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I could just break down and cry.
But I could also get over it
in the fear of being judged.
I honestly love reading and writing poetry. Then why does it make me sad and I kinda even like it.
Rollercoaster Feb 24
I find the charging sky lights to be
disorienting and pure.
Black and white at same time.

It’s a rainbow in the clouds after the rain
and succeeding the dark clouds which make me sane.

I am aware that rain will come again,
yet I don’t know when I will be rain-bound.
Each turn is a change in the circle of pain.

When the lightning strikes,
we look at the bright, white flash of light.
White pierces through the dark,
and confounds us and leaves us looking at the stars.

We wait for it to strike,
only for it to come at the most unexpected of times.
We must not be confused, or surprised.

We should rejoice when things go awry.
For it will too pass, and change will evade.
The earned hope will remain.

For chaos and the unexpected are change,
and change is the inevitable truth which cannot be tamed.
We’re celebrating the chaos and celebrating change.
We’re celebrating the inevitable when we dance in the rain.
Everything is in a circle, it a cycle of interconnectedness or several cycles of interconnectedness which are themselves connected to each other. It is the same storyline, a basic plot line that follows a similar story from the past and everything repeats itself. So, it does not matter what the end goal might be, it is about the experience and the change that will give us a greater understanding. Living though the motions, looking at the circle go, and know a greater story exists and you just have to fill in the blanks to make it your own - to make your cycle of birth and death meaningful and like a ring with a lot of engravings on them and then hanging that ring in an a larger ring that involves the entire existence. Not just your existence, but everything that exists which is also going through the motions and is following the circle and engraving its own little and large details on the Ring of existence.
And at every turn point of the ring, which is almost at every point, there is change and there is chaos.
We think of rain to be release- from winter cold or summer heat. Release from the uniformity of suffering. Yet, rain comes in as chaos. We do not know when it will come and how the raindrops will fall. They will fall as they want to - in utter chaos. After uniformity, comes change. Change comes in form of chaos. And navigating in that chaos i.e. dancing in the rain is thriving and celebrating each little raindrop as it is. We’re celebrating the chaos and celebrating change. We’re celebrating the inevitable when we dance in the rain.
205 · Nov 2020
Why do I even write?
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
I write to know.
I write to understand.
I write to solve
and I write to belong.
My poems tell me answers. They tell me what I think. I write to do all these things. I write so that I know myself better. I write as in a class in life. And not as a teacher wishing to share the times he overcame the odds or somebody else did. That's the reason I write. It's a question I ask myself.
199 · Nov 2020
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
A perplexed hand reaches out
and a trembling fingertip reaches the ****.
It circles the burgundy, round grip
with faltering determination
to push the hazel door forward.
this is what happens when you give too much afterthought to your decisions before acting on them.
198 · Nov 2020
On life yet love.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
To live without love is death.
To live honestly,
Is to love truly.
Life is a meaningless void.
Dark, dull, and unafraid.
Populous yet lonely,
Blinding yet bleak.
A land of color coexists,
of love that is cautious and daring.
Transcending human comprehension
And the providing hope
along with its audacity.
It’s power and will to thrive
conquers the misanthropy
Of austere death.
177 · Feb 5
Life she never lived.
TRIGGER WARNING (this deals with suicide)

Hands fall down as they try to work in the mills. Hardened, bruised hands are cut and blood drips on the cloth that she's producing.

She has to work there, if she doesn't she has to bear the slaps of her drunken, miserable husband. Her eyes used to dream of skyscrapers and cities. Now, she is stuck in a slum and an endless cycle of misery.

She dreams on of a life she never lived. She wants it so much that she runs away from this world. She finds sweet release as her body is burned.
165 · Nov 2020
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Abysmal despise curtains your insecurities.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Life is attempting to walk down the stairs in darkness.
You can get better at it if you're familiar with them.
It gets better with time. But what if doesn't?
You'll stumble and fall like a toddler.
145 · Nov 2020
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
I feel like a bird in the wide, blue sky.
An eagle soaring in the wind,
a koel singing melody,
a crow tired by insults,
a dancing peacock insecure,
a penguin broke,
a parrot pretending,
a chicken distressed,
a vulture scavenging,
a mynah invading,
an owl leading,
an ostrich jealous
and an airplane disarming.
something about birds and humans.
139 · Dec 2020
I belong in my own heart.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
A house is not a home,
your heart is a place where I am
but that's not where I belong.
this ish.
135 · Nov 2020
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Lips cracked up,
to hide all the fear
that exists
within this mortal form.
Eyes glistening with hope,
cause hope’s audacity was
all that was left
within this skeleton.
Mind in chaos,
while all seemed calm
on the outside
with this human charm.
Bittersweet pain and pleasure,
it’s all mine.
All of it will help me shine.
135 · Dec 2020
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
My eyes have been searching for a place to call home.
I have been to Rome and have done what the Romans do.
I have failed to win a place amongst the ranks of caesars.
I have felt the harrowing escapism of not being at home.

I sit inside the colosseum and work in the communes.
I look for a place to reside, as I sway through.
I curse and beat myself up for not being homely.
I walk in the darkest alleys calling it my home.

I said bought the elephantine houses.
I said that I played with the kings,
though I only washed their feet.
I did not feel at home.

I search for belonging,
in my own heart.
Is it good?
130 · Nov 2020
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Thunder rages on outside.
I am not the only traveler
who has not repaid his debt.
It attempts to scare me
into succumbing to the dark
and to the rain.
I would like rain
to accompany me on my
But I’m too much indebted
to afford it.
The skies want their
money back
and the heavens
have sent lightning.
They need it back
to bring back order.
Such a concentration of darkness
in one mortal isn’t natural.
They demand it back.
They need it back.
They send the rains
to make me yield to wizardry.
I do not
and smile in hope
that I’ll belong to the rain someday
and rain will belong to me.
128 · Nov 2020
To be there for her.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Night falls down the horizon
She sits & contemplates
While her daughter slips into a delicious slumber
She sighs over her untimely fate
She’s crying.
Drowning in tears
Her face with visible fear.
But she pulls herself back in.
She has hope,
Because her daughter must be taught the ropes.
She puts on her coat.
The rather worn-out brown coat with a broken blue pin.
She steps out of her number 13 apartment to get some food.
Walks out the door,
But she hears a cry.
Her daughter had woken up,
By the sound of the door’s creak.
The unaware spreads her little arms,
& stretches her tiny feet.
Her mother rushes back in,
To be there for her,
To be there for her and care for her.
An older poem from Mother's Day 2020.
125 · Nov 2020
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
A myriad of people I see.
I lay my eyes upon their deep agony.
A father rejoins broken slippers for his pedestrian tyke.
A couple shops for clothes on the roadside.
A mother holds her daughter and subjected to a terrible cold.
The rickshaw puller shouts for them to move away.
He has his own place to be and children to transport.
They all have their destinations and
sights they need to see.
The clothing they need to wear
and lifestyles they wish to be.
It’s the life they got.
It’s not sure if they wanted it.
With the gaze of an outer observer
I see,
and be unable to read
their thoughts and dreams.
I long to know
the places they are in
and the places they want to be.
123 · Jan 5
With velveteen curtains and a table of gold
sat an old hag with stories untold.
Kids scurried along the marble path
as they escaped her ferocious shihtzu dog.
Filthy men passed one-liners
about her polished growl.
She played hoarse music on her platinum harp
and sang along verses of outcasts’ tarp.
She read out loud stories
banned by the elders in the ancient market.
She lured and polluted little children’s minds
with her ideas and little schemes.
Yet the townsfolk let that damsel stay,
for she was an old hag who could do magic.
With their minds did the magic play.
The populace attempted to play with her tragic
mind in the hope that they could do magic too.
118 · Dec 2020
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I belong in the heavens
and then I'm under the ground.
I reach the clouds
and then sweep the dirt.
I'm on a rollercoaster
till the end.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Let me cry rivers
and not be asked about it.
Let me shut myself in my room
and not have people knocking at my door.
Let me pass uninformed comments
and not be embarrassed by the people that surround me.
Let me be a stranger,
a forgettable face in the masses.
Let me not stand out,
or blend into the ordinary.
I am lonely,
let me be alone.
I am on way to do that.
I'll start pushing people away now.
112 · Dec 2020
Walls of being.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
They stand high and firm.
Unwavering strength to listen to it all.
All the love and it’s absence
were encountered by these dutiful walls.
Countless beings came by,
some to conserve and some to destroy.
They still didn’t crumble down.
For they had stories to tell.
Memories and existences
that fared the test of time.
Frozen in these walls of being,
are the lives of numerous beings.
Recording their lives
in a concealed script.
Old houses appear desolate.
They are not homes anymore.
Old forts have this despair.
That they wish to share,
But can’t.
It’s their irony.
They’re strong but sad.
Have words to say but can’t.
111 · Dec 2020
~Let's talk about it.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
-Can I talk about it?
~Can you?
-I cannot.
110 · Nov 2020
Permanent Sleep.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
The layers of skin and sheaths
To cover what lies within.
A heart of stone
and a core of darkness
exists dipped in misanthropy.
Whilst the armor moves,
darkness sprinkles down.
It leaves a trail of iniquity
as it goes by on its way
To the permanent sleep of death.
102 · Dec 2020
I was just a little boy.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I was just a little boy
when I asked why I couldn't run in the traffic;
when I bathed in the inflatable pool and didn't get out;
when I locked my mother in the room;
when I locked my cousin and myself in the room to play with our toys;
when I was puked on by;
when I scraped my bruises in fun;
when I got a fever after I saw that lost kid at the mall;
when I ran in the hallways in races with my friends;
when I told my mother everything;
when I was innocent.
99 · Jan 16
Rollercoaster Jan 16
Nothing can be changed of soul
in my possession.
Its rugged, scarred self
hurts and heals.
I now own the soul and
I can’t let it go.
It works as a king in my brain and
lives as peasant in reality.
I am subservient to what I possess.
I cannot change it, but
the soul can change me.
A soul is precious,
so I gave in.
Into tricking another soul,
or maiming a different one.
I gave in and
now I am in agony.
What should I choose?
I will let the soul take over me.
idk if it makes actual sense.
98 · Nov 2020
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Shut me up
And cage me in.
For I will transcend
the barriers of will.
98 · Nov 2020
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
All of my heroes died in vain
for me.
I'm not up to their remarks.
Perhaps that's why we have heroes.
Some believe in gold
and find it deep while they
toil the field.
But for the ones
who don't wish for the gold
or are too devastated
by the devastation
their destiny is to die
in and by devastation.
For the majority of us devastated peasants
in the wide devastated field-
our destiny is to
lookup to our dead heroes and fail.
Miserably and devastatingly.
Don't school me on my pessimism in the comments.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
The sun comes out
and the moon’s still there.
Hanging there in its desolate despair.
Mornings were never my type.
I could never see my dark friend die.
It’s scarred eternal surface never heals.
The lover in the night sky says-
“Dear I’ll bring the moon for you.”
Not knowing they both had it in them too.
All the darkness yet all that light,
Fading away into the darkness
is what it exists to do.
The glass half empty
or the glass half full
Doesn’t matter cause the moon’s too far.
Too far for a normal’s reach.
Perhaps that’s why it’s there,
for artists to reach.
Most of us have been to the moon.
Because living is beautiful art too.
95 · Dec 2020
Poetry II
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Poetry is the simplicities of life.
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