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  Dec 2020 Radhika Krishna
The rain is pouring,
an orchid is drowning,
and you are still sleeping
Radhika Krishna Dec 2020
Sleep, fair lady, sleep
The floor will be good to you
No need to wax sorrowful anymore
The temple stone is cold on your cheek, but not on your heart
At the height of your gloom and despair
No beacon of light shall appear
No promises shall I give to you
Only a contrived sigh
I am no pleaser, no compassionate misery
So sleep, fair lady, sleep
The floor will get you through
The moon and the stars will be there instead
I am no companion for you
The wind( if only it were gentle)
Will echo your laments through and through
I cannot be there for you
Radhika Krishna Dec 2020
Today I woke and couldn't stop thinking
Of fear
Inside the car, it was all quiet
I saw abandoned buildings
With their windows stripped
Bricks gaping like a flesh wound
The streets were empty, unforgivingly bare
All this stony silence
Felt like I was in a ghost town
And I couldn't stop thinking
Couldn't stop thinking
I felt the seconds widen
I filled my heart with poison
Where was I?
I saw all the signs of impending doom
Throbbing and pulsing
And then we just zoomed past it all
There was nothing. Just a nothing town.
Funny how a nothing can hold so much of something
For all my melancholy musings
All I did was go home
And write poems about dead people on the rooftop
Wouldn't you have liked to find me up there
When I went to sleep and dreamed about them once again
  Dec 2020 Radhika Krishna
𝑳𝒖𝒏𝒂! 𝑳𝒖𝒏𝒂, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 //
𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 / 𝒆𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔𝒆𝒅 / 𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅
𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕

𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆 ~ 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒔
𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆
𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔
𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒖𝒎 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔
𝒂𝒔 𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒓

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒄 𝒐𝒓𝒃𝒊𝒕
𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆
𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒛𝒂
𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒆𝒄𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚
𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕’𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏
𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒂

𝑶 𝑳𝒖𝒏𝒂, 𝑳𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆
𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒓
𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈
𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒓

~ eli.
A tragic romance between a boy and the moon.
© Ayana (11/05/2020)
Radhika Krishna Dec 2020
My hands hurt, my hands tremble
My hands itch, my hands scratch
My hands drag, my hands drag
My hands push, my hands shove
My hands bend, my hands break
My hands scream, my hands implore
My hands are cut off under the gleam of the midnight oil
My hands are cold, my hands are still

I will never see them again.
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