A temporary abode
Built in the void
of a misguided heart
A life littered
With casualties
Of unbridled pretense
Callous and cruel
Daylight persecutes
The hands that held

Endlessly
Searching for your face
In a crowded place
He will never forget
How the sun rises and sets
In your eyes.

Fervour tapered lingering
On that ******* precipice
Of alleged possibility

Devoured by the jaws of silence
The soul no longer raged
A nothingness that knew no words
Agony’s cold grip
Winter in December

I knew not what to with these hands
Their weightlessness
Weeping willows drowned out sound
Perfected in my dead
Loosening the grapple on the promise
Of a hazy tomorrow.

Notions of romance
Set my being ablaze
As the sun rose up from the east
Idealism bloomed
In the barren
Lands of my heart  

Farther ascent to the heights
Of obsession and want
What occupied my mind
Before it was consumed
With thoughts of you

That autumn
I wrote only of desire
I wrote of you.

Envisaged realities
Dangling before eyes
Fading away
Out of reach
In pursuit of glory
Teetering on the
On the edge
Of reason and insanity
The long sharpened probe of fear
The awakened dreamer
Plummeting out of sight.

Poetry gushing out
From a severed artery
Everything is bleeding
Away from me.

The late afternoon sun
Whose heat dusk
Would soon to absorb
Sifted through the window
Exposing particles of dust
Lightly strewn
On the glistening cement floor
Of the passageway
It must have been September

Daisied grass beneath my feet
Ladybird crawling
Along my fingertip
A fleet of autumnal birds
On the wing
Above me in their hundreds
Their remedying cadence
Humming and resonating
In my head
It must have been September

Swathed in the air of content
And absence of dissonance
Silently without warning
The light of september
Faded with the light of day
To bore the fathomless
The eruption of chaos
When my coin flipped
As I slept
Happiness or sadness
Out of my hands.

A little over a year ago while scrolling the vortex that is the internet I stumbled upon this website, never had I thought of myself as someone who was eloquent in their writing but somehow the words came to me (what a cliché I know). What I lacked in my heart, I am convinced was the stimulus that made the words flow and there I was contemplating posting something that I had written weeks back, so exactly a year ago today I posted my first poem, I’d like to think of it as a mere writing, I have never considered myself as a poet but if I am ever so lucky to be squeezed into a group of poets, I’d be delighted. It’s been a pleasure to be exposed to a variety of poets whose words I resonate with and draw inspiration from.

Below is Pieces of string the very ever first writing I posted on here, an unedited, inferior piece of writing but I’d like to believe I have gotten better this past year.

Thank you for your kind words that fuel moral and make one have faith in their abilities. To you all I say keep scribing, as will I.


PIECES OF STRING

Pardon me if this does not
make any sense
Do you ever feel like you
spend your life constantly
Putting together pieces
Of broken string
You never really solve
Any of your problems instead
you just mend where there are
loose ends but the knot is
never tight enough to last long
because at some point the
string breaks and you repeat and
repeat and…..


Do you ever feel like a piece of
string…
Liable to break,
You once were strong
You once had a resilient mind
Now every little land slide
Causes you to break
And each breakdown is
Different because the more
you have them
The more they take a toll on you
Crushing you
Leaving only what’s left of you
A scared little girl with a soul
That was once full of life but now
Just shrivel and cold.

Hundreds of pieces of strings
are strewn on the floor
And they resemble how you have
failed to control and contain
your life.
They resemble tried and failed ideas that did not
work out
One solution fails you
grab another string
To put your life back together
It fails
you grab another one
And so on.

What happens
When you run out of string? Disintegrate?
No
Because you’ve done that a
thousand times already
It’s all a vain attempt
To escape yourself
So you fantasize
About hanging on a string
You quickly dismiss that thought
because even though
You don’t know who you are
You do know that is not
The type of person you are

You decided to stick
around why? Curiosity. That is
the reason you’re still here.

Indifference lingering
In the catacombs
Of my mind
Diffidence hissing
Proclaiming it's presence
Midnight's cold embrace
As I stand
On the precipice of probability.

Across the meadow
Halation stretched
As the sun kissed the bay
The sound of waves
Murmuring in the distance
Where like whispers
Falling on ears eager
For reassurance
Soothing, forgiving
Mending the very fabric of existence
Once shredded
Beyond repair

Mother nature had just
Birthed September
Along with the rudiments
Of designing a new dawn.

Cradling the night
Beneath whispers
Of consequence

Expunged from the realm
Of unruffled gaiety
Entangled in the womb
Of wrathful shadows
There it goes
The fleeting light

July's soft murmur
Gave way to
August's howling
Obscured by boisterous
Moans of the wind
Screams turned into
Subdued yawns

Shrivelled leaves
Whose life the sun absorbed
Succumbed to the devastation
In all their grandeur
Scattered on the ground
In delicious hues
All they epitomised was
Inevitable gut-wrenching ends

Blind optimism bloomed
To tend to the wounds
Reeling in drawn-out decay
Autumn pain
Demanded to be felt.

Defeaned by the riotous
Expansion and contraction
Of my own heart
The anxious pulsing
Of the red though veins
Sending me into an automatic State of unremitting unease

It roars and bleeds
In a melodramatic fashion
It's infinite desires reverberate
Relentlessly in my head
I cannot contain it
I cannot contain
The hurt it harbours

I do not want to see him
As just another dim-eyed
Figure fading into the crowd
Of the morning scamper
To burdening occupations
That, would break my heart

I have watched this boy  
This man  
Assemble the spare parts
As sadness dripped down his chin
And his,
Was an obvious struggle
The pain was not my own
Yet it consumed me
To the point of harbouring Irrational guilt

In the midst of misfortune
That seeped down from the
Forefathers we share
All his days
His blithesome temperament
Never withered

With all this I hold
All I forget to cherish
That someone
Should have been him
The one standing on these heights.