I watch as the rain falls down
Each drop is the slow fall of every obstacle, waiting to meet you
As I sit under shelter I see the water shade everything it desires
It takes no mercy on any prisoner it lays its eyes on
But I am protected from the rain and its sheer coldness
The stream of water on the pavement chases after my feet
But I step away, avoiding the pain
The beauty of the rain tempts me, reminding me that I am a coward
There is nothing to fear
The damp grass, cloudy sky, moist air welcome me
It wants to shower me in love
The droplets of life only want to hold me
The rain is opening its arms and inviting me into relief
I step out...
Sadness is like sipping sea drops drowning down the trench
Sadness is the stain of rain glazed moonbeams on a bench
Sadness is my soulmate; sadness she's my willing wench
Softly singing spirits sleep when sorrows are all spent
perhaps the reason you've been attracting conditional lovers, is because you haven't been uncoditionally loving yourself
The Heart was in shock, she just couldn't believe.
The pain from The Wise is what she received,
Every emotion he felt, and every battle fought,
Any emotional event he had, is what he brought,
And upon his passing, he sent them into her head.
The pink stagnated, and began to retract,
And the pain began to turn on her, and began its attack.
She fell to her knees, and she coughed up crimson,
Every memory etched into her skin, as if it were written.
She became paralyzed, and was unable to move,
And The Mind, in the chaos, was unable to soothe.
He watched as his love changed in appearance,
Every scar a story, and every story a dance.
Her skin grew darker, but went back to pink,
With bloodied lines to establish the stories links.
She looked at her carved up hands and grew scared,
Because last time she changed The Mind no longer cared.
She stood quickly, and began to hug her torso,
The Mind knew she was scared, but he loved her more-so.
He said, "My dear, look at what you've become!
The Wise's passing cannot be undone,
But he bestowed upon you such beautiful gifts,
These aren't scars, nor are they damaging rifts.
These are marks of beauty, making you unique.
I won't leave you, unless that is what you seek."
The Heart looked at The Mind's eyes,
Only to be surprised that he spoke no lies.
The Mind walked towards his newly changed love,
He gently handed her a pair of white gloves.
He said, "These marks don't fade, and your touch will be fragile,
If you get close to anyone, you must be agile.
You grow attached far to quick,
But if you do, hopefully you have this on your wrist."
She understood what The Mind was saying,
But the price of love is one worth paying.
When The Wise passed away,
It became a dark day.
He made The Heart into his vanguard,
But at the cost of making The Heart,
The Scarred.
"Why can't you love you?"
"Because I lack perfection..."
How ridiculous!
how tranquil it feels
to know
that you have someone
who
accepts the parts of you
where
no one claps for
Suraja
310717
I still remember the way
she
laughed.
The darkness in her eyes
glowed
like
obsidian and
the edge of her joke
cut me open
like
a watermelon on a hot day.
I remember the weight
of her body,
pressing
down on me
the morning after a slumber party,
wrestling me
into
submission.
I remember stolen kisses
that meant
nothing to her.
Just girls,
flirting,
having fun...
I remember how her smile felt
like
sunshine
and her hugs
felt like bonfires
and her disdain
felt like cold water
crushing me into the dirt,
a worm at home.
One day,
when the slices of her jokes
and the cold
disdain
was all she showed me,
I packed the
petals of my love
away,
so they could dry
and fade
and be admired in their
glass
jar
resting place.
My first love
never loved me.
My first love
was unrecognizable as such.
My best friend,
I called her.
I couldn't recognize
her flaws,
I couldn't even recognize
my desire...
All I knew was her fire
and it was all I ever wanted.
Every friendship lost
was the result of my own
unrecognized identity.
All these women in my life
became
violet petals
in a glass jar,
kept in the darkest corner
of my closet.
Finally,
I can bring out my jar
and put it on my dresser
and open the lid.
Sweet fragrance fills the air.
I proudly show the
pretty scented display
to guests.
"Look at it!" I say,
begging to be recognized,
to be accepted
by everyone
who isn't me.
I finally learned
to open that jar of violets,
I finally learned to be me,
but my honesty
won't revive
what's dead
and dried.
It was a graveyard and overcast sky
and I sat with book and accordian in hand,
hearing the world with its screams
swallow up around me.
The people whom I had loved and lost,
Papa with his silver eyes
Mama her sharp tongue and tough love
Rudy whose hair the colour of lemons
and questioned why, the living and dead,
worlds apart, yet both did not have a choice.
I stood and screamed so that everything shook
the burning rubble and ash and dust
willing my words to bring it all back
but it did not come, and my breath rose in gasps.
Death had looked me in the eye and said,
“It’s not time yet.”
I would shut my eyes to the world
only decades later.
I will understand that there was hate and pain
there was sadness
but even more so, there was love and joy.
I will know that the people I loved had reason
to kiss goodbye
whether it was their own hurt
or saw it as a necessity,
but they were never truly gone from me
always somewhere nearby,
in the thick and thin
frail and worn
of times.
I would learn
to forgive Death that day.
I will understand that
and I will be hurt,
but I will be okay.
~
Not all deaths are sad.
Some, meant to ease their own pain,
Are called freedom.
While some,
Meant to ease the pain of others,
Are called love.
©BT