The cycle of life;
The journeys we traverse,
etched in our bodies:
tattoos of the well-lived
loved and even loathed.
That’s a full life, isn’t it?
Leaving traces of our existence.

Há anos nasci
Porém pouco vivi
Vidas criei
Nenhum retorno ganhei
Na sombra de minhas cinzas deixei que vivessem
Suas vidas medíocres
E sem sentido que os dei

you're in the final rest
before the ground swallows you back
whole, in pieces
stacked on top of yourself,

you,
a huddle as dense as your bones are hollow
a refuge for bugs that fear the light
a lesson for curious hands

weeds inter-stitch between the tiny gaps that you allow
they may be the last life you care to pierce your skin
and the next life that proudly takes over

you,
you cannot give without also being taken

your final rest, so sure and surely uncertain
it is yours, before the bugs come to feast for the last time
yours, before the curious hands set you ablaze
to help them see better at night

it is yours,
as it is a space that you occupy

winter’s chilled stillness,
atoms in ice bundling tightly together
senesced trees, rotted flowers
songless birds, misted sunlight
crushed leaf step, a coat tightened

memories or dreams
What is the difference to me
light or illusion
it all seems the same to me
lie in the shade,
count gray clouds and decayed petals

page turn page turn
the pictures keep flipping
damp moisture dripping insistently
consistency, mortality
totality and ending
happen time and again
true end, broken wheel
impossible,
flickering sparks jump from the ash pile

yellow daisy river sways in the breeze
blonde beauty white dress she runs her fingers over the petals
cicada song, buzz on lilac tongue

Blue skies sun peaked over head
No clouds a kiss of wind
Direction, arrows on a compass
Point to where and why
Startled doves rise divides the mind eye
Motion and stillness
Control and fluidity

Someone pulled me closer,
when you pushed me away.
When you told me to get lost,
someone asked me to stay.

Tell me what I did wrong?
Tell me what I did right?
One threw me into the dark,
and the other, into the light.

While you counted my flaws,
someone loved me anyway.
While you ruined my nights,
someone saved my day.

Tell me what I did good?
Tell me what I did bad?
One made me the happiest
and the other, only sad.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj

A cry for help:

I'm sinking, I'm sinking
Into an ephemeral blink -
Stains and strains of time,

Oh colourless ink.

Dry relief rains:

This pain
                     will wane,
Why worry
                       in vain?
Death lurks
                      in all works.

Don't let it drive you insane.

And to think of those with one choice, already chosen for them
When I have freedom

My freedom is prison
The clock moves forward
Everyday
it keeps taking me back
to that loneliest hour
I can’t stop breathing, even if I tried

Something in the air just weighs me down
A flower watered to death.

Seasons come and go,
Each year it's the same.
If only people changed like the seasons.
Winter, Summer, Autumn, Spring;
Each one holds a secret,
It's own special magic.

Winter holds a promise that there is
Life after Death.
Spring ignites a spark; a sliver of
Hope and a pinch of Joy for healing.
Autumn holds the key to
Eternity,
And Summer is the Epicenter of
The Magic.
Summer is the result; the After-life;
It is Rebirth.

Seasons change, and people do too,
But it's a pity - a shame - that people
Don't change the same way.
People are too unpredictable; we change
Our minds too many times, we change
Our Destinies every day.

Seasons don't.

Seasons accept their constant cycle;
Their Natural Pattern.
People will never be like the Seasons.
I guess that's what makes us all
Unique.

In this way
We are Designed -
Crafted, Molded.

Seasons harbour a Secret;
It's own special Magic.
We too, are our own special Magic.

Winter promises Life after Death,
People are promised Happiness after Depression.
Spring ignites a spark of Joy for Healing,
People are promised Joy and Healing after Pain
And Suffering.

Autumn holds the key to Eternity,
People are promised Eternity in the Promised Land.
Summer is the Epicenter; the After-life,
And people are the Epicenters of their own lives.

We are our own Masters of Catastrophe.
People are Reborn in Faith.

Looking at it now, maybe we are much like
The Seasons.

We are predictable in our unpredictability.
This is our prized Possession.
This is our kind of Magic.

People have seasons, people are seasons.
Winter is our Darker side,
Spring is our Healing,
Summer, our Euphorical - blissful side,
Autumn, our Procrastination, our Changing,
Our Learning.

Just like the Seasons, we change;
We mold our Futures and become who we are meant
To be;
We become part of a Cycle.

Leave me by an impasive shore so that I may be tooken by the waves
Let my body drift on sorrowful waters as the sun meets my gaze
Burn my iris to where I no longer see no evil nor no good light
Cramp my bones so that they no longer have the urge to fight
Barge your sorrows into the tender house of my lungs
Replete me with depression and smite me with your tongues
Opening scars that bleed out in vain
Stress blocking my mind to thoughts inhumane
and beliefs I might actually give in to spreading myself thin        
But I don't and I float to the shore once again