Have no despair during the Reign of Donald Trump!
After all,
Isn't Hatred and Delusion a Good Combination?
It's like Taking a Hit off your Meth Pipe
While under the Influence of LSD!

redberries Sep 13

Memories from a lifetime ago
Seems beautiful innocent and happy. 

All I seem to want to do 
Is go back
And hide among the curtains of white sheet.

So familiar 
So sheltered

An urge to flip through photo albums 
Gentle touch on faces that are strange yet peaceful

But it is all gone now 
Like waking up from a dream 
Then given evidence of the once-reality
How am I not to confuse it with a dream 
When all that fell apart 
Was the moment that door slammed shut 

Picture frames on the walls dropped to the ground
Just like how she dropped to the ground 
Leaving two kids standing hand in hand 
despite constant fights the sister has
One clueless on the surface burying it deep
And one helpless heartbroken ever since
With a baby girl weeping from their bedroom

The first betrayal happened 
before the young learnt of all the evils that exists
He too died that moment
From then on they grieved 
The child dont dare ask about the fairytale 
When she saw her empty eyes staring into space

From time to time 
A familiar-faced benefactor come along 
The ghost brought little warmth and support 
“I am turning out fine” she whispered with every step she takes

him - the only confirmation she gets
for her clueless questions about the princess-like life

once upon a time, I was a princess loved by both my parents, my dad especially. I felt like a princess, I lived like a princess, I was treated like a princess. However, the dream gone. Like a page teared from a book. No longer true no longer existing. But only in memories or people walked across from that to this life.
Thia Sep 13

Night Train, travel through the world unknown
The black hills with a maroon sky thick behind it
The metallic sound of friction valiantly losing battle to the poignant silence
Night Train, write an epic of the hands that cup around the eyes
Of the eyes that talk to the distant light
Of the lights that blink and the ones that stay still
Night Train, don't slow down for each breath falls faster than the wind outside
Night Train, don't slow down for the still is more piercing than the dark blades of grass lying far below
The rhythmic oscillation of the half sleeping bodies stacked one above the other
The threatening aura of the stiff backbones stoically awake
The lone observer is lost in the nightly delusion
Night Train, chronicle a dark fantasy of the broken fragments the night narrates
Night Train, stop, send a jolt, deaden the incantations
Before the dawn or its harbingers intrude

This piece of poetry is about how the night looks like for a passenger on a sleeper class Indian train. I remember the first time I boarded a train I was six years old. I was travelling to Dehradun and it was a long journey, around 36 hours. 36 hours on a train with bunk beds to sleep in, I felt like a gipsy travelling in a caravan. When the night fell I stayed awake. The train travelled through the countryside, acres and acres of farmland bordered by hills. That was the first time I realized, looking outside the window, that the colour black comes in so many different shades. Even though the train pierced through the night with a deafening sound but the somehow the silence and the stillness was so very prominent. At the entrance of each coach, there is a small, seemingly uncomfortable seat for the railway constables. They stay awake at night, expressionless, guarding the entrance.
Dawn is never announced by a colourful sunrise. At dawn, no rooster will wake you, no birds will sing. When at dawn the train halts at an unimportant station with a poetic name, the first thing you will hear is the "chai-chai" (in English means tea-tea) of the tea-vendors. It has a familiar melody to it. In all the different states of India, people speak a different language but wherever you go the cry "chai-chai" of the tea vendors will sound exactly the same.

The heroine of the story, I was perfect for you.
Together, inseparable just as it should be
Waves flowed over me with warmth and marvel,
storms of longing and delusion
~ oh it must be love...
But we both know its not
I see the way you look at her
I just chose to ignore it
Woe is me for being so shallow
I could nearly read 'love' on your lips
I never expected to be cast as an extra in my own film.
But I guess your story is not mine to shape...
One day i will be a heroine
I just thought i would be yours.

Do you know why I supported Donald Trump for President?
Two words:
See, being a Hog Farmer,
I'm surrounded by filth and excrement all the time.
I felt I needed some glitz and glamour on my life.
One day,
I hope to visit the  Mara Lago Resort
And present President Trump and his wife, Melania,
With one of my choicest hams........
And that's another reason why I support Trump's Muslim Ban.
Them people don't eat none of my pork!
It's Unamerican not to eat pork.
They should all get deported back to Arabia,
Or wherever the hell they came from
If you ask me.

Sun Sep 1

The stories of time grows
       even with dust
          When no listener cares
             with no touch of love
             with longing to belong
                  Every step makes a story

    And stories paint the wall
     with the monologue of
     The Time we had
     Takes the shape of a monster
    The Ticking clock yells
  at the ringing bells
  It's not the lover nor the
  mail service
   at the door
    It's the Alarm
      For counting time to work on
            Distant Delusion

                No matter if you listen
                           or not
            In this morning of September
                       I turn the radio on
                       It's not a fairy tale
                    nor the story of love
               They're  broadcasting
           The sadder news of the
             world affairs

            Dying humanity
          Sci-fi haunting
      In an  imperfect tune
   Like the rhythm
 I fight with my chaotic mind sometimes
When I can not agree with love
  but I endure
    until I meet the
      euphoric sense of silence

    Every moment counts

     I hold my eyelids for longer time
      To feel my skin awaken
       Under the sea
        I  go with the tides
         High and low
 Sometimes I am void
   I am not your adorable adjectives

                     When I fall into pieces
                          I accept those when
                            I find myself
                              in your arms
                               Imperfect me
                              Fragile, soft, falling
                          You accept all of them
                     or nothing at all

  The story of a September day
      Keep holding me aroused
       That is raw and real
       I enunciate with my eyes closed

You burdened  me with your guilt
You burdened me with your shame
You filled my Dwelling Place
With your accusations,
But there ain't nobody home
No more.
The person you hated is dead.
He has has been destroyed
By the forces
Of self-recrimination
I'll pay the price
For my involvement with you.
But if you look in my Dwelling Place
And search for me there,
You'll find
That there ain't nobody home
No more.

H Phone Jul 31

I’m obsessed with pain
Because pity comes with
Fighting my own made-up fights
“How do you know what I go through!?
How can you possibly understand!?”
I wish I could say those words
Yet they remain locked in verse
Every waking moment I rehearse
Front to back and back in reverse
Cause maybe if I keep yelling
To myself
I’ll start to believe
My own delusions
This confusion
The illusion
That I’m in pain when really I’m not

I want to hurt so that I can say:
“You’re hurting me, please go away.”
And yet I always stay

Izzy Jul 30

Endless void of articulate delusions and vicious delirious,
Dark thoughts fills crippled lungs;
Calling, screaming, find the truth,
To society shadow, the putrefied soul.

Wicked mind, weeping life,
Monstrous thoughts, haunt the mind,
Depression, misery, sees me right,
In this depraved time we call night.

Nefarious illusions of weak land;
Weep, beg, for the execution of men;
This articulate delusions hold the hand,  
Of the black torch of burned plans.

The archetype of flawless man,
See the day of the mystic shine,
Created by love of bright schemes,
And Annihilated by the thought of wicked minds.

Such Reapers haunt the barren lands,
In search for one, true light;
Mist riddled, hidden in sight,
It transforms the mind to unparalleled cry.

A poem I made a while ago. -Izzy

The People feared the Government
The Government feared Itself
Itself feared God
God feared the Devil,
But the Devil fear NO ONE!

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