I started to tell the lie that shes fine and that shes okay
She's a little bit sick that's why she looks so down today.
But she's not fine and this feeling wont go away
That aching feeling that makes her chest drown in its own blood
That little spark of hope washed away within the flood
Her grounds were shaking yet I still lied
Her soul was crumbling every part of her died
But she tries her hardest to laugh and joke
I was just there to make sure on her lies she didnt choke
I just wish there was something I could have done to make it alright
But I left her stranded on her battle field losing her own fight
She didn't break down until she was alone in her room that night
She scratched at her wrist wishing it would be the last
The last time that she remembered her old haunting past
She felt sleepy so she slept not thinking it would be her last
She died right there she died alone drowning in her past.

#Gray

As the eastward Monsoon winds blow
Dark clouds hover above
The summer sunshine fading
Dawn and dusk now look alike -
In the same nightly hue.

Inside, my insides echo a nasty white noise
Of the rain birds' incessant caws

Lightning flashing, illuminating some
Darkest corners - wh're I haven't ventured yet
A rapturous thunder, in shocked wonder
I break into a silent sweat
As the pregnant cloud precipitates
My frozen heart aches - in shades myriad
- An unwilling contrast against the crystal clear vapour of a cloud
surrendering itself as the monsoon rain!

The heard wrenches - in agony
With each thawing drop of rain
Of a lost hope and frozen wish
A facade of happiness, I feign.

Another dull winter day painfully crawls away
       into garden-variety biography
          just a run-of-the-mill résumé
          filled with antecedents whilom
          and to top it up
          a corrosive impostor syndrome.

I lie quietly in the flickering, yellow light
of a jaundice-stricken forty-watt bulb
trying to think about something superb
which would somehow improve
the way things do (or do not) move
in my achromatic life.

Nothing worthwhile emerges.

Only some vague urges act out
from their stingy hideouts.

The clock pushes the evening further
into the dry, arid chill of the night so still.
I sigh and switch off my ghost-like
sleepy, vapid eyes
into the ancient time-line
of a vast, un-bridged solitude
in my quarantined, immotile life.

© Chandra S., 1995

face up on the ground
rain hits my face
i have been here before
lying in the mud
slowly enveloping me
like a hug
or perhaps more like a boa constrictor
my skin pulls upward
towards the stars
towards light
while my bones want nothing more
then to be laid to rest

Passion is carefree, often buoyant.....breezy,
and is absolved perpetually of prohibitory rationality.

Being logged in to it for a little over eternity,
this is exactly how I have felt:
intense, steamy
...maybe a bit frenzied.

Passion is also a sudden, swift salvo.
On many a fleeting occasion, ergo;
I have come perilously close
to suggesting my maudlin ardor
and poetically propose
an incredible romance,
which if you dismiss;
shall break my heart in two
and if not;
shall break a home or two.

It is like this therefore,
that I have come to feel
like an outlawed fugitive
and as if in the wink of an eye,
a million lonesome nights have passed,
sorely bruising and tearing me apart
between the hearth and the heart.

Tonight:
the first one after those million;
I am transcribing my thought
to tell you that I am hooked,
as though in a playback loop -
      a weary, age-old vinyl record;
      pitching forward, skipping backward
      in a pestering, irksome Xerox
      of scratches, static and blips;
      all in the same little sector
      where there was once music.

❉

Maybe that is why I surprisingly realize
the pain of passion, and slowly capsize
into a drifting, dry sleep

devoid of all dreams

of you.


© Chandra S., 2013

In my mind I say what I mean
And mean what I say.
But my actions could speak otherwise.
Am I a hypocrite if my mind is far greater than my own two hands?

Am I helpless if I know what to do,
But my body won’t move according to plan?

Am I deluded if I think I can
When I can’t,
Or if I think I can’t,
When I can?

Am I who I am
Or am I what I am?