my past self was afraid
that letting you go
meant letting go of
a piece of myself.

I wish I could tell her:
that is how you will
finally
Find Yourself.

I never thought I could love
Anyone else.
But when I shiver
You make me warm.
You gently blow
On the dying ember
He left behind.

She stays in the grey zone
Figuring out her next move
Torn between two guys
A decision she has to choose;
One or the other

The former wants her back
The latter just wants what’s best for her
Just want to see her crossing off
Her life goals, one by one
Even if it meant losing to her past whom she constantly tries to run away from

He hides his pain behind a smile
A facade he almost got away with
If not for his promise with her
Every time he mutters “I’m fine”,
He’s dying a little inside
A hell of a ride, the sports car we got on
Albeit too fast yet so comfortable

Almost gave in twice to the torture
Her warmth got him back on his feet
Fueling his desire to carry on the struggle
Though right now, every step taken is with absolute resolution as the pain slowly turns numb

...
it is really
interesting imagination
what happened
if there would not be
the process of germination
it is also out of imagination
if god changes the process
of parturition
put on halt all the inception
and forget the practices
of termination
~~~
god blessed us
the process
of creation
sustenance
and deterioration
but what we offered
to the almighty
we, in the name of  
scientific research
and  new inventions
always put forth
doubts  and ambiguous questions
~~~
never put on complete faith
on the lotus feet
of our creator
although  making all our efforts
to vanish the god's formulation
this is the time when
we have to introspect
our  accusation and conviction
and follow such doctrine
which will lead us
on the path of creation
...

(c) deovrat - 16.04.2018

I won’t. I’ll try.
But ultimately it won’t happen.
I’ll sit here with good intentions
I’ll feel optimistic and chipper.
And then I’ll forget

In the end my goal is to improve
But just like many other projects
It’ll end up on the curb.

But I’ll certainly try.
So let’s make this day one.
Perhaps we’ll get to a “good enough” number.

head hung low in the shower after a day without power,
hot streams of water meld with tears,
one cleansing, the other demoralizing, but combined are indiscernible.

fear is to abstract to express the response to the trials of the day,
clumped into the categories of emotions taught in the horrendous brick,
the trauma of being unknown, unloved, ignored and ridiculed is inexplicable.

mortification is more accurate,
mortified of being late,
mispeaking,
failing,
derailing.

what happens when one overflows?
succumbs to express feeling, express humanity?
bursting from pent-up anxiety?
mockery, for being weak, for being honest.

So I trudge day after day,
Say words I don’t mean,
Put on the facade of happiness,
Do my best to please, but always just annoying
Yet no matter what I do,
The resolution is the same,
Returning to the wretched shower.