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watching for air                              a mad thing of static to do
unwashed  i hold it all foreign   my perspectives clothed as the enemy
an agreed muscle of tension       with pockets fracked into my hands 
i look out the window   wide agape guidance                                                     invasive drills of heat   the giving sunlight ; punishing,
a tree,   the grieving buildings
the whinging of cicadas
and here i am     watching for air

one point for the weather                                                      
one­ point for the view                                                            
­one big point for my ****** condition                                
one point for the passers by and their galling dramedies

and there it is ; the wiry plan that's built                        
from one small tickle of wild thought              
                                 formed long ago
trickling to the current day
some whipped wit of poisoned psychology          
     fed to the inbreed   (welcome   you panting imp)
decades of saved up fatty layers
a deed   of habitual sediment
retching until the tide laps become still
   a cured and congealed gladness
marbled, a butcher would say
i am full and hearted and heated and padded senseless
        turned under a heel   with my wastrel history
  i’ve accomplished this     a stifled condition
                               of poisoned obscenity

seated deep        almost fully incapacitated  
in my armchair   on this chummy day
my leisure clothes greasy     sluck against my blemished hide
a packet of cigarettes   to my side
rounded upon  by sounds of the neighbours affairs
with a gasp of energy   i 'skin one off' vigorously
my system trembling   with years of hard liquor
borderline   to a state of unconscious whelm
retained final       prime for ignition
i could manage a spectacle
a blinding flare
                                  a glorious incineration
and the release
                      of my true oder

i light a match for my cigarette
a glass bottle                                                                                  
         and not simply shatter       with  '*******' explosion    
(though it is an option)

imagining the worst sinnings in the rooms surround
Pinkmoon Apr 2022
The invisible years, they arrive after menopause
You'll see.  It will happen to you in time.
Left behind.  Left alone.
Now I wonder if I am imaginary?
The energy it drains, stepping through the day.
The Demon of loneliness demands attention.
I doubt my existence.  There is no one loving me.
There is no "love."
The cruel Magician of depression begins
disappearing me.
And I no longer care.  
I will crawl off this Earth alone.
suffering in the human condition.
Ram Varma Aug 2015
She climbed
Out of the debris,
Face smeared in soot.
A lone trickle
Of blood
Down her temple,
Dried yet red.
Her clothes ragged,
Her chest bare,
She staggered
Towards shelter
As though dancing
To music
Of sirens that
Rent the air.
Collapsing in a heap,
She looked up
To the offer
Of a drink
Of water that
She sipped
Her lips
Curved into
A solitary smile
Of gratitude.
© Ram Varma @TheRKVarma
old willow Jan 2022
Life have my heart drenched;
In what, I do not know.
Often I feel lonely; like branches laying on shallow water.
When the water is muddy, it’s difficult to see my heart;
When it pulse, ripples arise.
The moon is my sole partner;
Yet extending my hand — like life, illusionary.
Water paved where we stand,
Like sand, time drips through our grasp.
We as people are no different from common grasses.
Bipolar Poet Oct 2021
And I cry like all'
Laugh the loudest alone:
Smile with the crowd'
Talk big-
With my words so small.
Different when' no one is around.
Winds soft and tranquil,
Cherishes quietly, memories and lost innocence.
Walls scribbled with unheeded promises,
Long Forgotten.
Weeping woman, old and clothes tattered.
Tragedy hugged and smiling son waned.
-My Friend-
Waned son smiling and hugged tragedy,
Tattered clothes and old, Woman Weeping
Forgotten long
Promises unheeded with scribbled walls.
Innocence and memories quietly cherishes,
Tranquil and soft winds.
word unit palindrome
Wait for me, I will follow you to
Wherever you and I can pursue,
A life not bounded by domestic walls,
A love which can flow amid the stream of false.
Alas!! It sounds too good to be true.

Implore me with a beautiful view,
Where we can walk in the dawning dew.
As the sun rises, let us come to a pause.
Wait for me…

In winters I wish you could help me sew
A sweater, while warm broth shall I brew.
As nigh draws the end, let age be the cause,
For the night to grieve for our loss.
Alas if it is too much to ask you?
Wait for me…
Eloisa May 2021
In my solitary hours,
haunted by the silence
of this silvery river,
with trees scattered on its banks
I heard soft whispers
from every leaf.
A soft and peculiar chant,
mumbling sorrows and despair to
my melancholic soul.
My swift glimpse on the silent, still water revealed
a stranger,
A girl though left lucid yet
drowned and lost.
Silenced by the heavy
ripples of grief,
Dim thoughts began to steal
the river’s song.
Now I’m slipping into the water depths,
In the midst of these soundless murmurs,
all alone.
I stopped for a while and heaved a heavy sigh,
The woods were as wide as the endless sky.
The winter noon seemed to be buzzing with life,
It seems I am lost in the wilderness wild.

The birds chirped as a soft breeze of wind waved past,
For how long will this moment seem to last?
The winter evening draws a curtain to the buzzing life,
It seems I am lost in the wilderness wild.

The dense paradise of solitary comfort is deep,
And the path I walk is too steep.
The winter night recites a tale of my plight,
It seems I am lost in the wilderness wild.

I stopped for a while and heaved a heavy sigh,
It seems I am lost in the wilderness wild.
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