#scripts
scraps and scrapes of
scripts,
from tears and zippered weeping of
rips,
lie upon my consciousness like pimpled
irritants,
begging for compassion wetness of
completetedness,
but time is a bitchye mistress, fools not with
suffering,
so herein dispatched one of many driftwoods
dispatched
and let us say
who’s up next. Amen!
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 10:29 AM UTC
Lights haven’t looked like this
Since I was in my teens
Messing around with my hood rat friends
*** and amphetamines
I took a handful of Blue Dolphins
That were thirteen bucks a pop
If we bought ‘em in bulk, I guess
As we did more often than not
Or maybe a few of the triple stacks
Red something-or-others, I think
They didn’t work on me this time around
‘Cause I threw ‘em up in the sink
Now I am in my thirties
And my scripts **** with my brain
I know I am speeding my ***** off
But at least I feel like old times again
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 10:42 AM UTC
Scripts has been written and became rotten…
Words are abandoned and forgotten…
Papers are withered and paled away…
Feelings are faded and hugged by lost!
And
Trying to find meaning was not easy…
It ends up trying to find myself…
It is not in love only…
It is not in money only…
It is not in fame only….
It is not in anything if you are not in everything in this life!
Go all the way…..
Your quest won’t be the same always!
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 11:13 AM UTC
If my messy letters and my haywire words
don’t speak my stories to you,
if my commas hanging down the lines and my full-stops flying away from them
add no essence to my tales for you,
if my chaos and my strangled thoughts aren’t strong enough
for you to let down your walls,
if all you see in my writing is scribbles,
then, for you, I’m a whole universe waiting to be unfolded…
Read my words,
because their silence would scream my mysteries out to you;
look at those syllables,
they would unfurl my world before you;
feel my scripts,
they would echo the colors I hold within.
Read what I write,
and behold my words paint my worlds before you...
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
When an illusion becomes a reality
The whole idea of existence is shrouded
In the mysterious clues we are given
Unearthed from the remains ancient
Many hypotheses which float around
Mystic lands which once existed
So many exposed to the light of day
Many more still cradled within the layers
Many interpretations, ancient chronicles
Dates back to time immemorial
Many sources and many more tales
The soul of the scripts lost long ago
None will come to know the real sentiments
Mired in the deepest secrets of yesteryear
Historians’ favorite child, philosophers guide
We can only come up with our understanding
Spend a lifetime deciphering between the lines
Many centuries of hidden anecdotes
We can only reconstruct what we decipher
We may not be close to the real meaning
The custodians have whisked away the heart
And soul of the entire episodes
Leaving us between the vagueness
Papyrus holds the words, without the meanings
Not sure of the real feelings and emotions
Maybe a rendezvous with the chroniclers
If we can travel back in time
And enter the ethereal world of these histories
Can reveal the truth and exact sentiments
Till that time, we have to live with our inferences
Maybe we are way off the mark
In a different trajectory, away from the core
An illusion we may have created form our cognizance
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
The multitude is flowing ahead
Teeming with dreams and hope
Crammed, with little place to move
There is dearth of space in the mind
Physically, we are reaching fatigue
What do we have for choice?
The power to choose is taken away
Our choices influenced by publicity
Duplicating a parallel world of feel good
Yet, deep down we are queasy
Something is not right, not identifiable
Blinded by the dazzles of show- biz
As if, all the actors are being directed
Chosen to play a role, not ours to choose
Memorizing written scripts, to deliver
Speeches which are not ours, we feel
Our dreams invaded, and manipulated
Our originality, suppressed in the makeup
Masquerading, our inner thoughts and ideas
Repeating the same role everyday
Delivering the scripted dialogues
Keeping in mind that we are here for audience
Our originality and individuality torn apart
Our original script has gone down the shredder
Who has the energy to pick up the pieces?
To join, the strewn dreams and live in a new way
We are just a created avatar, directed, indirectly
Of what we love, wear, eat, and live our life
Swept away by the waves of multitude
Individuality is relegated to the dark confines
Where can we start searching, our real counterpart?
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
There's nothing you can give me that is strong enough to stand
The things I cause myself to feel, I'm holding my own hand
And if there's any mercy left I don't know where it is
I only sense its presence when I barely want to live
Between the waves of heaviness my head & heart collide
Instead of showing anything I try to run and hide
The days are catching up to me, I shiver and I shake
I cannot mask the fever that is keeping me awake
I've written down so many words I partially explain
Reduce the possibility of going half insane
The backwardness of this becomes a trigger made of ink
I swallow it because I can't remember how to think
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC