Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Mar 13 CJ Sutherland
Ankush
Standing up front
Watching the  eyes
Looking in depths
Deep inside,
Finding meaning
As to nothing ,
Exploring with hope
Core to those eyes ,
Found the reflection-
The reflection of mine.

The strange curious eyes
Of mine watching the eye
To those of mine and
so to ME
Exploring the self  into the
Core ,
Like a boat amidst
the sea .
I asked the mirror what do u reveal
"In response it just reflected me" .
A simple revelation, attachment leads to wrong perception of something which is not true , aloof it's own meaning and nature.  You can't find your self in your mere reflection, it's just your physical apperance.
 Mar 13 CJ Sutherland
Ankush
The thunder , fell upon clouds
The clouds ,started growling  aloud
The shadows falls,
As the sun was hidden
The trees were  stiffen.

The waves grew still, their rhythm destroyed,
An endless echo, a vast, dark void.
The way peace mused,
It Made him annoyed.

He was a pirate ,
in the clouds
He sailed,
Born with a sword,
and chaos
Embraced.

He was a fighter for peace,
He fought,
But never saw it front....
He sailed distant clouds
But never was stunned ,
He was annoyed with peace .
He longed to soar through waves
And clouds to pierce
And  the pirate who gave him fight
So fierce.

The sword which he lived by,
The blood that it missed by
If it is not peace , he thought
Then what is it for which
He fought.

He was confused to sail
Backed no wind ,
To row they fail.
He saw the sun settling
With sorrow ,
As he hoped for another
Day from God to borrow.

At distant in his heart
A never ending beat....
Dry throat ,
numb eyes,
Sweat a drop ,No summer & heat
Smiling with lips
As he uttered
" Is it a pirate's defeat"!?
 Mar 13 CJ Sutherland
Ankush
I trusted your name,
So You never killed me,
Never I did either.
What do you have to say ?

Yes,
I killed you.
And I made you suffer.

I was 15,
you were same,
I watched your eyes...
And mine in rain,

I am sorry if
You were in pain  ,
my brother ..
you felt that never,

Your eyes were numb,
Nothing that now ,
That makes me better.

I killed you,
my brother...

I was looking at you,
But you were not,

I am not sure if
I missed you a lot.

There was no blood ,
No body.

If you were in fear..
Waiting there,

All in the woods
Staring stairs,

Had I come down then .....
You would not starve then,
Would you have still waited , then?

What do I do now?

Where have you gone .

You killed me ,my brother,
As you made me suffer ,
From the pain you dealt me
I will never be better.
I wrote this poem as a reflection on guilt and the weight of an unchangeable past. The "killing" isn't physical—it's something deeper, an abandonment or a failure that feels just as irreversible. There was no blood, no body, yet the loss was real. The repetition of "my brother" makes it personal, but whether he was real or a part of myself is left unanswered. Could I have done something differently? Would it have changed anything? I don’t know. What I do know is—I will never be better.
 Mar 13 CJ Sutherland
Ankush
A lovely she is..
I watch her all day.

From dawn to next day,
I wait in dismay.

Each sunset I stare,
My white window's view.

I can not find her.

Each night i spent,
And of each day's lament,
More i want to know,
The meaning of the white,
Window engraved.

This white wall ,
And the white window.

It's too shiny,
The bright coating.
Its viscous colour,
Dripping ,
drop by drop,

I can't seem to break by,
Halting and trying,
rock by rock.

I do have a chair to rest,
But I wait for her,
standing,
By window's view ,
& I wait.

I do have the other wall,
I do have another window,
But I can't seem to make myself
Break through the white wall,

While by the moonlight,
I stare her shadows engraved.

Why this white wall,
Seems a storm to the
Beautiful rainbow,
And if i all i could is wait
Then Why is this white window?

A lovely she is..
I watched her all day.
 Mar 13 CJ Sutherland
Ankush
I stare at stars waiting patiently,
For it to come to me as it blinks,
Through My eyes which is humid,
I wait in the dry wind.
I stood up tired , as I wait the
Clouds to be  cleared , and the stars
It Hid,
I want the stars again to shine
And the moon to dwell the sky as it
Caress it , all I do now is longing for
Peace that bestowed once upon me !
I awoke from the dream, slowly fading,
with only one image remaining:
As I fished, in a lake, on a boat,
police brought up a body
disfigured by bloat.
A man, with his features erased,
leaving an unrecognizable face.
But then I saw the tattoo…could it be..you?
Sodden and bloated from all of your drinking
your body, heavy,  slowly sinking,
until you descended to the bottom below.
The water is also the sum of my tears.
The dream a depiction
of my sorrows  and fears.
Awake, I know that you’re not dead.
But there’s an emptiness
in my heart and my head.
Dreams take many feelings and thoughts and experiences and condense them into a single image.
It’s a simple rule: Why things don’t go
as they should.
The bad drives out the good.
The internet, cities or democracy--
everything becomes dominated
by the dumb, the vile and the lazy.

Instead of community, the web
is **** and hate.
Time can’t run backward; there’s no recourse,
It’s too late.
The bad apples poisoned the tree.
You, out there, ruined it all for me.

Democracy has become mob rule,
and the mob prefers a tyrant, a demagogue, a fool.
City Hall is occupied by panderers and jerks.
Public office for them is just a way to get some perks.
A crass madman on Pennsylvania Avenue
doesn’t represent me–but maybe you.
That’s what the mob wants–someone just like them.
And when it leads to disorder, collapse, mayhem,
they invent a paranoid conspiracy theory.
But it’s not complicated. We made insanity easy, and free.
Now we have the rule of the dumb, the vile and the lazy.
And we call it democracy.
People aren’t equal. We all forgot this truth.
We let the mob take over. I guess we needed proof.
Proof that the old adage is as true as ever.
Have they ruined everything good forever?
There was a stain on my shirt,
Small and pebble-sized,
Barely visible to the naked eye.
But I could feel it above
My heart, and I pressed my hand
To it, trying to cover
Any semblance of imperfection—
I rubbed cold water
Into the fabric, anxiety-ridden
As I scrubbed, scrubbed,

Scrubbed, looking over my shoulder,

As if I would be caught
For a crime unintentionally committed.
I should have known
That washing my faults in worldy water
Would never remove
The stains it had caused. I soaked the
Cloth in tears and
Kneeled before my Father, bowed. 

“Make me new,”
I said, “In your love, Lord, make me
Who you intended me
To be in the womb.” I cried.
The fabric remained
The same, for it was only a shirt,
But my heart began
To thaw and the wounds marring it
From every sin
I tried to hide from God, were
Gently stitched together
With new, soft flesh, in His love.
Next page