Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The road is long
Dreadfully so,
Broken pavements and bruised tiles
Hold out for the end,
Ambition tramples the sidewalk
A couple more steps and then a couple more.

The unruly audience lands their feet.
The orchestra on the finish line
Crescendos to the breaking tides
The gore of happenstance,
The aftermath of destiny and other
Abstract notions of victory
Belt out the song of defeat
For all but one.

We crash where the footpath ends
Comprehending the day that's not ours.
History cuts up the margins of loss
Into a glaring wound of all the wrong things.
Somedays, you exuberate all your best traits
And still end up on the grass
Where you bury your perseverance,
And the society in your head
Cheers when you lay down the casket.

The stars never fell down for you.
The sun rose like it did
In the possibilities of yesterday.
You seek the warm embrace of cold tiles
Leaning against the faucet
That races your tears to the mosaic floor.
You lost, you didn't win.
You won, you never lost.

The voices hush away as the high fades
Into a new day.
Your feet take you to the finish line again
Run, run for one more day.
Run,I'll meet you there
Where another pavement ends.
So the Wimbledon finals and the World Cup went down yesterday and the agony on the losing faces was heartbreaking.It made me sad beyond reason because everyone gave it everything but at the end of the day, the crowd didn't hail the efforts, it hailed the winners.
Vaishali Jun 23
My  hands envelope my lips
Quivering,breath laced in disbelief
Gravel, under my feet
Quicksand under his feet.
Rain, rain in the sky
There's a thud
He falls and I stare.
People,they help him up
I fall and he stares.
I died a stranger's life,
He gets up,unbridled
Rooted to my tears
My hands envelope my eyes
Because people don't die.
Silence for my epiphany
You might have to leave me
Before I leave you.
Glittering meadows and living brooks
To a broken pavement in a haunted nook
He must have run a long way here
Every night, I stare and I stare.
He looks warily young,
Too young to have sprinted
All the way to a dead end.
In the pragmatic corner of my mind,
We fall and we stare.
Vaishali Jun 10
Storm Of A Decade

A photograph of four.
Teeth glistening,
A haunting ivory
Dusted in years
Of quiescent hanging.
The night trembles
As lightning caresses
The horizon into flames
Birds screech in diquietude
at the storm of a decade
Uprooting a run down mansion
That has loved and lost its days.
Often,the rain spills
Through the crevices
Onto the carved frame.
Tonight the dark whistles,
A sombre melody
To the bright eyed Jill.
Clad in a polka dot red,
she stares at a lady
With the same shade
Of chestnut curls.
An archaic banyan,
Loses the anchor of earth
Leaning in to shatter
Some stained glass.
With a night sky for eyes
Starred over in tiny freckles
Johnny grins a feckless crescent
As drops splatter onto his desert hair.
The family sways in reverence
To the storm of a decade
Portrait of some forgotten May
Shivers and rubs in friction
Against a forgotten place.
Some wires, they tangle and twist
Some sparks,ignite the damp wood
Of a house, of four and maybe more.
The lady and the gentleman
In an **** bermuda and a straw hat
In a beautiful summer dress
Embrace their progeny,
In the storm of a decade.
The sheer moth eaten curtains
Burn in a hunger for sabotage
The rain pitter-patters
Over the ashes of a half burnt house.
The fire rages against the nonchalance
Of a silver rectangle with eight eyes.
Only a fire as mighty could celebrate
A pretty mansion that sleeps
Through the chaos of most hurricanes.
The photograph takes a last swing
And ends up on the mahogany orange.
They smile through the heat
That shatters their castle of glass
They smile in a holocene blue
An offering at the altar
Of the melancholy mansion
That has kept them smiling
As it fell into a state of subtle disrepair
As the nights got darker
Outside the frail walls.
Vaishali Jun 8
The ice melts,slowly
The seasons change.
If I could meet you
For the very first time
All over again,
I wouldn't take your pen
We would never fight again.

Stand beside me in this river
Of common history
And conflicting ideas
I can't live without you
But somedays I do.
I've pushed you to the edge
But you refuse to drown
You hold on to me
And I hold on to the you
That used to be.

We're vapours and smaug
I can't see you anymore
I drift away in silent grace
In the cold comfort
Of an impending goodbye
Your hand softens around
The blue veins on the inside
Of my wrist and I come undone
I can't tell tears from rain
And you can't tell me from the winds.
I drift away in the lackadaisical sky
Of all the **** things I chose to see
And all the ways a person can be
Just water under the bridge.

Now that I've seen your flaws
It's only fair that I don't see
Vaishali Mar 1
Peace is at war tonight
Whispers scraping my soul
Into a hatred so cold
Violence stretches a shriveled bone
Serenity lunges, war is bloodied.
My soul branded evil into cowering
And yet, it has chivalry
A pride unprecedented.

Grab, throw, parry
The night dulls and twinkles
They sneer,revel,shout
Deceit, subterfuge.
My heart a barren paracosm
Authored by ink, good and evil.
Shall the darkness embrace me
Entrance me against silhouettes alike
Till I'm a lost child in a deserted aisle
War and peace dancing like twin fires
There's three of us in the morning sky
Black, white and miss 'fairy lights'
Because war is at peace tonight.
Vaishali Feb 17
There is a shrapnel wound
At the nape of my neck
Tracing crimson deceit
In an eclectic pathway
Trickling over ridges
Of my fractured ribcage
Love is an explosion
I was the site of damage.

We were reckless hours
Crammed into ticking seconds
We raced time
Beat it to the finish line.
We were a thriller
We only got
The acknowledgements right.

I'd paint us in eloquent words
Masquerading it
Into an artform.
But we're no shooting stars
We're grotesque,****
Despicable scars.
You see
Love is seldom poetic
It's the casualties
We remember it for.
Vaishali Feb 9
Yellow, creased, torn
Raw edges emanating
The pungent fragrance
Of archaic paper.

The words curl,
Swirl in affection
In the colour of rouge.
I imagine
A frail hand
Slashing away at words
Granting no clemency
Crucifying a t there
Veiling a C here.

Some pages,
Mere ink stains
Where words left with time
Their virtue in the traces
Where her pen pressed down.
She poured her heart out
Time sent it back
But she recalls it now
A gleaming silver pen.

Mom wrote too
Youth piled in layers,
Nostalgia shelved between lines.
Faces she won't recognize now
All acknowledged,
In her bedroom drawer.
Next page