"esurient" poems - Hello Poetry

I am clueless as to how I have dug a hole in this concrete ground, 60 feet deep. The dust I’ve been choking on does not bother me no more, layers piling upon my lungs like snow upon an exposed carcass. The slightest upheaval of my chest and tingling in my lungs reminds me that I still breathe. I’ve met scaffolds of bones down here. As I stare into their hollow sockets, I could never figure if they were ever esurient for something I held. They taught me how the ocean is never blue but only a de facto reflection of the sky. They said many mistook the sea for the sky, but never once mentioned the salt that contaminated their lungs- the impetus that drove their feet 60 steps into the waves. A reconciliation it must have been. I doubt it made any difference, when their hearts were bleeding out; a pity it doesn’t make it any lighter. Down they sank. I wonder if I mistook these soils for the sky. As I looked up, I realised that the sky only seemed further away. There’s something peculiarly comfortable down here, the little bumps on the walls and contours of the craters looked like jawlines of a new-found friend. The sun is so blindingly high in the sky. I preferred how sometimes I could see the man in the moon- shadows cast by imperfections on the moon’s surface. In the vague moonlight and scrawny silhouettes, the fact that the moon always has a dark side makes it tangible a thousand miles away. Sometimes, I lay on this wooden receptacle discovered upon excavation and gaze at the empty skies with my friend as he tells me what lies outside this trough. Happiness is a pack of hungry wolves and when they are done, you are left with only your marrows. I see things clearer down here, than above where they are smothered by smoke from the trees they burned to the ground. Sometimes the skies are dark with no hint of dusk, sometimes the sky is filled with white nebula; but most of the times, the days are shorter than the nights. But it never gets any darker down here. I figured I could never mistake this hole for the sky. I was just chasing these broken pieces like I used to chase happiness. I have no idea how I’ve gotten this deep while trying to pick up these pieces that I don’t recognise. But the struggle tells me it’s real, and the pain keeps me awake. They say if you spend enough time with someone, you will fall in love. I guess that’s what happened between sadness and me. I’m staying here.

0

Jan 11, 2014

Jan 11, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC

iridescent

I'm sorry for romanticizing sadness.

I am clueless as to how I have dug a hole in this concrete ground, 60 feet deep. The dust I’ve been choking on does not bother me no more, layers piling upon my lungs like snow upon an exposed carcass. The slightest upheaval of my chest and tingling in my lungs reminds me that I still breathe. I’ve met scaffolds of bones down here. As I stare into their hollow sockets, I could never figure if they were ever esurient for something I held. They taught me how the ocean is never blue but only a de facto reflection of the sky. They said many mistook the sea for the sky, but never once mentioned the salt that contaminated their lungs- the impetus that drove their feet 60 steps into the waves. A reconciliation it must have been. I doubt it made any difference, when their hearts were bleeding out; a pity it doesn’t make it any lighter. Down they sank. I wonder if I mistook these soils for the sky. As I looked up, I realised that the sky only seemed further away. There’s something peculiarly comfortable down here, the little bumps on the walls and contours of the craters looked like jawlines of a new-found friend. The sun is so blindingly high in the sky. I preferred how sometimes I could see the man in the moon- shadows cast by imperfections on the moon’s surface. In the vague moonlight and scrawny silhouettes, the fact that the moon always has a dark side makes it tangible a thousand miles away. Sometimes, I lay on this wooden receptacle discovered upon excavation and gaze at the empty skies with my friend as he tells me what lies outside this trough. Happiness is a pack of hungry wolves and when they are done, you are left with only your marrows. I see things clearer down here, than above where they are smothered by smoke from the trees they burned to the ground. Sometimes the skies are dark with no hint of dusk, sometimes the sky is filled with white nebula; but most of the times, the days are shorter than the nights. But it never gets any darker down here. I figured I could never mistake this hole for the sky. I was just chasing these broken pieces like I used to chase happiness. I have no idea how I’ve gotten this deep while trying to pick up these pieces that I don’t recognise. But the struggle tells me it’s real, and the pain keeps me awake. They say if you spend enough time with someone, you will fall in love. I guess that’s what happened between sadness and me. I’m staying here.

4

When I was borne my mother passed away and one day father also left the hut leaving me alone and my destiny was now homeless, helpless and orphan vagabond I was now roaming around the road and streets in search of food and shelter But I also have some dreams I wish if I were competent enough I could have opened an amazing school where free education would be right of every poor and needy child and now no more poor child would be deprived of education I wish I could have built a dream home for every homeless and destitute child now no more child would spend dark nights in the open sky I wish I could have made a beautiful garden where every homeless child would play and run after colorful butterflies and beautiful flowers of all colors would bloom in the garden I wish I could have opened a big kitchen near the dream home where every hunger child could eat to his fill and hence no more child would be esurient, unfed and indigent I wish I could have opened a factory where clothes could be stitched for poor and naked children and no more child would be devoid of clothes I pray to God that my dreams come true one day (By Kishan Negi)

0

Dec 30, 2016

Dec 30, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC

kishan-singh-negi

Dreams Of A Homeless Child

When I was borne my mother passed away and one day father also left the hut leaving me alone and my destiny was now homeless, helpless and orphan vagabond I was now roaming around the road and streets in search of food and shelter But I also have some dreams I wish if I were competent enough I could have opened an amazing school where free education would be right of every poor and needy child and now no more poor child would be deprived of education I wish I could have built a dream home for every homeless and destitute child now no more child would spend dark nights in the open sky I wish I could have made a beautiful garden where every homeless child would play and run after colorful butterflies and beautiful flowers of all colors would bloom in the garden I wish I could have opened a big kitchen near the dream home where every hunger child could eat to his fill and hence no more child would be esurient, unfed and indigent I wish I could have opened a factory where clothes could be stitched for poor and naked children and no more child would be devoid of clothes I pray to God that my dreams come true one day (By Kishan Negi)

41

I cannot recall the precise moment of my arrival at Anhedonia memories blindsided by a phantasmagoric comorbid collage of cant precipitated by some newspaper reportage or holocaust story some creepy instance that breached the precipice between simple sorrow and permanent melancholia some fatal blow that cinched the deal some horrid event that could not heal some dejected disappointment that could not be resolved some moment of unguarded clarity when integrity dissolved nevertheless I have arrived at this mangled juncture élan a mania not even Edison's medicine can extirpate I was quite lighthearted before the inferno before my brain broke ennui now a turgid companion feeding on gaiety, never sated, seeking famine esurient unrelenting usurper of happiness go away, leave me alone, relish some other soul's madness gone is any exuberance, glee or mirth miseries are mine, many the days since birth better I was carried from the womb straight to the grave a fatuous existence, clamoring and grasping in vain it's as if I was born into a well but these waters they burn the bludgeoning alcohol a liquid hell Oh florid loquacity, you are an impostor your verse is an adversary a foray of jagged rhythm justifying a storm a sordid verbosity assuring no norm a plaintive scratching guild of recriminative collaboration some alliance of fulminating disquietude the cost for the fare on the adventure to: the stunning moment you too will visit Anhedonia

0

Feb 15, 2014

Feb 15, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC

sobroquet

Destination Anhedonia

I cannot recall the precise moment of my arrival at Anhedonia memories blindsided by a phantasmagoric comorbid collage of cant precipitated by some newspaper reportage or holocaust story some creepy instance that breached the precipice between simple sorrow and permanent melancholia some fatal blow that cinched the deal some horrid event that could not heal some dejected disappointment that could not be resolved some moment of unguarded clarity when integrity dissolved nevertheless I have arrived at this mangled juncture élan a mania not even Edison's medicine can extirpate I was quite lighthearted before the inferno before my brain broke ennui now a turgid companion feeding on gaiety, never sated, seeking famine esurient unrelenting usurper of happiness go away, leave me alone, relish some other soul's madness gone is any exuberance, glee or mirth miseries are mine, many the days since birth better I was carried from the womb straight to the grave a fatuous existence, clamoring and grasping in vain it's as if I was born into a well but these waters they burn the bludgeoning alcohol a liquid hell Oh florid loquacity, you are an impostor your verse is an adversary a foray of jagged rhythm justifying a storm a sordid verbosity assuring no norm a plaintive scratching guild of recriminative collaboration some alliance of fulminating disquietude the cost for the fare on the adventure to: the stunning moment you too will visit Anhedonia

31

# Floating brazier spews electric amber waves as a setting sun radiates on the ceiling a shadow of a ship coquettishly sways while in the center charybdis begins swilling another message, another missed call another debt collector and his esurient talk watch the ship begin to swirl, this scene so banal amber feathered tawny eyed peacock continues furtively to scroll her story and shoe shop crowded room with a panel onstage reality and fantasy evaporate and fall as a single raindrop drown in the muck, don't know how to disengage and to stay in the sway of fantasy. #

0

Sep 28, 2018

Sep 28, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC

EvilShredder

Chemical Compliance Conference

# Floating brazier spews electric amber waves as a setting sun radiates on the ceiling a shadow of a ship coquettishly sways while in the center charybdis begins swilling another message, another missed call another debt collector and his esurient talk watch the ship begin to swirl, this scene so banal amber feathered tawny eyed peacock continues furtively to scroll her story and shoe shop crowded room with a panel onstage reality and fantasy evaporate and fall as a single raindrop drown in the muck, don't know how to disengage and to stay in the sway of fantasy. #

15

I couldn't know you'd need me then! Just a human with all frailty and much fault.... Do you think the wind blows differently When it passes over leaves and trees? That it says: "Wait, lemme stop here a bit And blow on this one leaf in a special way" Hardly! Time to get with the manure beneath And see that sunrays shine on everything And indiscriminate clouds shimmer on all, How haphazard, the way the wind blows. So, don't hang your head and moan so much Time dawns for you to get over yourself Don't you see that I'm still here? Now quit getting your knickers in a knot! You rant and rave while I pant and slave Dissect my every move, make me aloof How can you possibly go counting And re-arranging all the marbles in my head? You're so insecure, you make me mad So exhaustive are your constant jibes So tiring to soothe your unfounded fears I'm having to placate you so often of late. Before it all gets blown out of size Sit a while in (h)arboured thought Confront the dreads which cause disquiet A trove may wash up....but broken, on your shore. The wind comes not with tardy tidings For it isn't the what you say or do But forsooth, the how which carries weight Let's not over-whip each other so. My thoughts may be wanton, wild or reckless Telling tigs bend on a riotous grind Yet feckless deeds don't follow suit Pardon my slightly-misbehaving mind. Patient and respectful, I remain to be Just guard against esurient whims Paucity of faith and clockwork trivial'ties Will lead us down a road of trials. Fallen martyrs should not feign, see The wind makes no pretense. It just blows.... Now, I really couldn't know you'd need me then 'Cause, baby, that's the way the wind blows! S T, 5 April 13

0

Apr 5, 2013

Apr 5, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC

st64

The way the wind blows

I couldn't know you'd need me then! Just a human with all frailty and much fault.... Do you think the wind blows differently When it passes over leaves and trees? That it says: "Wait, lemme stop here a bit And blow on this one leaf in a special way" Hardly! Time to get with the manure beneath And see that sunrays shine on everything And indiscriminate clouds shimmer on all, How haphazard, the way the wind blows. So, don't hang your head and moan so much Time dawns for you to get over yourself Don't you see that I'm still here? Now quit getting your knickers in a knot! You rant and rave while I pant and slave Dissect my every move, make me aloof How can you possibly go counting And re-arranging all the marbles in my head? You're so insecure, you make me mad So exhaustive are your constant jibes So tiring to soothe your unfounded fears I'm having to placate you so often of late. Before it all gets blown out of size Sit a while in (h)arboured thought Confront the dreads which cause disquiet A trove may wash up....but broken, on your shore. The wind comes not with tardy tidings For it isn't the what you say or do But forsooth, the how which carries weight Let's not over-whip each other so. My thoughts may be wanton, wild or reckless Telling tigs bend on a riotous grind Yet feckless deeds don't follow suit Pardon my slightly-misbehaving mind. Patient and respectful, I remain to be Just guard against esurient whims Paucity of faith and clockwork trivial'ties Will lead us down a road of trials. Fallen martyrs should not feign, see The wind makes no pretense. It just blows.... Now, I really couldn't know you'd need me then 'Cause, baby, that's the way the wind blows! S T, 5 April 13

43

And with hot branding, I name the end, it is unknown Obadiah, it is uncompromising Demosthenes, it is ambuscaded Agamemnon, it is crafty Cain, it is able to pull lightning down from clouds to electrify a world beset upon by forces of great magnitude, vibrations ricochet off of each other, quaking knee's knock as earthquakes rock tectonic plates. In this final hour what was once to edify is now to petrify and once let free the fire is an esurient monster after being kept so long locked behind the now yawning earthen gates, witness even the most pluvial flourishing plain blister and boil, witness unyieldingly the flesh bubbling in flux as if from extreme cell proliferation, another soul abdicates its husk. Mayhap this life will lead to another, as If there will be a choice project an air-less voice on the matter, will this If, insist on this If, hold your breath in front of polyonymous Death, let without a moan a trembling icy finger trace lips of now great pallor and make the word-less decision known, no more cyclical reaping of our worn souls says humanity and beg on the now naked ruth for our sanity.

0

Sep 17, 2010

Sep 17, 2010 at 8:46 AM UTC

B_Lid

Gratuitous Violence.

And with hot branding, I name the end, it is unknown Obadiah, it is uncompromising Demosthenes, it is ambuscaded Agamemnon, it is crafty Cain, it is able to pull lightning down from clouds to electrify a world beset upon by forces of great magnitude, vibrations ricochet off of each other, quaking knee's knock as earthquakes rock tectonic plates. In this final hour what was once to edify is now to petrify and once let free the fire is an esurient monster after being kept so long locked behind the now yawning earthen gates, witness even the most pluvial flourishing plain blister and boil, witness unyieldingly the flesh bubbling in flux as if from extreme cell proliferation, another soul abdicates its husk. Mayhap this life will lead to another, as If there will be a choice project an air-less voice on the matter, will this If, insist on this If, hold your breath in front of polyonymous Death, let without a moan a trembling icy finger trace lips of now great pallor and make the word-less decision known, no more cyclical reaping of our worn souls says humanity and beg on the now naked ruth for our sanity.

5

One day someone asked me a question, 'why not just have fun and live happily?' I said, 'because that would be selfish.' He replied, 'everyone is selfish.' I sighed. That night, I slept as I always have In the morning, the sun came out looked around with a docile stance he carried in him ember and fire for some reason The world was cold and thawed the chill swept the earth all night no body sang, no body spoke no body was awake against the frost the sun saw it all Millions of bodies, even rocks and trees Suckled on its warmth like its babies, slowly opening their eyes to the morning, coming awake as the heat kicked out the numbness of night The sun burnt its heart to produce more and more fire for the world, for many more tomorrows that he had to tend to, for all that was sought by all was his ardor Sometimes, when the sun's heart ails with its own searing burns and blues, the blue ocean sends across to it, its coolest wave, from the deepest corners of its heart, borne on a zephyr But oh, the burning world, under the fervency of its own desires, seizes with excuses each little effort the ocean puts forth, no consolation ever reaches the sun, for those who it lives for, need ever more Each wind that passes by is never enough for a world that is more esurient than destitute all steal from the sun more than they need all rob the breeze of its soothing touch and the world lives on

0

Oct 5, 2012

Oct 5, 2012 at 2:42 AM UTC

aditya-bhaskara

who is for whom

One day someone asked me a question, 'why not just have fun and live happily?' I said, 'because that would be selfish.' He replied, 'everyone is selfish.' I sighed. That night, I slept as I always have In the morning, the sun came out looked around with a docile stance he carried in him ember and fire for some reason The world was cold and thawed the chill swept the earth all night no body sang, no body spoke no body was awake against the frost the sun saw it all Millions of bodies, even rocks and trees Suckled on its warmth like its babies, slowly opening their eyes to the morning, coming awake as the heat kicked out the numbness of night The sun burnt its heart to produce more and more fire for the world, for many more tomorrows that he had to tend to, for all that was sought by all was his ardor Sometimes, when the sun's heart ails with its own searing burns and blues, the blue ocean sends across to it, its coolest wave, from the deepest corners of its heart, borne on a zephyr But oh, the burning world, under the fervency of its own desires, seizes with excuses each little effort the ocean puts forth, no consolation ever reaches the sun, for those who it lives for, need ever more Each wind that passes by is never enough for a world that is more esurient than destitute all steal from the sun more than they need all rob the breeze of its soothing touch and the world lives on

40

He said "I love you", And I believed him, I hate myself so much, *How could I be such a ***** I'd fallen prey to his sweet breath, His glistening, white teeth, His strong, defined muscles, Like he'd done to so many other girls, But I had an insatiable hunger for love, And he just fed my esurient heart

0

Jan 5, 2017

Jan 5, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC

ChelseaKrona

Lies Too Foolish to Believe

He said "I love you", And I believed him, I hate myself so much, *How could I be such a ***** I'd fallen prey to his sweet breath, His glistening, white teeth, His strong, defined muscles, Like he'd done to so many other girls, But I had an insatiable hunger for love, And he just fed my esurient heart

10

I hate how anxiety even affects my sleep, its black sickly tendrils slithering into my mind and wrapping around my dreams, one by one. Gripping tightly and ensnaring its prey as it twists its scaly body around my soft dreams, suffocating them with its serpentine embrace. A ****** mist permeates my mind as I awaken from my slumber; dead dreams are all I see now. A mental battlefield strewn with the cold corpses of my hopes and dreams. Anxiety came like a thief in the night and took nothing, but killed everything. Sorrow is quickly snuffed out and replaced with rage. Rage and a new kind of hunger. My esurient soul is now ravenous for vengeance. This corpeal soul shall wage war of the likes only seen in legends of ancient battles between deities and monsters of long lost myths. My demons have won this battle, but the war has just begun

0

Feb 25, 2018

Feb 25, 2018 at 5:37 PM UTC

Staffman

Anxiety

I hate how anxiety even affects my sleep, its black sickly tendrils slithering into my mind and wrapping around my dreams, one by one. Gripping tightly and ensnaring its prey as it twists its scaly body around my soft dreams, suffocating them with its serpentine embrace. A ****** mist permeates my mind as I awaken from my slumber; dead dreams are all I see now. A mental battlefield strewn with the cold corpses of my hopes and dreams. Anxiety came like a thief in the night and took nothing, but killed everything. Sorrow is quickly snuffed out and replaced with rage. Rage and a new kind of hunger. My esurient soul is now ravenous for vengeance. This corpeal soul shall wage war of the likes only seen in legends of ancient battles between deities and monsters of long lost myths. My demons have won this battle, but the war has just begun

1

My shackles are tight, my body is tired. I think of my plight, and feel I'm mired. I watch the approaching sunrise, I wearily close my eyes. I remember the work I've done, my efforts not for a meager one. The esurient corvine looms so dark, I look into it's eyes so cold and stark. With great avarice, it lunges into my flesh, rapidly tearing as if to thresh. I feel myself slip away, I wish that this was my last day. I wake to see the approaching sunrise, this endless death is my prize. The esurient corvine looms overhead, my only wish... ...I wish to be dead.

0

Aug 9, 2016

Aug 9, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC

TheBlackHoundOfBaskervilles

Between A Bird and A Hard Place

My shackles are tight, my body is tired. I think of my plight, and feel I'm mired. I watch the approaching sunrise, I wearily close my eyes. I remember the work I've done, my efforts not for a meager one. The esurient corvine looms so dark, I look into it's eyes so cold and stark. With great avarice, it lunges into my flesh, rapidly tearing as if to thresh. I feel myself slip away, I wish that this was my last day. I wake to see the approaching sunrise, this endless death is my prize. The esurient corvine looms overhead, my only wish... ...I wish to be dead.

16