"maligns" poems
The bones of love howl such parodies
That cannot speak more seldom of Paradise
Black sand irritates the Pearl...
Faith maligns the Believer
As God invents Pain,
Shrill phantoms
Over Love's
remains.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 6:10 PM UTC
I can hear the whispers
That echo from the
Crevices of your broken heart
And I hope you hear mine too.
I can see you're crippled
From the bludgeon of treachery
So am I
Only my crippledness engenders from
The emptiness of my soul
That has relinquished its everything
To someone who didn't return it.
I can sense your breath
That still reeks
With the smell of the abyss you've seen
But can you discern
The wrinkles on my skin too
Which conceal the tales of the depths
That I also had drowned in once.
I can decipher the fear
That emanates from the tremble in your touch
Somehow I can overhear the cacophony of your thoughts
That run wild inside your mind,
And I can also discern the silence
That lingers on your lips.
But do you see the swellings
Beneath my eyes
Which bulge from the accumulation of unpoured tears.
No need to vocalise your grief
Or substantiate your pain.
For I too have had the misfortune
To know these maligns
And I know how much they can deprive us
Of happiness and joy.
When we stumbled into each other
On the same path
That we both were trudging
In this forest of lost souls.
It seemed like I finally
Felt the warmth of the fire
When your eyes clashed with mine.
It seemed like a tempest
Had pierced
The layers of loneliness and desolation
That were bedaubed over my skin
With time.
I wondered at the sorcery of your smile
That occupies such a little space
On your countenance
But still outshines the elegance of the moon.
Let's be the hands that eternally hold each other
Let's be the legs that walk all the miles together
Let yourself be the shelter of a boat
And let me be the lighthouse that exudes a ray of hope.
Let's adjoin our firmaments that is filled with myriad of stars,
Let's sit beneath it and deduce constellations out of our erratic thoughts.
Let's help each other in gathering the pieces of our shattered hearts
Let's build a heart filled with love and care and begin from the start.
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Mar 18, 2020
Mar 18, 2020 at 4:30 AM UTC
Depression is a cancer
No cure, just treatment woe is me!
Maligns the most benign of cells
Denial chemotherapy
Inoculation wish you wells'
Feel better card futility
Smiling cashier drug store sells
But temporary remedy
Lamenting tumors only answer
Guilt to sing your threnody
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 2:04 AM UTC