"undergone" poems
you are a celestial body
a natural phenomenon
a beauty hidden so far away
but look closer; you tell a fascinating story in your own way
you are a galaxy
a gravitational system of stars
you emanate light and wake me up from fallacy
you remind me that somethings are bizarre
but thats just how things are meant to be
you emenate light stronger than darkness
because you choose to see the good regardless
just like how we choose to watch a movie so cliché even when we know its going to end in a certain way. just like how we try to stay even when things are not at bay. just like how we try to see the good in every day without worrying about dismay.
you are a galaxy
you have undergone stellar evolution
changes happened and it will always be the reality
you are a galaxy
you are made of stellar fragments
a massive remnant of what was once there to see
you changed over the course of time but what was once there will last for a lifetime. you will always evolve, you get better every time.
you are a galaxy
you have black holes; dark energy
but no let me tell you, you are anything but empty
you are a matter packed in that body
your gravity is so strong i cannot flee
you are so much more than darkness
you are my galaxy.
—g. l
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 3:30 PM UTC
Ever feel like you don't exist
feelings of neglect makes me ******
Everyone interact and have their fun
while I sit alone and have none
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
Having lived through endless ages
Having undergone countless changes
As long as we are together it is fine
As long as I am yours and you are mine
Through an unending night here at eternity
I will your guide, your protector, can't you see
Bow in hand I will keep you save, fill your days with glee
Pen in hand I will write you philosophy
You treat me like a princess, I can't help but to cry
If someone said I would deserve you, I would lie,
You are my world, my whole heavenly mind
You always come back, with a smile so beautiful and kind
Please dont leave me, let us see, if there is more love to find
Here at eternity
~ Umi
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
For he's going through,
A time so tough & rude,
Loving mother has undergone,
Surgery for knee replacement,
Ya it was a difficult one,
As she's so senior in age,
May time be merciful & help her.
May time help a son to look after,
Loanee we all are of our parents,
Only few get such chances,
Gitacharyaji, we are lucky,
For both of us have gotten ample,
Opportunities to look after them,
We must serve our parents.
Still we can never repay the debt,
They gave us life, they taught us,
Of course we are their symbols,
We are lucky to do something,
For the progenitors of ours,
May your faith guide you,
And impart strength to you.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
(For context, I went to...)
British Kindergarten in England,
French Elementary in Switzerland,
International MS in England,
French HS, then Int'l HS in Korea,
(And then completed...)
Undergraduate studies in NJ, USA,
9-month gap year in Hong Kong,
Graduate studies in QC, Canada.
------------------------------------------------------------
I have shattered my identity.
Frequently. Involuntarily.
I have undergone assimilation.
Socially. Psychologically.
I have encountered discrimination.
Directly. Racially.
I have endured isolation.
Grievingly. Impotently.
I have ill-wished on others.
Subconsciously. Unintentionally.
HOWEVER –
I have learned to be human.
Individually. Collectively.
I have discovered empathy.
Emotionally. Compassionately.
I have gained knowledge.
Culturally. Geographically.
I have acquired expertise.
Intellectually. Linguistically.
I have become a citizen.
Locally. Globally.
Perhaps we who are born and meant to move,
Are intended to, and exist to locomote forever,
Walking lands, sailing oceans, mastering the world.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
One of the most abused gifts of life,
Even toothpaste commercials use it to advertise,
Brings pleasure whilst leaving others in deep strife,
Its one thing that creates soul ties,
It deserves more than just physical feelings to be undergone,
Though,it seems in this area we have chosen to be ignorant and to harden our hearts like stone,
As long as we satisfy our momental desires..
And when the deed is done,our conscience fights itself then retires..
It retires from caring who the deed is done with later on..
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
you're probably the reason i wake up unable to breathe thinking there are snakes slithering around in my bed, because you did the exact same. i'll never find the words to tell you just the way you shattered my stained glass, i went to dozens of cathedrals to try and beg you to fix my mosaics and give me forgiveness, but not even the hierarchy could help me now. I went from Nortre Dame all the way to St. Paul's trying to find peace but no glass will ever be the same as mine maybe a pastiche but I will never feel as if I am as beautiful as the Troyes, so I walk around with ****** palms grasping to the remaining pieces I have from that night. I'm gasping for air now, in hysteria I'm flipping through the pages of a poor mans good book trying to find the terms for repentance or contrition or whatever it could be named, I'm not sure because I've never pleaded like this before and I'll scream to the all the gods that might listen, I'll be ****** if Im going to go down like this. I found another chapel he's got mosaics like no other has ever seen, I'm looking into angelic hues of browns and blues and greens. I'm running through the backrooms trying to find an exit, I'm in a rut to get to a comforting haven. don't waste your time on me I scream. Ive been cast out of heaven for my sins and I'm paying for my crimes -my rosary has fallen to the ground. it's just us two now; I want to run, the apocalypse inside of me is tearing me apart. I've had a martyr in my bed and I remember the taste of his lips, now I recall how your mouth resembled that of a serpent and how it tasted -of venom. you lied while your head was between my thighs, oh the stigmata of a dismal life. I've found a new savior and I am more than what you've dictated to everyone else. I've undergone apostasy and devouted myself to a new God, I might even wear white with him.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
Moths—they are nearly all comprised of the same tender characteristics: empty colors that've somehow been ****** away like the nectar they digest, fuzzy abdomens that crumble within the softest pinch, and powder encrusted wingspans that fray with countless beatings from the wind. I have come to recognize that there are people like Her who dwindle within themselves among all of us, unheard; enthralled by color that doesn't exist to the naked eye, but rather to an imaginative mind and a battered soul. She is The Moth Girl and she, too is the epitome of simpler things. With Her fair skin and enchanting, grey eyes that **** you in with a single glance; lips so chapped and brittle that they're nearly as drained of pigment as the rest of her. I've decided that She is the reason oblivion hasn't doomed us all and obliterated our world to dust. I've imagined Her as oblivion itself, annihilating other galaxies and collecting the discolored soot from each explosion to sift it over the wings of every moth that has ever been criticized. With this, I have concluded that every moth must be a victim.
⠀
But, if given the chance, would they transfigure?
⠀
I've undergone the thrill of witnessing these moths revolutionize into harlequin humming birds that thrive at Her will. Wings that were once littered with dust are now far too rapid and swift for manifestation. The Moth Girl — She remains a flower of a woman, though now She is sprouting with petals that burst with color; filled with nectar sweeter than She. They are all rich with vibrancy.
⠀
With it, they have concluded that it's not much different being evocative.
⠀
After everything, I have decided that they were blooming with color all along, and it was the rest of us that simply couldn't see it.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC
You asked what is in my mind
and I told you that you will not like what you find
Yet you insisted I show you around
At first you thought peace and love is what you found
When all of a sudden it began to rain down
and you started crying because you can see my pain now
The struggles I've witnessed and undergone
Manifested and alive in a row leading on
Welcome to my oblivion I say
and I try to lead you away
But you instead to turned to me and gave me a kiss
Which has always been a sweet bliss
I said what was that for
You stated that there will be many more
To kiss away all my pain
In that moment everything stopped
and so did the rain
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
The doctor, a specialist, with formidable reputation
nationally, had a secret: a rotten apple for heart;
this apple poisoned him for ever,
but, neither he noticed,
nor there was even a whisper about this!
He could have undergone a CT scan properly!
A nurse, just a junior member in his team,
by virtue of her innate qualities, a healer nonpareil,
took the pain away, from each patient,
with her kind touch, and soothing words.
She healed very well, their hearts, already taken over by fear,
and yet again wounded by the brash doctor's words.
Patients counted her as a savior, much more than a doctor,
the doctor was paid well and kept happy to avoid troubles!
*not medicine, state of the art machines,
or expertise unmatched; the mind to heal counts,
the gentleness of being, of doctor or whoever,
works wonders, you'd see this all around.*
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 7:04 AM UTC
The beauty of chaos is that,
It doesn't always stand for destruction;
Sometimes it's merely a lack of structure.
It's Fate, undergone a twisted lobotomy...
--
*You're caught in a whirlwind, with no sense of direction;
Once the storm has passed
And the feeling of sanity is restored,
You get up and walk on,
On whatever path you've been dropped on;
And after a few miles you'll ask yourself:
Was it all meant to be?*
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
No young man believes he shall ever die. There is a feeling of Eternity in youth, which makes us amend for everything. To be young is to be as one of the Immortal Gods. One half of time indeed is flown-the other half remains in store for us with all its countless treasures; for there is no line drawn, and we see no limit to our hopes and wishes. We make the coming age our own -- The vast, the unbounded prospect lies before us.
Death. old age. are words without a meaning. that pass by us like the idea air which we regard not. Others may have undergone, or may still be liable to them-we "bear a charmed life”, which laughs to scorn all such sickly fancies. As in setting out on delightful journey, we strain our eager gaze forward- Bidding the lovely scenes at distance hail!-and see no end to the landscape, new objects presenting themselves as we advance; so, in the commencement of life, we set no bounds to our inclinations. nor to the unrestricted opportunities of gratifying them. we have as yet found no obstacle, no disposition to flag; and it seems that we can go on so forever. We look round in a new world, full of life, and motion, and ceaseless progress; and feel in ourselves all the vigor and spirit to keep pace with it, and do not foresee from any present symptoms how we shall be left behind in the natural course of things, decline into old age, and drop into the grave. It is the simplicity, and as it were abstractedness of our feelings in youth, that (so to speak) identifies us with nature, and (our experience being slight and our passions strong) deludes us into a belief of being immortal like it. Our short-lives connection with existence we fondly flatter ourselves, is an indissoluble and lasting union-a honeymoon that knows neither coldness, jar, nor separation. As infants smile and sleep, we are rocked in the cradle of our wayward fancies, and lulled into security by the roar of the universe around us. we quaff the cup of life with eager haste without draining it, instead of which it only overflows the more objects press around us, filling the mind with their magnitude and with the strong of desires that wait upon them, so that we have no room for the thoughts of death.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Take the "La" out of Label for they are more than a diagnosis,
They are fathers who have immigrated to a new country while hiding the schizophrenia they battle just to uphold employment,
They are mothers who sustain households while silencing themselves for their family's protection,
They are sister's who step up and raise siblings while charading stability,
They are brothers who mask realities to rejuvenate positivity,
They are families that have undergone generational trauma to pave a path for a brighter tomorrow,
Disabilities - mental illness - mental health - are not deficits of identity; they bolster morale and resilience in the BIPOC community.
These are the students that fight the notions of normality to reduce the stigma,
These are the scholars that rewrite the narrative in pursuit of decolonizing the education system,
These are the individuals who are representing an ever-growing population,
These are the souls that have abilities which surpass the medical confinement of their disabilities.
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 2:19 PM UTC
My pulse quickens when I descend those stairs,
and when I reach the bottom and look to the place
where we used to lay, where you slept so many times,
I wonder if it's called a heartbeat because of the bruises
I feel forming on the inside of my ribcage
from how hard my heart thuds.
I spent nine hours awake in bed yesterday,
hungover,
or is the word overhang?
Thoughts of you looming overhead,
whether or not I'll ever kiss you again.
You see your scent has stained my clothing,
my couch, my bed,
and although it's now subtle,
I still smell it from time to time and I mostly smile.
Yet I start feeling unsettled because I know not what we are,
old friends in love?
Or should I call you my ex?
You held me last week,
for the first time in over a month,
and there were no hard feelings.
No feelings except love and confusion.
I'm confused.
You got drunk the other night and messaged me,
telling me you missed me.
I thought I'd made it obvious that I miss you too,
your fingers tracing my curves in your bed on those late winter nights,
the way your lips molded with mine,
proving that maybe I am an artist,
because never before was I part of such a beautiful piece of work.
Work, because it was not easy,
but no masterpiece is.
It's late nights of thinking, frustration,
and sometimes, no sleep at all.
It's compromise,
it's accepting the faults and moving past them,
learning to embrace them.
Though when it's finally over,
you can't help but think of how breathtaking it is.
The problem is, our canvas was massive--
we were far from filling its empty spaces.
I can't help but hope that as we are,
completely aware we love each other,
still too far in to stop loving each other now,
that maybe,
we will pick up the paintbrushes
and finish this masterpiece.
Maybe my ribs will get some rest
from the beating they've undergone,
maybe we can finally earn some repose,
together.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
There seems to be something in this world
That is not seen by the unawakened beings
Who only wander around in ignorance and are
Always mainly striving to earn their daily living.
They have yet to discipline themselves for
Their ultimate destination and to receive
Some special training to eventually see
That which is always there to be witnessed.
It is said to be of the utmost importance
For one to meet and come under the guidance
Of a person who has traversed the way and
Knows from experience how to take others there.
There is some preparation to be undergone
By anyone who aspires to get there one day
And that they should follow the instruction
Of the person who is willing to guide them.
It is also said that: 'when the student is ready,
The teacher appears' and that: 'there is in this
World a time and a place for everything'.
Who really knows what the future will bring?
When the time is nigh and all is in hand
Consider your position where do you stand?
Make the move and leave the rest unto him
Then it will be his duty to teach you to swim.
The relationship of the true teacher and
The real student is eternal and binding
They say that it is sacred and a test of
Faith, devotion, love and understanding.
There are many obstacles along the way
All are founded in ignorance and illusion
As the fickle mind is still holding sway;
The teacher helps to remove the confusion.
Do not worry, be anxious or faint hearted
For he knows your journey has just started
He will guide, protect and see you through
To that special place you're destined to.
He's the light of wisdom the ocean of love
Power of grace flows through him from above
Adhere to him and where his feet have trod
He's not an ordinary teacher but one of God.
_____________________________________
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:53 AM UTC
Experiences.
It's something undergone,
Planned and unexpectedly done.
Perhaps, an element of life.
Experiences.
Either positive or negative
It brings mistakes and lessons
Perhaps, an essence of life.
Experiences.
Shared or not
It shows the real you.
Perhaps, a story of your life.
Experiences.
It will always be a subject.
Undergone by all, all of ages.
Perhaps, the good thing 'bout life.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
Conception occurred when you realised your dream,
Its now living in you,you carry it.
Carry it well and carefully.
Keep it away from toxins that come through distractive vices,
Before success is delivered,
Labour must be undergone,the labour is the road through which winners must pass.. Its the tests of strength and character. Its the hard learnt lessons.Its the purifying furnace.
It only burns,never kills.Might leave scars but that's good because every scar you earn is a tattoo for your history.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
No compensation will atone
For a gruesome betrayal
One has undergone,
Languishing under
Soul's darkest night alone.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
The horizon lies asleep in a grey blanket
In a sea of myriad figures,
And an unimaginable silhouette.
The engineering of black feathers,
Sets ablaze hazy azure weathers.
The Art Decorates Towers,
Like giants with arms outstretched,
Look down commanding superiority
Over the volatile beauty of the wretched.
Who branded this Pandora’s Box to be garbage?
Stop turning your faces away
Like this is some butchery,
Or an abhorable carnage.
The dogs have repeatedly protested against the injustice
The heavy wind suppresses their voices and entices
A seduction of inarticulate silence.
Brothers who embrace us,
Have known nothing of such malices’.
Only the birds are left unenchanted;
Because they fly too high to be pervaded.
I hear children’s voices
And mothers’ too,
And taste the flies and insects,
And all the devils they shoo;
Because they understand not the complexities of a civilization,
They have never rendered their thoughts,
Never undergone no filtration.
The unconquerable spirit of this world,
Has made them savage,
Their claws curled.
In the heat, in the light,
In the plight
Which brings the cold night.
The sunlight here is too dense to penetrate,
Therefore it unabashedly spills over,
No opening,
Just a gateless emptiness on which to concentrate,
Lives and lives here,
Forever proliferate.
With none to remember their faces,
And no mortal soul to commemorate.
Dust settles upon the fingertips which talk.
This place is deemed unfit,
Unsuitable for a walk.
Yet birds, animals and humans alike,
Have stated their preference of what they like.
This land is perpetually theirs to ****
Passion resides here,
In this unintended landfill.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
**That fruit wasn't ripe yesterday,
no sprout was seen on this branch, the other day.
But that particular change I had undergone-
in a day, is a secret, beyond my grasp.**
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
The calendar shed its last leaf of chances,
Three hundred and sixty six windows shut;
The moon has undergone a dozen phases,
But no high or low tide can get you past.
Your lackadaisical methods and indecision,
Failed to find that door to a good year;
And you're suffocating in your desperation,
Like a nightmare trapped in its own fear.
Eleven disappointed months fall in line,
Even December has already accepted its fate;
Cascading like lifeless dominoes you'll find,
Scattered in the wastes of your world inanimate.
Self-abhorring like a snake biting its own tail,
Aimlessly mindfully going around in circles;
Reading rejection letters and spam emails,
Looking for false hope in a perpetual cycle.
Making a promise you know you can't keep,
Like the past new years that will have come and gone;
Where you always try to count all your sheep,
And your wolves will make sure to give you none.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
Fall
I
I've had one to many summers,
And now they've lost their luster.
Fall, however, I've just discovered
And the amber, the gold, forever!
II
Here I wait for Autumn.
September's trees will die.
October comes, and will hide the sun,
under gray blue skies.
III
She sounds a simple ringing tone,
Rife with wind and reeling reeds.
It is calm, cool and moans
With subtle singing needs.
The trees, they fight and fail
The winds will wound their worth,
The leaves will burn, below we learn
The chant of, “Autumn’s Birth”
As the skies start to singe and sear,
And slowly lower, linking the earth and sky-
That sunset to those trees that wept
With their leaves aflame, We must cry,
“Some will seek the sun in the summer,
Some seek the sights and scents of spring
Others will welcome warmth in winter,
But what does our Autumn Bring?
Well, those who tend towards tenuous things
Will find their fantasies fulfilled in fall,
All that they do, meaning to you
Is to feel that Autumnal call-
That of the leaves that fall.”
IV
'Twas a fine fall day, perfect for reflection.
Autumnal hues gently layered the scene.
My Lady and I traveled no particular direction;
Enchanted by nature's artistic perceptions,
We stared awestruck at the trees.
V
This period, Fall (As in Autumn),
restlessly breeds feelings.
Noted: The red, adorned northwestern
festival found wild colour.This Autumn,
colors gathered- Celebrations of the
Indian Season.
The Fall has undergone sorrow states,
(Associated? Death.)
echo the thick mid-autumn leaves.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
I know you haven’t dealt with mental illnesses throughout your life
You don’t know how to explain or control them
I know you don’t know how to explain or control me
You don’t understand how to react when I say I have anxiety
You don’t understand it isn’t easy for everyone to be exactly like you
You don’t understand that the worst response is ‘Get over it.’
You don’t understand what’s happening
But I forgive you
I know you haven’t done your research
You don’t really care to know more
I know you don’t really care to know more about me
You don’t understand what it’s like to want to die
You’ve never undergone depression; you only know to get past things without something weighing you down
You don’t understand that I can’t simply suppress depression when it rears it’s ugly head
You don’t understand that I need to be alone sometimes
But I forgive you, always
I know you’re scared because you’re used to having control
I know your life shatters with every Emergency Room visit
I know your life shatters with my every visit
You don’t understand why I do the things I do
You don’t understand the things I’ve done in the past
You don’t understand why I lock myself in my room
You don’t understand why I stop talking to you
But I forgive you, continuously
I know you are worried about me
I know you regret not knowing
But I bet you don’t regret not knowing me
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC