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  • darknessisbliss 21h

    //time forgets..//
    It was the hour, where seconds lost time while following the trails of minutes. I've been the hand of the hour, where after a span of 60 minutes I reach another destination, but I don't stop, or rather I'm unable to. Clockwise leaving traces in moments.

    If I wished to stop, minutes may lose sense of direction. They may choose to rebel, against the pattern they've been bind by the threads of me. I can only wish though, because my ends are bound time immemorial, and death was never my kin.

    So many peculiarities I inhabit, but it remains the same for everyone. I humbly wait for minutes to pass the cycle, and along with them I enter into a new present. Time isn't anyone's friend, it can never be or else I'll be chained by empathy.

    I have no emotions, and nothing can affect the workings of me. Even though people may turn my hands as per their convenience, I still continue, irrevocably. There's no master of me, and I'm the master of singularities.

    Past is what I've survived from, and future is the offspring of mine. Present is my home, where the ruins are visages and I'm decayed in memoirs. I'll be here always, noticing your fall or uprising to heavens.

    "Humor me then, why do heartbrokens wish I'd stopped forever?"

    Title's from yiruma's piano piece, which is of the same title.

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  • darknessisbliss 2d

    *WARNING* Rant. Rant. Rant.
    It's the people mostly, sometimes I become cynical of my own breathing. There are days, one of those impeccable one's, with eyes waking up to sunrise, stomach just doesn't feel right. Not because of stale food, but because of a warning, this day will test my sanity and grip on emotions, unruly.

    I will just give up perhaps, because words are usually not the one's I seek for comfort. It feels like occasional visits from tremors and dizzying head that can't stay stable on thoughts.

    It's either the rage building up, and wanting to smash or rip apart own's existence, just so blood could breathe hard and deep. Dripping from sliced edges, and outside of me. Visible enough to disgust one's sight, but not severe enough to beg for pardon.

    Or the relentless need to throw everything out, from silent mouth and drops of salty tears. Eyes glazed every so often, just when I reminded myself of the good still existent. In the thickets of darkness and almost invisible at the first look-over. Heart needs to cry in my mother's lap and on my brother's shoulder, but I choose to transpose and become contorted revulsion.

    The after effects stays until next sunrise, seething rage and dissatisfied mind. It gets better as the day progresses, yet that unflinching acknowledgement of wretched thoughts stays somewhere hidden in a lobby. I shall go on, like nothing happened, and maybe I'll forget how vividly I executed the delinquent residing in me.

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    "Feelings are dysfunctional, either wanting to break or cry rivers.."

  • darknessisbliss 3d

    Another result of boring lectures..

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    //curated talks//

    "It's a sin, to consume intoxicants"
    Or rather a healthy workout
    For despondent souls
    Wandering in barren fields,
    Feet having mind of their own
    Chose a penetrating canopy
    Made of poison ivy;
    Deliberate hurting
    And wrinkled dreams.
    "It hurts though, becoming
    A shell encasing tombstone"
    Unable to retort sarcastically
    I regressed, "life ain't a slut, but it fucks us all"
    They always flinch
    At the remorse sticking out
    From invariably rotten parts
    And again vanishing
    To an unreachable distance,
    "Don't worry, age is fragile"
    How can you propose
    Such a blithe hypothesis
    Without concrete facts?
    "I don't wish to live until 30,
    Death obliged an invitation"
    I will garner this mortality
    In Ruby metallic, before they forget
    Refusal is not the same as consent.

  • darknessisbliss 5d

    There are songs, that connects all the dissimilar pieces into a mural. And make it seem like an effortless art, but only you know how each piece felt lost for belonging solely to themselves.

    I had a piece of me, lost into an endless void. Almost non-existing for a fraction of seconds. And when things started to fell in the right place, I searched for that missing piece. But found the art incomplete, the missing piece playing some kind of hide and seek.

    I habitually get stuck in extremities, seldom in midriff situations, where bipolarity is a nuisance. If I am at glee in the moment, feeling enough for myself and others, I will practice benevolence.

    But when sadness comes to switch places, there's a distinct pain in my chest and oftentimes, I run towards a corner in the middle of a minefield with numb steps.

    Words preach thousands of stories, I try to make allegories out of them. A hindsight of an irreversible event, that comes into foreplay only when purpose becomes a burden or all directions converge, making no sense to vaticinator.

    I hide, and I seek too. I run, and I skip heavens too. I pray and I commit sins too. The art fantasizes dark magic and heart seeks shelter in necromancy. I tried to make them understand, but they rendered me a Bible, to compensate.

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    "The art fantasizes dark magic and heart seeks shelter in necromancy."

  • darknessisbliss 1w

    The first rain of the season, felt like the arrival of a new stranger. Petrichor reaching to every soul, where a teenager smears the words incoherently, and making them a fond remembrance similar to the soil that is dried off of relics, and sweet nostalgia.

    One chirpy evening, grievous clouds couldn't bargain anymore time than they already bagged in. They poured with the intention of keeping nothing left but a rainbow, as a keepsake memory. The girl strolling through the sidewalk, laterally opened her umbrella in anticipation of cloud's bereavement.

    She felt like a disaster walking through bombshells. After every ten steps, new arrivals of regret kept knocking and conking her failed attempts. The umbrella was barely sufficient, from preventing the drops of sadness inching closer to her scanty heart.

    She thought how harsh the downpour was, even petrichor suffocated under the intensity of her thoughts. She thought of reaching home early today, because the doors had to be shut before dawn. She thought of obstacles that might disturb her from escaping forever. But not once did she thought, that the rainfall would dominate with it's torrent and consume her voice from being heard.

    Her poetry was untainted, and verses like an ordinary army knife, painting murals on sensibly perceptions in ashen shades. I'm afraid, if by offering her the aid, will I break the last thread?

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    //girl with an umbrella//
    "I'm afraid, if by offering her the aid, will I break the last thread?"

  • darknessisbliss 1w

    It wasn't like a walk in the park, but on a road where bones were rubbles, flying off recklessly whenever somebody passed by, not knowing they conceived regrettable history.

    There are insecurities, guarding the vicinity in a proud manner. Shunning off any chances of improving, such sad faces and lonely shafts. They tilted the steering wheels, taking over the control from the hands that abhorred praying selflessly.

    Sudden gust of realization, puts the volatile emotions on a pedestal. Knowing not that the signals, always indicated towards a path leading to damnation. Perhaps, being a road made me comfortable with being walked on by people, that rubbed off dust and never looked back once.

    Their heavy footsteps pushed down the fears and I suppressed, having no complaints about being trampled. With time, the concrete started to perish, weakening the rigid foundation. Potholes became the indentation, when feelings got clogged up and condemned were the careless feet, for leaving their traces unattended.

    Sunsets are merciful, they console the worst parts of me by caressing with its nightfall shades. Still the vulnerability doesn't suit my ethics, for this road was never the one anyone would ever sought for their journey.

    This road never witnessed a home, cherished or cared for. So I let them turn me into a graveyard, where dead bodies stayed unlike Samaritans.

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    "This road never witnessed a home, cherished or cared for. So I let them turn me into a graveyard, where dead bodies stayed unlike Samaritans."

  • darknessisbliss 1w

    My creativity is perishing.. wrote this while barely paying attention to a boring lecture.

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    //distorted fairytale//

    A fable so illusive
    Where the prince is a vile being
    Frustrated from hoarded responsibilities
    He suffered from occasional seizures of existential crisis,

    Princess was no different than him,
    Known famously as a Chainsmoker
    Shots of ADD flowing like an escaped prisoner,
    Meth and Ecstacy meant one and the same
    The kind of high even paradise patronised,

    They met under odd circumstances
    At a funeral service, where one mourned
    And the other for the sake of fulfilling an obligation,
    Eyes met for an unfortunate moment
    Prince's were deluded with streaks of red
    While hers held disgust and reflections of aftermath,

    Both were tragedies, ruining every stabilized civility
    They destructed themselves before hunting,
    Lust was the only thing left, to be saturated
    Henceforth, world knew a fairytale
    Where disaster's came to be named after humans.

  • darknessisbliss 2w

    I wasn't going to post this, or even write it down but when I did I couldn't find a place better than here to let it out. I couldn't write further but yes, everything's fine right now.

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    The thought comes to mind is that of an ideal mother and hard working dad.
    It was same for me, until one day I had to bear the loss of one.

    24th September, 2018.
    At approx 11:45am mom arrived from a tiring journey of bus to Mumbai, her body was aching all over due to viral fever. Around 12:15am we admitted her into a nearby hospital, me along with Papa and Bhaiya. The policy didn't allowed any family member to stay back inside or around the vicinity. So we headed home to sleep, and arrive tomorrow morning with necessary supplies.

    25th September, 2018.
    Me and my brother were sound asleep, and dad in the adjacent room snoring loudly. Yet after a point, we heard his irregular gasping for breaths, like he was choking on invisible air. We were scared and mother wasn't around to handle the situation well, every single moment of those 30 seconds that followed I wish, I could've done something to prevent a loss so heavy.

    His body became stiff and face adopted dark purple shades till neck due to the efforts to survive. Neighbours tried to help, and when he took the final breath I voiced out my despair saying "Papa" one last time before it went silent. Dead silent.

    I knew in my heart the repercussions standing close to the future, my brother went to the first hospital nearby, in hopes to save him, but they already passed the verdict of death. The body was then taken to another hospital with facilities to prevent it from getting perished.

    My mother was still uninformed, and clueless of what was happening. Me and Bhaiya waited for close relatives and others to arrive as we didn't have any idea how to proceed.

    I decided to visit mother along with neighboring aunties, so I can check up on her health, my brother was devastated and wasn't in any condition to face her. I took some breakfast along with me offered by some aunty, and told myself a lie so illicit, to recite the same without any defaults in it.

    She questioned about Papa not being here, I repeated the rehearsed words, "he got fever too last night, he's sleeping still and will come later.." I made myself believe the lie and saved myself from feeling guilty.

    It was decided, that the news will be delivered by elders to my mom, and so I waited for them to arrive. When they did arrived, I left the room because I didn't wanted to torture myself more by witnessing for what was to follow.

    I entered again after few minutes, mother was silent with red in her eyes, she was in a daze, and couldn't comprehend the words correctly. I broke into tears, hugging her sides, my brother did too but her body and mind never uttered a response for another hour.

  • darknessisbliss 2w

    When my writer's block speaks..

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    Far stretched lands of overgrown promises, covering the slightest sight of sanity. Purpose is a stranger, like a lonely wanderer in possession of a map but unable to comprehend the directions.

    Fleeting moments are dust caught in sun rays, blatantly visible and existing only until sun radiates. I haven't known a preacher without being a devotee, and a mother not sacrificing hunger to let her kids have a full meal.

    I've got many contexts but they all seem close relatives and somehow it's a cobweb of perceptions in my head. My silence pleads guilty to my thoughts, an unspoken bargain letting the biased heart win.

    There's much more to say and I seem to be exhausted of speech, time sinks to the bottom of an abyss, leaving no room for conflicts. And I stay here pondering still, do I wait for the words to arrive or unearth the depths I've been trying to fill?

  • darknessisbliss 2w

    Keep scrolling, this is flawed.

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    I dreamed of catching fireflies, but they dance like ripples in Sea. Too unpredictable and wavy. So I watch them dance, with forever in their wings and sparkle of Sunbeams to illuminate reality.

    I don't know how to relate things, or maybe I've forgotten the traditional poetries. It sinks in but is never expressed, when everything is a metaphor in context to life.

    I cripple and let myself get lost in the flow of anonymity. It's the uncertainty that aches and the conscious belief making tsunamis bearable, an assurance to steady breaths.

    When thoughts step back surrending to logic, they jeer at their reflection, unable to stand the ugly. And I let words fill me in, a grapevine of imperfect rhymes and abandoned symphonies.