Last night I found that little black dress. A mild lingering perfume still afresh. Something in it isn't the same Is it the way I folded it two years back With a coy smile at the seams, Still entrapped? Or is it the dark stain I overlooked For the beguile colour and my obscured sight?
I saw him making way In white shirt and a blue jeans. I was there standing still Didn't want to know If he was a storm in the guise of a sun, Or a shinning star guiding my path. I knew love has come by my side With all its fancies and dark spells. The warm street lights Blushed to behold his arm resting on me Little did he know My squeaky walks were caused by the butterflies inside my tummy. That was a chilly evening But the warmth of his hoodie Didn't let me feel. A bit of an illusion still it seems Cause we weren't 'us' With a nauseous tinge of white rum. The air had its own story to write, Making my curls sway, caressing his face. He said the way my brown eyes smiled Made him wonder why they disappear. He was a mystery I didn't wanna solve. The sky was dark , so was our love We knew it was the colour made for us. Our world was devoid of bright rays. But doesn't the rainbow despite the colours of the universe Laments to be seen and adorned every hour? He was a passionate flame to my woods. I wanted to be the ash , Scattered but bearing his aura on my chest.
"Black suits you", a whisper puffed my ear, Like a dew drop to my wilted petals. Our dark world, darker our faith, Painted in black on the blank canvas the world saw. Little did they know, We were meant to be loud, Transcending strong barriers.. Transcending corrupt colours...
A poem glorifying woman empowerment. Every woman has a mermaid buried within the strange recesses of soul that has to rise. No, this time we are not the ones portrayed as fragile , weak and pliant in the hands that mould because we are the golden swords, a mystic with colorful charms casting dark spells on the ones who play as harp.
You know your fingers are trembling and the world falling apart.You try harder to fit in and it drifts away,no matter how fast the rhythms inside your head twist and turn creating an orchestral chamber of melodies long forgotten or yet to be deciphered. It is a constant battle with the vast reservoir of staggering emotions bereft of any identity seeking crevices to crawl out.
You know your heart racing faster ,your blood gushing inside your veins not knowing whether to run away or hold a breath instead to float in a celestial world where gravity doesn't make you heavier to stay.There are times when the wrecking ball multiplies and break down the walls you build every time they fall, some a bit higher some barely strong enough to hold on.
You know you are falling into a deep dark hole suffocating and trembling with the feeling of eyes glued onto you and mouths, barrels of gun aimed at your chest with every word that fades into oblivion as your vision blurs sometimes in the scorching heat outside,sometimes with a withered leaf of fall or be it rain, hail or snow.
You know you are running out of time with the clock ticking on the back like thorns pricking your ear drums constantly.Your chipped nails,screaming for help and you can't help but yield in to the demons struck onto you like it's been ages since you knew the angels with beautiful wings sprinkling mirth in your dreams. Your clock has come to a standstill and there's no "time" in your mundane world neither to live nor to exist.
You know you are not dying slowly, not today not even tomorrow or the days to come.You are a warrior of all the battles to come , of the ones you have lost but didn't give up. You know you are a flower with every petal bearing a fragrant scar. .Your heart is a protector of fragile emotions , a keeper of the bruised soul with injured walls but your heart is a survivor. For every time you couldn't sleep at night by crawling inside your blankets with the voices inside your head at 3 am, cried like a small kid like an alien in this indifferent world, held on to yourself in the worst, smiled on a sunny day with your demons on your back ,YOU HAVE SURVIVED!
Cause yours is a scarlet story with magical sub-plots and no endings.
When the sky turns black, And the stars spread their hands with diamond rings; When the world is engrossed in a deep slumber, And the city lights a little more dim; I place my footsteps on the moonlit ground And flutter my impaired wings. Wandering, dancing and living a little more Until I feel the sunrays kiss my cheeks at morn, That once was fragile and gentle Now made firm yet strong By the questions they smear it with. For there lies an obscure veil over eyes Adorned with images of a "perfect someone"; I failed to be. So, I retreat into a dark corner of my darkened world Where I was taught with well-groomed norms: Not to question but to conform.
To curious hearts with malign blood: "How do you define beauty?" Masks with myriad colours trying to fit in? Or the soul deep within flesh and bones Untouched and pure longing for love? My face is a blank canvas Not to be drawn but to be colored. As I stand infront of the mirror Sharp echoes luminate my reflection. For every time I heard those I died a little more. In an idyllic ecstasy when the night calls I bloom gracefully like a wild flower On the lap of the nature surreal For every time I cried a little more I had the warmth of a home .
I was a bit inactive for the past few months because of some tough times I was going through. To my readers and fellow mates , I apologize for not being able to respond to your beautiful write ups. Also, I would like to assert that I graduated this month and would like to congratulate everyone who have done the same. This is a poem I wrote in the loving memory my uncle whom I lost few months ago.Life took a drastic turn and has never been the same. Life is hard, it's a struggle we need to go through but surviving amidst everything with new hopes and reviving shattered dreams is what life is about, isn't it?
When people leave, they often walk away with a part of you, and unwittingly leave behind a part of themselves.
For example, that lopsided grin; their undying love for black currant icecream; a word they used so often that it bordered on annoying; maybe they poured too much sauce on their salad, you know? Reasons why you're probably thankful for them leaving.
But before you realise it, you're out chomping off salad soaked sauces; and black currant ice-cream is your new bae; and you realise that it's not as bad as it seemed; and perhaps you use that word so much, that it slips off your tongue before you can catch it, and now that's the word people associate with '10 things annoying about you'.
Ofcourse, of all the things you signed up for, this was never a part of the deal- these anonymous exchanges. But maybe, thats the way it is.
Perhaps, You're truly made of all the people you've loved and all the people who left you- You're just a tiny bit you, and a whole lot their trivialities.
You think roses look sad but you keep a fresh one in the little vase on your table anyway. You say sorrow is a better tenant than a visitor. The rent, if one were to ask, 'Poetry, of course', you'd say.
You laugh. When the fire alarm goes off in our rickety old building and the sprinklers come on, you laugh, for the first time in months. I let you take my hand in yours, as you lead me to the couch, spinning clumsily on my toes. The building is in flames, and we dance. For the first time in months, we don't notice how bleak the walls in our apartment are.
No touching. That's the rule we agreed upon. So when you reach for my waist, you falter with remembrance and grab the coffee mug from the counter behind me instead. I smell the smoke in your breath and the regret in mine. I gulp down the apology rising in my throat with a swig of scalding coffee. I don't know what burns more, the coffee or the apology.
You haven't come home in a week. You don't believe in vigils, but you come to this one. We walk side by side, candles clutched a little too tightly, as wordless as the flames in front of us. We drive home after. A part of you hates me, a part of you understands why I did what I did. You're fond of languages that aren't spoken anymore, languages that have been forgotten, so we don't speak when we reach home. We don't speak for months.
The Sunday after Christmas, two things happened. Your niece passed away; I say passed away because it sounds better than raped and murdered. And second, I got my invitation to the Fall Poetry Slam Contest. We held each other and cried. I promised you fiercely how I wouldn't let her voice just die in vain and you begged me to let it lie, to not to write about her. Not her. I went ahead and did it anyway. I should've known I'd lose two people that day.
It's how we meet. It's a perfect spring morning but you still live January in your head and I hum the tune to a song whose words I forget a little more every day. You were a cloud chaser, looking for someone you'd lost in the clouds and here I was, trying to get a song to stay.
Beginnings are beautiful. We forget the scars, the chains, the walls, the demons. We forget too much. We laugh too much. You mock my use of the subjunctive, you say Somerset would roll in his grave if he read what I wrote. And I chuckle at your poem. I say beginning poems with roses is such a cliché.
At the sill of your puberty you would meet some big girls who would look at you with their smoky eyes, a little bit smudged eyeliner and enticing mascara. But if you give a closer glance you can see a canyon below the eyelids. The canyon is dark, deep and void. In some mornings they look like eyebags. If they look alike so then do know that they were filled yesternight and they slept well on the lap of teary memories.
Their lips move a bit faster than their accents do. All you would see a pair of vermilion petals falling onto its knees. But the petals would appear dried with lines on it.
They are very protective about their hair. They would always prefer them lingering right onto their collarbone, on both side. On some summer noon they meet their oblivion under the scorching sky and uplift their flat hair plate from their collarbone and let them hover onto their back. Don't miss the chance then. Don't miss the chance to capture the appearance of the sides of their neck. You will see some marks of bites, like an art of atrocities on the canvas of innocence. I bet.
Their would appear like some bit of fluff but they don't actually care about their exposed cleavage, bra strips or size of hips. They just walk like falling leaves. They run like wild wind and sleep like a wildflower. They enjoy sucking at cigarettes and diving headfirst into the glass of red wine. Someday they blink much with the shots of ambrosia.
They don't smile. They laugh. They laugh a lot, trying to make everyone understand that they are happy, jolly. Don't doubt on their smile before them. I repeat don't! When they are over with a conversation with you, let them go. They call their hurricane then. And I belive you and me can't be a bystander then.
Trust me. They would talk to you a lot. A lot about life and drugs. But all would seem to you like oblivion. You need to understand metaphors in order to catch them, sense them. They would try to wake you up from your deep slumber of imagination in Disney Land with their chants of metaphors. When they would tell you about their mantras, do listen to them.
As I said before, they don't smile but laugh. But when you would ask them about Love, they would smile. They would look at you with their smoky eyes for the last time. Then they would suck on their cigarettes and turn the scream into smoke.
Fiasco! And everything drowned In the silhouettes of inferno... Another civilization terminated With the birds losing their nests And the sun forgetting to set! I've seen in the sparkling blinkers of the hoi polloi The hope that they will survive! But civilizations are sandcastles... Which are destined to run away, With her forsaken lover, the wind Hand in hand... And every sand particle resembles The downcast fallers to the Satan's chaos! They are the builders of such civilizations Every brick that marked the progress of such humankind, on them Scribbled are the names of the fallen sapphires... But as stars grow old, The sun will too stop shining on the sinners someday... The universe falls on the head of The bambinos of the graven image. And they realized That at some point even in a million lifetime, The Prince of Darkness triumphs!
And then again, A new beginning! The sun again will make the day shine Men and women will build another sandcastle Only to be destroyed After a few nanoseconds of life!
But still in some other civilization We will make our Home My sweetheart, For this is Life We will again be reincarnated As two pure souls With impure elegance!
THE GARDENER by Carolyn Glackin All souls are welcome Here, at my door If ye be devils You're welcome the more 'Tis my way to love all And turn away none For I am borne Of the light of love I will offer no malice No hatred, no fear No vengeance nor cruelty Do I make myself clear? Though the body doth wither And fade away The spirit endures Far beyond this mere day And I make not a claim Upon this good Earth For it's not my true home Nor my true place of birth I'm not here seeking fame I may never be known I seek not wealth or nobility Just a life that's my own Lived simply and humbly For whatever it's worth Spreading love, spreading joy Sharing laughter and mirth And as to my legacy May it be divine May I inspire all souls To sparkle and shine May I foster love In all those whom I meet May peace be instilled In all those I greet May I be a reminder That love conquers all And that redemption awaits us No matter how far we fall May I walk in grace Ever humble and kind Lend my hand to the needy Offer sight to the blind For though they have eyes They do not truly see So I shall see for them And through that, we are free For those that can't hear I shall listen the more Whether sinful or hateful Weak or impure For those are just symptoms That cry out for love That beg for forgiveness From the heavens above So let me take them in Let me offer them rest Remind them they're worthy Beloved and blessed This is the work That I've come here to do And I do it with love And a heart that's true 'Til the day I pass on Far away from this place I may soon be forgotten But even time can't erase The love that was fostered And instilled in each soul Who passed through my doors You see, that is the goal For love has no end Its cycle unbroken It lives on and on Through the words I have spoken Transmuted, transferred From one soul to another Strengthened with time Never torn asunder So one day I'll be gone And perhaps never known Yet I'll live through the seeds Of the love I have sown And that's all that matters For whatever it's worth So I'm planting a garden Of love, here on Earth. Copyright Carolyn Glackin 2018.