Cogito ergo doleo.
I think, therefore I suffer.
Why is it that the things you love,are the ones that put you in the ground?Why is it that my love for you was inordinate,and your love for me was always numeral?Why is it that I would veil all this darkness and demure for you,but you will still measure this love,counting the crescendo of stars shining in this limited sky?Why is it that whenever I say I loved you,You'd always ask how much?
My heart has a room of ache,But it's not what you suppose it to be,not filled with bloodstains or screams,It has just me,sitting somewhere in the corner,With dim lights,Writing poetry,Contemplating life,And this room has a door,Just knock on it once,I will welcome you in,And once you leave your own aches,Or carry some of mine away,I will walk with you,Back to the door,to bid you goodbye.
@mirakeeworld @thebackstory @enchanting_inks @writersnetwork @reposter
Jindagi taa umar kaat dete hain,jeena taa umar bhool k.Hassna taa umar laga rhta h kambakhat,Muskurana beshumaar bhool k.Aanshu taa umar roo dete hain,Dard dena tofhe mein baat k.Vaada mohabbat ka ta umar kar dete hain,Do kadam saath chor k.
तेरे आंसू से मेरा दामन क्या भीगा,जैसे वज़ू इख़तियार हुई मेरी,तूने ख़ुशी में आँखे जो बंद की,जैसे दुआ क़ुबूल हो गई मेरी।
It's a blur.my eyes were the first to forget,your face,between my hands,like a fading photograph.Your voice,meandering away,like the ending note of Cleopatra.But the way,i felt,is somehow crystal clear.I felt you,before I knew you,and I still feel you,and in between the moments of,holding you,loving you,and thinking,how lucky I'm,and thinking,how happy I'm.How happy I was,how lucky I was.
I have lost it somewhere.May be when I turned back,to look at your beautiful face the last time.May be it travelled through my eyes and landed on your lips, as your smile.I have lost it somewhere.May be when I looked into your eyes and you glanced into my soul, making me resilient and vulnerable both.May be it is stuck to your heartbeats, and you hear it as Ophelia on repeat.I have left it somewhere.May be on the same wooden bench, where you left my hand to never hold it again as I sat motionless and dead under the melancholic rains.May be the rains washed it away, with all my sorrows and all my pain.I have left it somewhere.May be in your half read Paulo Coelho, as the bookmark, I made for you. May be it left with Maria, leaving behind Ralf, for love isn't touched, it is felt.I have lost it, to never find it again; on your lips as your smile; in your heart as your beats; in your blood as my love.I have left it, to keep it safe with you; as my touch on your hand; as my poetry on the bookmark; as my feelings in your heart.I have left peices of me in you,to never take them back.©kgautam
Home isn't where you live, it is somplace you belong.You don't only fall in love with people and their hearts, but also with the four walls you live in. The window of your room through which you gazed the stars on a lonely night, the curtains which swayed up and down in the wind wiping away your tears, just to tell you aren't alone. The walls of your room aren't made up of mere bricks and concrete, but they are filled with laughter and tears of unexpected moments. Just a glance of the door makes you feel so elated that you are finally home. I didn't realize when I started to love this room, I didn't realize when these people became home.©kgautam
I was supposed to be a florid city with flashlights and tall buildings, example of excellence and perfection, so that the story of my rise would cause the downfall of others dreams and construct another city with concrete and broken dreams.In fact, I plan to be a lonely house in the middle of the forest, with lush gardens and wildflowers, for the lost travellers and strangers to come in and see the collosal nebula of my dreams, where smile shines brighter than flashlights and you don't live in small rooms of tall buildings but in someone's big heart.I am not a story of perfection and success,I'm just a work in progress.©kgautam
I hear your silence screaming,through the shut door of your lips,and every time I try,to come near to that door,your lips wither,like a delicate rose,leaving back the thorns,of your cold silence.©kgautam
The roses have withered,the violets have dried,the demons of the fairytales are real,they run again and again in my mind.I try to forget your faces,I try to forget I'm alive,but the bruises and pain of your touch,stirs and surges my soul,and if the wounds on my heart,and the pain of my bones,were translated on my skin,you wouldn't even recognize me,at all.I was just 8,and I felt so much,that I feel nothing at all,only if I could show you,how awful you made me feel,you would never be able to,look into your own eyes again.In the attic of my heart,I hide this old trunk,which I can never open,the aching sobs coming from inside,is more than I want to remember.I lay there comatosed,on the grounds,where the goddess stood fierce,there was no one to tell,and no place to hide,I kept the pain to myself,while a part of me died.And it's not the end,I'm the first Asifa,I'm another Nirbhaya,there are many broken children in this horrid world,living in grown bodies,mimicking adult lives,breaking and healing everyday inside.©kgautam