This is not me who is scribbling 'bout bloodstained heart, heartbreaks, 'bout that loneliness and depression. That is not me. She is a rapturous soul who enters into me everynight when the aurora betides, when the stars enter into the canopy of azure sky, when the beatific moon shows his bewitching stardust, she scribbles poetries.
She always says me "I'm a soul made up of ravishing metaphors but the so- called modern society didn't understand me and did kill me in a night. They threw me away near that graveyard. I was afraid and I was screaming but they didn't listen to me. They said me a mad girl. Am I mad ? No, neve'. I was a poet, I am a poet and I'll be a poet. I'll enter into you every night to scrawl verses and to satisfy this soul. They can not stop me to write, they can kill a body but not a soul. Body can decay but soul can't."
Yes, she is a empyrean soul. I never see her but can feel her with each of her words. She wears the necklace of sonnets and anklets of haikus. And I am stunned after seeing her earrings which are made up of bewitching elegies. And in her hand I see plethora of lexicons to adorn her fingers as rings. She should write, she should express herself through me, because I'm in love with her.
/POETS NEVER DIE, BODIES CAN DECAY BUT SOUL IS IMMORTAL/
Words aren't cased in a sheath, fortunately, so if mine cause a slaughter, I hope an officer doesn't kneel on my neck, but why'd he come for me, I am not black?
Well, if every house in the neighborhood is burning, a few flames would be sufficient to set yours ablaze. And you have to be a fool to not realise that!
Communities learn from one another and as much effort it takes to inculcate a humane practise, a mere half of it is required to ravage a society.
Hate begets hate and if not controlled, the consequences are excruciating. Akin to venom that spreads throughout the body, poisoning each and every part with no discrimination, hate envelopes everything, consuming everyone.
To every genius out there who thinks it is not his or her ground to cover and why should they stand up for George Floyd, let me tell you that it's not him alone you are standing in solidarity with if you do; it's the toxic belief of superiority of the hierarchy that we are up against.
It would've been a case of racial abuse if it wasn't a man in uniform that indulged in the heinous crime, but now it is more. Now it is a conflict with the system, against the oppression of those in power.
For whoever you believe in, for his sake, throw away your toxic optimism, that makes only the rosiness visible. The sky is blue and beautiful but optimism that blindfolds you towards the fact that it used to be more beautiful is calamitous. Don't use the bright side of things to escape from the ugly conundrums that as a matter-of-fact, you should be looking at originally. If you're in a soothing condition doesn't mean everyone is, and also doesn't mean, that you'll always be.
It is a false idea that we are fighting solely for justice. We are, but the greater motif is to not fight for it further, to stop the surge of hate right now. The revolution is not anymore of the fallen ones, they rest in peace, it is ours, as personal as it could be. It is ours to the end; an effort to extinguish the fire, to suck out the venom. ___________________________________________________
Crossroads ~~~~~~~~ My senses are distorted As the language of my reality Mixes And is absorbed into itself, Where once it was my native tongue, Yet no more am I to speak it
All of a sudden, Yet seemingly in slow motion, I’m reading my world backwards, While the words describing The beingness around me Are warped into a new truth
The concept of existence has changed, Parallels became one At a certain point in time, Creating an intersection of space I’m unsure of where to cross
My mind cannot focus Or decipher The true meaning Of transformation, Yet still here I am, Solely occupying the land of truth Before a crossroads
One way leads To the deception of paradise, Another to a false reality, And the last, to a realm of uncertainty
But is it really necessary For me to travel purposely To falsity When my whole world view Became clear to me? Is choosing to stay awake To the truth of everything Really the only decision left? Should I remain here alone, Waiting, Always waiting for another To open their eyes And realize the illusion? Or should I choose a path I’ll never remember walking on And forget That I, once upon a time, Could have chosen a path of no regret?