For a moment I lost myself, in the darkness of the night as they sweeped up their way to my shadow, to find me nowhere, I was never there.
For a moment I lost myself in the symphony of my heartbeat, slowly singing to me of crushed bones and ripped skins while I cry miseries.
For a moment I lost myself in the waves of the sea as I submerged my body beneath with a slight wavering breeze, letting me go of every misery skin deep.
For a moment I lost myself against the rain, stumbling across all kinds of pain, folded up in a paper boat and quickly let asail.
For a moment I lost my self staring at the blue sky, drowning me in the vastness of dreamy birds, cooing unheard metaphors
For a moment I lost my self as I stood in the balcony embracing the chaos within which I fleet.
For a moment I lost myself in the shoes of those whose hands have scars, their stories scream plight, but how most of us don't care their palms asking for a blessing in sight.
For a moment I lost myself, within all the voids searching for light when I could barely breathe.
And then, I lost myself forever in the things of unknown, wandering among those who knew who they were and what they are. I just stood, believing I that ought to be perfect in this society to be accepted, change was something to be feared and meant to be flawed.
But the truth is, losing yourself for the better, to be anew, and to not be afraid of what others have to say, is an achievement you need to believe.
You don't wake up with a poem in your mind on a gloomy monday, while you're slowly sipping hot simmering tea, with you hands lazily swinging onto the arms of the balcony, with eyes slightly lit upon the thought that you've given birth to a poem that was stuck between your teeth and the guttural sound of your throat.
You see a poem, slowly hums melody of old songs while you watch a raven fly past cotton candy skies, that bleed into a colour of pink with the sun dazzling half through as it bids good bye.
You see a poem, is trapped within the space of skin and bones, heaving the weight of thoughts you'd never think of, untill you'd seen them in the eyes of a stranger looking for answers within the sleeves of shattered windows of places crushed now displaced from our shallow sight.
You see a poem, breathes within me as I pass by a familiar person I've known, yet realise we have being strangers for far longer than I remember and those memories now rot to letters and dreadful miseries
You see a poem, beats within my chest with all the secrets I've dug and buried, afraid enough to pass by their grave I murmur words quietly in a hurry.
You see a poem is born, within the silence of a conversation dead, beneath the stars and canopies of humongous trees
You see a poem, settles like the mist in an oddly empty winter, while I slowly gather myself to breathe
As I slowly daze in the hurricane of deep sleep , I hear the whispers underneath my mind chanting echoes of words that spill out as poetry
You don't wake up with a poem on your mind, tipped up on your tongue ready to spill and bleed. You live it, realise it and some days dig it beneath your clenched jaw as you slowly breathe in a burning city, painting a beautiful scenario in pity
Happiness seems to awake our senses in many ways, like a delighted child feeling the heavy rain drops, dripping carefully like the blooming of a flower at midnight.
Untill two clouds are hit rumbling down streaks of envisioned fire, the peace falters and the storms arrives through the crevices of nature we still haven't found, but desire.
We slowly crawl out of our comfortable beds to peek through the window, to witness the scattering of a thousand leaves gathered, now swimming through the small streams they've made, canoeing through rocks despite the difficulty they've now faced.
Then we lie face down, bringing our knees to our chests feeling the thud, thinking about all the sorrows in depth Consuming ourselves with thoughts ,plunging our happy days to debt.
How many times have we regreted the thought of our inability to do what our heart wants to, rather we blindly let it off without searching for a path we crave?
The wind hustle by and crawls beneath the walls, echoes trembles yet we'd rather forget than try untill our hands feel raw.
Trust, we have none on ourselves. How would we believe in a sunrise untill we'd try hard and wake up for it.
How carelessly we expect of the things, we don't put our hearts at.
Slowly, when we shall pave the clouds, cluttered on the path we're unaware of, it is then the sun shall glitter bright And the storm shall reside within the creaks of broken windows Untill the next time we face a plight ~Aalia #mirakee#mirakeeworld#writersnetwork#pod
Something within me is dead The soul that once dwelled Has struck down a knife And created an utter mess My mind's blank Neither the shadows rhyme There's a plot for a crime But no target in mind I'm clouded in here A thick forest of fog Clouding my thoughts I've being hopless now After an endless number of ealks I'm trying to figure To where have these words withered I'm trying so hard That my head and heart beg to differe I'd raise my pen above Every now and then But this stubbornness of words Just wouldn't listen But it's not something new I've heard It's a writer's block That strips your tongue of syllables Mind of rhythms Heart with no beat Tears fron eyes none the world can see It's just a loss of words for the obe's who ain't artists but mere spectators But for artists For the most of us It's like being choked In the hallowness of something We've neither seen Nor heard #writerstolli#writersnetwork#mirakee#pod#mirakeeworld
Stringed puppets Walks of perfection you see Fake smiles Dreading too many dreams But silently doesn't your mind scream?
Aren't you oppressed By laws and non-acceptance of flaws how you're moulded by evil claws How they carve you, Make you, Force you, To portray as a shadow of yet another mistake Yet they call it perfection And we gaze in awe?
Clamped voices Rumours as strange noises Bravery deemed as shame Hardwork put in vain
They suppress you in a box And bound you within limits Because out of the box here Is called a mere hoax
Ruining revelations, realisations In the name of god Society has choked us now Chained us With strings With all they want
This is not a poem About the hands ticking in the clock But hands touching you inappropriately at the bus stop This is not a poem About love at first sight But how you almost choked with anxiety And cried last night This is not a poem About a girl's or a woman's right But about how each of us have rights Rights we've being blinded from The ones under authority Slipping lies like, This money ain't black but white This is not a poem Where loneliness is a feeling I crave This is a poem where loneliness is a space Where I need to be brave I need to be brave in odd streets Past seven Slight carelessness could mark my soul In hell or heaven That's what you decide This is not a poem Where I shut my eyes To see nightmares This is a poem Where I fear them open eyed And they challenge me to dare By they I mean the society If you're confused Fetch a dictionary or google it Sink it, chew it and maybe swallow it And don't tell me Judging it wasn't fair This is not a poem Of a perfectly configured society And can such a thing exist when the perfect gas law in chemistry Is yet still a hypothesis? But this is a poem Of living upto all our differences This is not a poem About me, him or her This is a poem about you being you This is not a poem This is reality #writersnetwork#mirakee#mirakeeworld#pod
There's a firefly in my room. I watch her chasing an escape to find her way out of my room. She doubts my distracted sleep . She says, " I am not chasing a way out, you moron, haven't you seen a firefly dancing before ? It's just you are a pessimist." I say, "Yes I am. It keeps me away from being envious." She stares in pity. I stare back in distress.
There's a rhyming scheme she follows. I watch her with a frightful clutch. She says, "What's so unpleasant in my dance ?" I say, "No there isn't any but the scheme you are following is the one that once has made me stumble . She laughs, " There's nothing to worry about. Falling is what helps us to rise. " I smirk, " I'm a bedridden lover since my first fall. " She stares in pity. I stare back in distress.
There's a huge ceiling fan running. I watch her with a frightened breathe. She says, " Look your fan seems like a merry-go-round. I won't mind taking a ride." She leaps before I warn, " No that's like the similar whirlpool I have drowned into. It seems so pleasant until you leap, but death is all it has to gift to any breathing mortal." She stares in death. I stare back at death.
I saw you the other day, on those cold streets. You didn't look at me. Guess the fog had blurred your vision, or your brain did. Well, the point is you didn't notice me, but I did. You haven't changed a bit. Your neck was still wrapped up in that mint muffler I once knitted for you, those eyes were still pale cornflower hued. Your cheeks still go pink when you smile. And you still wear your brain on your sleeves instead of your heart.
But there's something that has changed. You've got someone else to be your pink peony. Her skin is softer than mine and probably she doesn't even bother you with crazy thoughts and meaningless talks. I promise, I ain't crying. I'm happy for you. Very happy.
You remember how I always said, that I'm a dandelion. That I was made to fly with the soothing breeze, far far away, into the unknown worlds and finally sink with the golden sun. You always laughed at me when I told you. But you still gave me a bouquet of dandelions that day. That day, before I left you.
You know, I was scared when you said you'll wait for me forever, outside the operation theatre. I made you promise you won't. And I'm glad you didn't wait. You see, flowers don't live much long. But I didn't wither, I flew away with the breeze, dispersing into the air. I wasn't lying, you see. I saw many things, but I missed you. So I sat on your window sill yesterday. Tears were flowing down your cheeks, on a pressed dandelion in your diary.
So, I decided to write this letter to you, to remind that I'm still there, in the air you breathe and the poems you write in your diary. You can feel me, whenever you want to. Now, stop crying you stupid.
There is no enough life to be lived, not enough time to be reached to the destination, not enough food to be eaten, not enough night to be slept, not enough love to be felt, not enough words to be spoken and not enough thought to be scribbled... Just some hands we touch in our bygone hours, some voices we hear in the playlist of time and some faces we see in the path through which we pass at the same time and same moment....
The whole life is a journey from birth to death and we spend every moment by remembering things.. everyone expect us only to REMEMBER... Remember our color, remember I'm not beautiful or I'm beautiful, remember our gender, remember the things that we are allowed to do or not allowed to do... Remember all the people around us, those last night tears, food that we swallowed but not tasted, songs that we heard but not sung and those poems we read but not felt....
All those felt unfelt moments are we find in our journey towards an another life which is a loop but we don't want to believe the fact... We controlled our emotions, prayers and curse at the same time to be accepted by the heaven's society... Only then we can be felt more than alive...
The more time we breathe, the more distance reduces.... But on that journey, apart from remembering our entities, million times we feel alive or dead... When our hearts breathe and we deny to accept...
//walking miles and miles in this journey, don't know where should I stop and where I'm going with fast heartbeat, I can only trust my eyes and feet.. what I touch is the perfect skin of reality... the journey is taking years, minutes and centuries//
I was about to die in my birth, reality denied my homecoming, but I survived because of the blessings of her womb, she knitted dreams by her falling lashes and hold me in her arms, so similar those eyes, she painted her constellation in my skin, I felt alive. When I wrote my first alphabet and my father taught me to write my name I felt alive. When I first visited my dance school and my feet first touched those metal beats I felt alive. When I first saw changes in my body with growing age I felt alive. When I came back home from school and my pets were waiting for my touch I felt alive. Still when I go to sleep and various imaginations run in my veins to be written to be said to the world, I feel I'm alive...
At the same time I tasted the salt of hell, when I hardly felt my breathe. When I first lied to my parents, when I first saw my grandmother so calm and lifeless, sleeping her last sleep, when I saw one of my friends after many years and she couldn't recall my name, when I walked through the same lane everyday and then also no one smiled at me. When I tried to write my days of Autumn but the summer night wiped my ink by its tears... Still sometimes I feel myself empty handed when my heart and mind dancing in their own monologues.
//there are days when I lay on the wet soil in my own quagmire of tears and death comes around unexpectedly time after time, I see some fruits of hope so well matured to eat... I feel like dying but I don't want to... Gather those tears for another day cause all of a sudden I've found the meaning of its language//
All I know, we don't need the sky to fly. When I feel the breeze tickles my hair and pores drenched by the fire, old skin fell on the ground and became the misty grass and I call my name by broken all the fears, I drift with the sparrow, I just need to open my arms wide and just soar to the home where I barely cry...
There's no enough life to be lived but enough moments to breathe...
the sky never seemed to care about what you feel. for a poetic touch, you gave it a color, a life, and a story that fits in your journal.
but it was never the same, always changing; from one color to another. blue to the orange to the red and sometimes, a bit too grey for your liking.
you chose a word to match the color and a few more for the clouds and the wind.
it's always blue when you begin, not too bright but not too sad peeking through the window to the beginning; a beginning that's so uncertain. but put a smile on your face, a tired little one where your lips barely move.
you don't know why, but grey always had a sad story to rain down. sometimes a gentle kiss on your numb body sometimes drowning you to death. but, it always had something sad about it.
sadness that always fits so perfectly about a long lost one, as it rains down to drench the streets and numb the pain of all the ones that look through a window and leave a sigh.
like a fine Claude Monet's painting, the sky bleeds into a perfect stroke of all the colors; but it's never the same the next day. silent, but tranquil moments of serendipity that lets you breathe. some endings are always more artistic than some beginnings.
the day strips down into the night to end the charade; there is too much dark between the stars. we turn on the artificial colors to fill the room, darkness always questioned your existence.
you always loved the night sky, my moonchild; when the sky lay bare against your eyes you wrote the best lines of all the things that never made sense in your head but somehow someone felt connected to like the stars that always stayed till the end.
a tiny dot in the endless space, awed by the wonders that hide from the sight. perhaps, some infinities are bigger than what we can comprehend. but you always wondered what the sky feels.
Awakening optimism is the only path among a labyrinth of roads that leads to a beautiful destination called "happiness". And, Pessimism is the only shadow which dwells in the lane of darkness that soon has to face the lambency of "optimism".
*labyrinth -an intricate combination of path in which it's difficult to find way through *lambency - brightness or radiation