@mirakee@writersnetwork#zephyr#pod (This poem is in perspective of a person suffering from depression,who is not able to see all the happiness life has to offer as his mind is stuck in a spiral of negative thoughts)
They say look at the stars They shine for you I say, they would still shine even if I wasn't there too
They say see these motley flowers They bloom for you abound I look around,but I only see flowers wilted on ground
They say feel the Zephyr It will soothe you I ask, will it soothe my somber soul too
They say look at those trees They stand tall for you in foreground I look around,but I only see burning ashes' mound
They say look at the lake It stands still for you I feel scared but of it's depth,I feel I am plunging into
They say see the fireflies They glow the brightest for you I say ,but I feel I don't have eyes to see that too
They say hold on ,look around There are people who would help you I say ,but I feel I don't have hands to hold on to
(From a baby's perspective) #galaxies#mirakee#pod@writersnetwork@mirakee My mother picks me up On listening my cries I snuggle into her Waiting for a sweet lullaby But there comes none I look at her hazel eyes They are red and not dry Has she been crying? She is speaking something to me now She does this often "Oh my lovely baby, I met a little girl today She had dreams in her eyes In her I saw me When I was a little kid I had stars in my eyes too Getting married and motherhood Is your only duty I was told at twenty two I accepted it too Oh don't get me wrong my boy I would give up my life for you What are mere dreams too?" I look at her lovely face If I could speak now I would tell her I still see stars in her eyes Perhaps galaxies of them It isn't her lullabies that calms me But the beauty of her starry eyes I would tell her to not hide those stars But wear them with pride For it is me,who makes her mother But it is those dreams that make her "her"
#sadness@mirakee@writersnetwork#pod#writersbay There was a tinge of sadness in her voice as she told me about her decision. "Is there any way I can talk you out of it?", I asked, hopefully. She looked at me with those beautiful hazel eyes,"No Kabir, this is something I need to do for myself". I saw the resolute in her eyes and I knew then that no words of mine could pursuade her to stay.So I just looked at her trying to savor all the tiny details of her for my aching heart.
We were at her favourite place,the top of the building she lived in. I always thought she liked sitting here because you could look at the City's amazing skyline from here.But one day she told me that was not the case. "It's the sunset Kabir , if you come at the right time, you can witness most amazing sunset from here.",she had said. And there were days we did witness the sunset,or so she thought. Because as the setting rays of sun colored the sky in various hues,it was not the sun which mesmerized me but she.Her jhumkas with tiny pieces of glass reflecting rays and making beautiful patterns on her arms.Her eyes shining with pure joy and that amazing golden yellow glow on her face.Maybe it was during one of these sunsets I fell in love with her.
Her voice brought me back from my walk down the memory lane, "I am sorry Kabir ,I am sorry for not falling in love" she said."Well,you did fall in love, just not with me, atleast not enough to make you stay",I said.
Do you still love her, after all this time?, My friend asked me as I took a break from my storytelling to sip my coffee."Always" I said. "And is she still together with the person she fell in love with"?
" Well yes they are still together, but it isn't a person she fell in love with you see, but a place." I said as I looked at the photo of the sunset she had sent me from mountains and this time I did look at the sunset but the part of my heart that would always belong to her imagined her behind the camera lens, smiling, her jhumkas reflecting.........
The color of sorrow is blue. It lives under the creases of your eyes, in words you left unsaid. It's what you feel when you board a train on a cold winter night but don't look back, when you're alone in your apartment covered in cold damp sheets and cry over all that you've lost. It's the color of the vein that throbs in your hand when you hold someone so tight. It's the color of sky, color of ocean. It's the color of everything you have to let go.
It's the color of foliage covering death-stained bones of someone you never knew. It's the color of leaves before they fall, it's the pulse of earth. If you mix blue and yellow, you get green. It's that love you feel when you first meet someone only to become a stranger. It's the beginning of another ending.
It's the color of fear, color of darkness. It's what you wear when you lose someone you can't replace. It's nothingness. It's the only color you can see with your eyes closed.
It's the color of blood, pain and love. It's the color you write history with. It's what stays with you when you want to forget. A color you can read on a man's face when you say ''no''
It's the color of happiness. It's the color of your favorite lullaby sung after victory. It's the laughter of clouds before they cover the sky. It's what Van Gogh ate for supper. It's the color of light, color of sun. It's what Icarus saw before burning to death.
The most terrifying thing about your shadow persistenly shielding me from the sun is knowing that someday, it will fade. That this journey with you will come to an end. That every moment of us has an expiry date like all the good things do. Like I've been living a life of ceaseless countdowns. A patient countdown of lengthy years till you showed up and now, an anxiously ticking clock of moments before you leave. And even in this finite span, I know you're not here just for my spring but also for all extents of falls. Not just for the scorch but also the blizzards. But, there are some days, hazy days when I think, this fucking universe will turn you into just another of my scuffles. The cloudy days when I can't help but wonder if you stick around only because you never learnt the art of breaking hearts. Like a seed that gets no say but to blossom wherever it's sowed. Like a child who overwaters the plants because he doesn't know when to stop giving.
I lock one in a bubble of desperation For I am a mirthless, colourless preoccupation Making one wander aimlessly, dismally And fidget through the hyperventilation . I create a tensed, taut vulnerability Obnoxiously dipped in gross suspicion. I produce a stomach full of butterflies And a sweaty, sickly depressed situation That is unpleasantly, squeamishly restless A panicky gloomy submission. Never do I relax my grip for I am a grave, destitute, dark condition I cause sweat and embarrassment And a sinking feeling of dejection. Fearfully they submit to my authority For I create a ruthless sense of destitution Where one finds it easier to succumb To the feeling of worthlessness and it’s combination Of hopelessness and crippling insecurity - Of shivers, scare and haunting humiliation. I thrive on the jittery angst and dismay I am the nervousness of resonating rejection The exclusion and embarrassment Of renunciation and finally elimination.
@mirakee I don't know what to say, I wanna cry so bad. Thank you, thank you so much!
Tonight I'll not count those stars, embellishing the empyrean in enigma. Instead, I'll think about my momma. She has always been kind and gentle like I'm a porcelain doll and she had painted me with galaxies. I still remember, she always liked white lilies more. Not the chrysanthemum, they were grandpa's paramount.
Tonight I'll not ponder my grandpa's passing maladies; I can't even count with my fingers alone or my papa, who forfeits some part of his soul in the borders every single day, his eyes redder than maraschino cherries. Instead I'll think about the days he took me out for ice creams. Daddy used to paint too; his canvas scarier than realities.
Tonight I'll not anticipate my "friends", who couldn't hold me when I wept my hardest. I cried that day, for a secret I thought I'd take to my grave. They always knew my dark grey eyes held the moonlight that paced up and down the corridors but didn't care enough to ask. I know this facade too, will burn into nihilism one day.
Tonight I'll not be the constant spiral of disappointment; I've been gifting my parents with. Growing up in my shadow's shadow was not easy in this rough and tumbled town. Even though my mind is sharper than the affirmations of a better tomorrow. Instead I'll think about the hasty letter I scribbled that day, spilling ink from the inkwell.
Tonight I'll fill this hole in my chest. Although my vision is blurred with regrets and self pity. Tonight I'll think about the monotonous days. No, not happy ones, but the mediocre ones. There's no point in holding onto false hopes. Instead I'll force myself, not to think about the night that seems to be endless, I'll rather think about the dawn that turns dark sky into amber hues.
No matter how hollow I've been feeling, if not better, one day I will not be the worst.
There was a tinge of sadness in her voice, and a perplexing aloofness in her demeanor, as if she had buried her exuberance under the veil of melancholy. It was drizzling and the wet rail tracks glimmered in the diffused daylight, while the soft patter added to the poignance in the ambience. It was an unfamiliar sight for him. He had always adored her round, twinkling eyes, but today, in those he saw gaeity being replaced by gloom. He leaned down and caressed her little cheeks with his rough fingers. She hugged him as tightly as her delicate frame allowed her to, but not for long. With the whistle of the train approaching nearer to the platform, he tightened his grip around her as she feebly said, "Dad, I know that the country needs you, but please remember that I will be waiting, eagerly, to hug you again."