poison

Unsocial, Unpublished and Unpopular �� And An Engineer ��

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  • poison 7w

    A CONVERSATION

    Can we have a conversation?
    Maybe-
    Not about love.
    .
    Maybe, about literature?
    About the poems-
    Where people despite their difference are on the same page;
    About books-
    Where people of different characters are in the same book,
    Sometimes, if lucky, in the same chapter.
    .
    .
    Maybe, about the solar system?
    Where the mass proportion doesn't matter;
    No one counts how much sun weighs
    Or how less mass pluto has;
    How Saturn has Eighteen moons,
    And Mercury and Venus have none.
    and How earth sustains life.
    I mean despite their distinctness we still consider them one;
    A single-family.
    .
    .
    Maybe, about art?
    Where different colours brushed in a different direction, form a beautiful painting-
    In spite of their shades and brightness;
    They beautifully lie on the same canvas.
    .
    .
    Maybe, about languages?
    How they are different to write and speak;
    How "Left to right" and "right to left" matters-
    on the same paper;
    Yet;
    All of them ;
    Need punctuation;
    Have a grammar;
    Most importantly;
    All of them are means of communication.
    .
    .
    Maybe, About us?
    About hopes...
    Where something out of our differences,
    Will find a way, someday;
    And Make us the US.
    ©poison

  • poison 8w

    Love is a scalar quantity;
    At least mine one;
    It has no direction to go;
    No destination, no dreams;
    It's far away from the reality of the world;
    Far from the concept of-
    to be loved in return;
    My love is homeless;
    Like a street child-
    Surviving on its own;
    Without the attention of beloved;
    Without the promise of holding his hand;
    Without the hope of hearing his voice;
    But,
    My love has magnitude;
    Greater than the collection of stars in a milky way;
    Greater than the Inrush current in the transformer;
    Greater than the tides of a tsunami;
    My love is the opposite pole;
    Of the different field;
    In a totally different direction.
    My love is a hopeless scalar quantity;
    It has nowhere to go...
    ©poison

  • poison 9w

    You can take three days to get over him, my writer friend said.
    "How can I even get over it. It is my first heartbreak." I replied.
    /Meanwhile, I wished, If I would have learned to love at 14 and got my heart broken by 16, and at this age of 22 I won't have to struggle with my late teenage symptoms./
    "There are no places where I can stalk him, and no place where I can find him flawed," I stressed.
    "Writers don't stalk, we write" he replied.
    Well, I am not a writer.
    May be,
    I can explain grief.
    I can talk about,
    "How I am the silicon, death is an oxide and our separation is the furnace I am burning in".
    Or, I can explain,
    " how grief graves inside you"
    Or, how longing of a departed, haunts your entire existence.
    Maybe, I can write about the occupation.
    Or, about the longing, their occupation has caused.
    But, Heartbreak!
    Heartbreak is not my area.
    There are no poems that can compose my heartbreak.
    Most importantly, there are no words that can cage him in my poems;
    I can't explain, how my weak heart got attached to his;
    Or how I couldn't take my eyes off him.
    Or, How mere looking at him, gave me endless happiness.
    The kind of happiness, that spring brings with itself after a long grey winter.
    Or, how talking to him, was a treat to my soul.
    I can't explain,
    How we were never on the same page ever,
    And how still, his existence mattered.
    Or, how being there, next to him, even just for a moment was my infinity.
    How the infinity from, "the fault in our stars" made sense.
    And how "Always", was not a snapes thing anymore.
    I can't explain,
    I can't explain this, that I already knew that he is not mine.
    But losing him, broke my heart.!
    ©poison

  • poison 10w

    I wonder which will get me killed faster-
    My stubbornness or your ignorance.
    ©poison

  • poison 14w

    Dear beloved;
    The promises and paths of this world don't connect me to you.
    I know, this is what they told me is life;
    To live without you and still, stay strong;
    But I miss you;
    More little, more often every other day;
    I am not able to, go with the flow of life;
    Because it doesn't lead me to anywhere close to us;
    Neither does it lead me to our little happy world;
    The minutes of our conversation has disappeared;
    And, our small walks have died;
    My laugh is empty;
    And my smile has faded;
    I don't know, but maybe I am just tired;
    A little tired of this world;
    And, a little tired of our separation;
    My body is drained;
    And my soul is running out of life;
    Sometimes, I feed it our memories and sometimes, few tears on the pillow act as an antidote;
    The separation, of ours, is weighing me heavy;
    I am almost dying, but not buried;
    Like every time, I cross a path;
    I wish it leads me to us;
    And, it has been years since our separation;
    And I still wonder,
    Is there at least one road, that will lead me to your arms.
    Ever again!
    I miss you!
    ©poison

  • poison 27w

    اک طرف خواہشوں کا بوج؛
    اور حقیقت– "كُلُّ نَفْسٍ ذَآئِقَةُ الْمَوْت"!
    ©poison

  • poison 29w

    There are my plans, and desires;
    There are my mother's prayers, and love;

    And there's this love seventy two times greater than my mothers love!
    I trust on it ❤
    ©poison

  • poison 30w

    My crimson nights are longing for you;
    I will row my shikara Via dal lake;
    The frozen dal, is on the side of occupation;
    But I will make it to Hazratbal, before Fajr;
    After the Fajr, in Hazratbal;
    We will meet, on the banks of dal lake;
    Together, We will witness promisory sunrise;
    Beyond, the barbed wires of occupation;
    Whispering the prayers of love;
    I will meet you, beyond their plants of hate;
    The chirp chirp of birds, will be our music;
    I will bring the tumla chzout, and a flask of nun chai;
    Under the naked tree of chinar;
    While you sip it in mug;
    I will look at, like a priceless memory;
    This will be our favourite one;
    But today;

  • poison 33w

    Today, the pepper gas choked my heart!
    I heard her coughing in downtown again!!
    ©poison

  • poison 38w

    May the sparks of your bright nationalism, that you choose over humanity, burn your houses too.
    Ameen

    ©poison