22 “Here to Impact and not to Impress.”

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  • rodney 10h

    Dis- my soul.

    All of them regrets.
    All of its subsets.

    And its triplets.

    Blow some trumpets.

    I see no miracles.
    I'm drenched smiling in the puddle of my own tragedies.

    Laughing, living in the irony of my parodies.

    I have no hope or no one to hold on to.
    Nobody does, either.

    That doesn't sound even a little like better.

    If I could smile a little more genuine.
    A little more than suffocatingly pangene.
    I would survive the storm at its fiercest— intervene.

    Despised folk song is burnt bleak.
    With no light or no hope on any streak.

    Only a burdened soul grown too weak.

    Nobody considers it to be smart but a lot more of a freak.

    Tonight is almost over.
    So much so that I have to shower.

    Or the burden of yesterday shatters the mirror of today.
    Into glimpses of traumatic events evoked by an encircling environment.
    To connect the dots is to stab the testament.

    Testament of my life, survived in meager disappointment.


  • rodney 1d

    Blind retribution.

    Explorer longs for a treasure map, not for the fortune that it brings.
    But, for the adrenaline rush that it rings.

    Just like me,
    I long for thee.

    For no physical affairs.
    For no economic heirs.

    But for the love that I possess,
    I long for thee.

    Sun may fall in the ocean.
    Sun may rise from a mountain.

    But you are the reason for my devotion.
    And that little grey area that exists in-between ones belief and superstition.

    No matter, how long you make me wait.
    Or with whichever chalk you've written or wiped your slate with.

    I'll stay here,
    beside the mango tree.

    Where once we played.
    Went round the clock waiting to be free.

    For your sight,
    I was blessed to see.


  • rodney 2d

    Reminiscent ages.

    Sweet teen.
    Your screams,
    they still teem.

    Your arrogance and anger,
    they're still around but so much under.

    You lie.
    You still lie.
    Look for an excuse to escape from false goals and hopes filled tome.

    Because it has been half past midnight,
    but still you cannot sleep nor find no home to stay.


  • rodney 2d

    Translate what I cannot with your pink lips and cherry red tongue.

    I breathe.
    You tweet.

    My Tweety bird, you are sweet.

    That's why I gently greet.

    By the candle light,
    when our eyes meet.

    They know for certain,
    why they synchronise and beat.

    With every pulse that reads.
    You are the thinking and
    thoughts that my memory seeds.

    You, only you.
    Only you stay true.

    When the ice melts and the volcano erupts.
    It is you who I'd always choose.

    To live through devastation.
    Hard life and frustration.

    Oh lover, you are my heart's only translation.


  • rodney 3d

    Drip preserve the heart.

    Wasted life, living paranormal.
    I know it wasn't in your best choices to turn into a sentimental.

    A successful failure who never speaks.
    Your mirror and your intentions are which that never barks.

    Your eyes are gleaming with pain.
    That angst and the agony that fell like rain.
    You cannot reopen or retain—
    All the memories.

    Because they've past.
    The worries and the miseries are what stays vast.

    The way you've tried to be happy.
    Make and stay with everyone as much— happy.

    When there was no reason to live.
    No one to, for your unsuccessful deaths— grieve.

    You just stay indoor.
    At your incognito core.
    You swore—
    Swore to yourself to always shut the door.
    For no one could see it or get closed in.
    Because what they want to talk,
    And what they want to listen is in regards to their walk.

    I know it hurts, so much that nobody cares.
    Nobody cares less or more.
    For you swore—
    Swore to yourself to shut the door.
    So much so, you sever your own heart's thumping —
    And the heart that's beating, keeps dripping.

    Keeps dripping.


  • rodney 4d

    Not a poem!
    You can call it whatever you want to.
    No rules here.
    No proper grammar or punctuation marks.

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    sweet children playing on the streets.
    quarreling for their share and their sweets.
    words spoken, hearts are broken

    first time might've been the last
    and the last night may be the first
    who's past the last ?
    and who's got the dust ?

    who's thirsty and who feeds ?
    and who'll live and who'll die ?
    who's afraid to hide ?
    who's afraid to seek ?

    who wants to speak yet there's no one
    following the path of discouragement and the
    he tries to fix the path that he never takes
    so, he has to baritone before he speaks and he breaks
    breaks out of his shell


  • rodney 5d

    Arrogant soul, dies cold.

    Reclusive soul’s trying to fly.

    Caged in a bowl;
    It's aiming to touch the sky.

    With arms wide open.
    There's no hope or reason.

    There are people and their children.
    They are here for a reason.
    Though, most aren't certain of it to be a shallow column.
    They prefer to become someone.

    What is housed has always been useless.
    What's helped has become senseless,
    seamless and pointless.

    Yet, the soul tries to harness.
    Outgrow this engulfing darkness.
    Out of its stubbornness.

    Friends get old.
    Their talks turn bold.

    In addition to their allegiance—
    Their selfish intentions turns reckless.

    Anonymity of this subject needs to be a million miles away from arrogance.

    His arrogance.
    His copied and pasted nuisance.


  • rodney 1w

    Solitary Silence.

    You wouldn't feel the way I feel.
    You wouldn't comprehend the things that I've dealt.
    Because your eyes they are tainted,
    fogged by your polarised glasses.

    You don't scream the way I do.
    You don't pretend the way I talk to you.
    Because my heart it's like paper, toilet papers.

    You know, you've used me to get whatever you wanted.
    And then, left me of myself, self defecated.
    I'm scintillated;
    by your tortures, I'm so unappreciated.

    So, go wherever you please.
    Leave like the same, as you came.
    Don't wipe no thinner crease.

    You've shot yourself out of my frames.
    In your name, they've got a million other thrifty games.

    I'm just a man from whom, a million others copy.
    And then credits themselves as, I am the one who actually copies.

    I write for pleasure and for distance.
    And, I of everyone else around the globe, don't need no fancy trophies.

    No one to admire but someone to actually savour the words that I've written and have kept writing.

    Barely, speaking.

    Reads because it is simply silencing.
    In solitude, it is healing.


  • rodney 1w

    ಅಳಿಸಿರುವ ಕಣ್ಣೀರ ಒರಿಸಿ.
    ತಾ ಎಂದು, ಆ ಚಂದಮಾಮನನ್ನು ತೋರಿಸಿ.
    ತಿನ್ನಿಸಿ, ಕಣ್ಣೀರ ಒರೆಸಲು.

    ಆ ಮೂಲೆ, ಈ ಮೂಲೆ ಅಲೆಸದೆ.

    ನೀ, ಬಾ ಮಾ.
    ನಿನ್ನ ಕಣ್ಣಾ ಮುಚ್ಚಾಲೆ ಆಟ ಮುಗಿಸಿ.
    ಆ ನಿನ್ನ ಇಷ್ಟದ ಸೀರೆಯ ಧರಿಸಿ.

    ಸುರಿಯದಿರೋ, ನನ್ನ ಕಣ್ಣಿರಾ ಒರಿಸ—
    ಬಾ ಮಾ ?

    ನಾ ಕಾರ್ಗತ್ತಲಿನ ಬಂಧಿ ಆಗಿರುವೆ,
    ನನ್ನನ್ನೂ ಹೊತ್ತೊಯ್ಯಲು,
    ಬಾ ಅಮ್ಮ...


  • rodney 1w

    A love letter and a heart broken letter to my beloved city.

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    City of Heritage.

    Oh my Mysuru ?
    Every time that I enter you,
    And every time that I leave without you.

    You leave me mystified.
    With a heavy heart, you evoke something that can never be materialised.

    There's my childhood in you.
    There's love in you.
    There might've been a million other that love you.

    But, I was born in you.

    For you.

    In some way, I grew.
    If we, with eachother could ever communicate—
    You'd know, I'd simply obliterate.

    Visit after visits.
    You remain the same.
    My family that I love is walking,
    Person by persons— lame.

    There's no one way to follow.
    No two ways to swallow.

    But my bellow, it's hollow.

    While my cousin's getting ready to get married—

    I'm still trying to get out of the coffin in which I'm still buried.

    I cannot comprehend time;
    Or how it has turned to past.

    I'm still awaiting for a summer vacation that's never coming.
    For the smell of the flavours,
    That my Amma kept cooking.

    For my lost Uncle's comical entertainment.
    For my beloved Mother's words of encouragement.

    They all are gone like the past winter.
    It hurts so much that;
    What's left of us, can't still counter—
    Counter balance eachother.

    Whatever is lost.
    Whatever we are losing.
    They both are the same train that we keep missing.

    Listen to my calling, Oh God ?

    Was I created by you to casually give and take what I love the most ?
    Oh God ?

    What is it that it costs ?
    For the wages can never be simply tossed.

    For I am so lost.