When the night falls, And you intentionally Increase the volume Of the earphones, Beyond the limit, Because you know How much you're Willing to slow down The rhythm of noises That consistently Dances on your Relay neurons. You weep so hard Beneath the Shiny silver scar filled moon, For you know that How it aches to be Imperfect with having All the potential of Beautiful essence.
When the dewdrops Melt at your eyes To burn fire in So bold-cold heart, And you let the whole Oxygen of your body To stop that fire Because you know That feelings will Dwell you back in The picosin of pain For the one that has left Already taught you That the one who will Come, Will leave too. Your soul pushes away The desire of love, Because when winter Arrives, Your bare feet and hands Make you realise that The autumn of your life Has never gone.
When the darkness Creates an emperor In your faded brown eyes, Your glabella Turns into the weapon With anger for black But not even letting The constellations of Your intelligence To reside in.
You turned into a wolf, Dressed in a cloth, But the tenderness in your soul, Still seeks the worthy For letting your woman side To come out.
Slowly I will move out of this position, Like the amble of clock hands My breathe will countlessly take pace, The sun will soften its yellow And the clouds will extend its boundaries, They will hold me in their castles Bringing the constellations in my vessels.
You will spread your arms parabolicaly On the graphs of slow music, And weave them like a wind blowing through your lungs, I will see you kissing the shades in dark, Mumbling the lyrics written on the wall by my bed, I will sketch your dark black eyes with the story you never dared to share, Along with the limbs that composed a galaxy so bare.
Grasses are filled with dew, Asking me to come and sleep with wild wolves, So they can see me bleed with pain For they miss my eyes of rain. They don't know I am dead Searching for a love that drowns in deep ocean, Like my shadow that goes with me When i sleep beneath water.
The mirror smirks at me, Saying you are flickering like a flame, Says your legs are fictionalised with a wax That melts with words, Urges to look at my back That unspecifically draw some dark vampires Which make you scare by you, Asks me to see my bones Which crackles like Promises in love, She says I am an essence That will suffer and bring senescence.
Children are afraid of darkness Because reality doesn't knock their feet, Where I am startled from myself, From the past 16 years, Every breathe that went across my alveoli Surrenended it's existence when cells tried to drown them.
When puberty hammered my body, I realised it's ugly to be a human, It's uglier to be here , it's ugliest to be me, It is. My giggles sounded like a tempo of Wadaiko, Cruel, tough, unpleasant. My laughs like manic pencil scratches, Sharp, hitting, vulgar. My voice trembled like a string of violin, Tragic, tereffic, corpsy. And the hooks of destiny, Pimpled my life with exaggerated sebum. Yuk, isn't it?
I remember Oscar Wilde once said, "I need the dead lovers, to listen up laughter" I rectify: "I need a dead wolf, to listen up laughter" Because lovers need to be genuine, And ingenuity here is an erased word.
This now, there's one second, Where I am at dilemma at edge of recovery or to relapse, And a blade between my thumb and index finger, I wished somebody could come to me and hold me along, Stop me to commit this, and condemn my decision to give up, But this didn't occurred. I was short, my hands didn't cop to wrap my own arms around me.
My dwarfness wasn't because of It's dominance in alleles of inheritance from my parents, But because of kaleidoscope of responsibilities Dressing on my shoulders which inhibit my GH.
I lifted the first page of my old diary today, Found the a diary entry of my 12th birthday With slipped black ink :- "My lord, lemme turn strong soon, So that I can take my this broken soul Against my strong chest and stroke back my fingers at head, To cry until my eyelashes turn nasty, And raw wounds inside my body gets threads" I shuddered my hair down, My omnipotence disguised as since, Still my feet shiver when I move towards peace, My tongue scribbles if I talk about love, My neural system stops if I get some good vibes.
A cutthroat world has brought Vulgarity with homo sapiens, Their spines have been removed so that, They can lay at their required positions And stab where they want. I am a vile here, people mark, But I ain't complaining being worthless, My scars have a tale to tell, Like the contrast of kids and lies.
[ Three, two, one ... And I will get lost within the unprepossessing darkness, My ceiling fan will hug me around, With a revolting necklace around my thyroid glands, And I will write on my forehead, /beauty happens to people, I was a terrible thing /. ]
I abominate to concede that "I ain't congenial with the my survival" Because seeing people not to know, What needs to be done leaves me impotent, So quietude helps but the dire need of Cosiness still curls up at the doorstep.
I cover my body with a thick cloth, To assure if the wind doesn't touches it, The aroma of rain at night does not arrives at my heart in the midnight, To warrant that I am just a stranger to the fireflies who are the most closest creatures I can feel with myself, Because it's possible for the world turns good, Good in the sense, Butterflies can come and stick to our hair, Without startling from the consequences, The water in seas and oceans can turn clean, With a huge bright and placidic aquatica, Yes, we can walk barefoot on the roads.
But, in turn the hades blesses his ray, And the Athena inside me cops to give up, My anxiety forms a loophole with my blood, And the wolf of my tenderness shrinks away, Because I have destroyed, betrayed, and Suppressed myself from getting love, Just because of nothing, And the beast of evil, nurtures in my body, A mean and a girl with unknown dimensions of hatred, For it was all about less pain, not happiness.
Yet, I sit at the roof after pouring , 7 buckets of toxic water at my place, Take a diary of torn pages in my hand, And gaze the shooting stars, Because they're my fate, And one day, whole of them are gonna Crush my soul and burn those pages, One day, the day when I will be the sky, And receive the love and attention I wished, After wearing a red lip color and a fansy dot on my glabella. _priya__
Teach me to write the things, That scribble between promises and attempts, About the wind that blows silently, Down our body randomly all at once; Something that stays behind, Trust issues and hatred, Teach me lord, oh my lord.
My brittle quill with its fragments, intone intractable intestatence on whites, And a wine with heart wrenching divine, Absorbs hollowness of my pen Slinging it's hook from my fingers, But I need to write, because noone hear here.
Ohh my omnipotent, teach me how these breezes are captured That gets exhaled after getting craved in each of our cell, Teach me to diminutate skills of shorthand, To solemn up the dew drops that fall on my cheeks At every zero three hours with a tick tock of soigne.
Consonants in alphabets of my misery, Are quiet sceptical about my frittering vowels of moirè of monody, The clouds yell at my head, Asking me to become a Pollard, And my polemical survival trashes with the pages of my notebook, Notebook with lexicons that has no meaning, EXCEPT asking almighty to teach me, How ink bleeds when we're dying, How the rival gets the throne of existence, Teach me lord, how phalanges calligraphate. _priya__
I wish if I had supernatural powers, Powers to create creatures with tolerance, Tolerance of love and peace within themselves, For they could resist one's pain with their touch, And arm around the tears of one flowing down, Glimpsing the grace of moon in one's eye with their, And surviving the burnt cosmos like striking-meteors. The powers that could make my voice beyond audibility, And could stop the sound of cracks appearing in my hypothetical soul, I wish if I had that, to shudder down the waterfalls from heights just to flow in it like a dead fish just because going with the flow illustrates that your dead body can move, Can move from the depths of pocosin, And the bonfire of a mythological grim reaper, Which is known to be lie(fe).
I dreamt about extramundane things, Forming a blizzard within me for, Having all the stars on my blue except the one, That would make my sky twinkle, I nurtured a six-cornered wierd triangle, With luciferin of a demised firefly, But it soon transformed in shooting one, And strucked my eyes like a scalpel oval out my optics, That took me to cut out the tyre, Which incraved the wordings, "Dreams like wishes come true, To embrace your existence like A betrayal did to your heart". That wasn't true, that was disloyal, But the homo sapiens here made it a fact, With all their occult. So, I wished I had some powers out of the world.
I would have coloured my room with abstracts, Abstracts of the desires that graved in my psyche, Write the invisible scratches on my face, With some broken stitches and running blood, Which doesn't come under the sights of almighty, I would have uncovered the ceiling and And gazed the blackhole gravitating my light of hope. I must have taken my feet to the land, Where the scars become beauty, Open arteries give blood to the stems of peace, And fractured lungs still breathe with Quid pro quo of all my commitments to stay alive, I would have stayed there, If I had those powers with which the thantos take away the spirits from the living'. _priya__
...And almost then, when you left me with the isolation of love, The peach colour of my cheeks turned red with the dilemma either to stop you from betraying me again or let you go ahead, ahead in the apartment where you are gonna get that; But I preferred to smile, like always, A dirty smirk, yea the one you get annoyed of everytime, for I knew I would smash you with my philanthropic feelings which are quite ugly to your pretty-tender face and Luke warm to your denounced soul just thinking about if ever we met, or we spoke after years though, what will be our conversation? Silence or take no notice of our existence. Well, I can't lie because my earlier ones were enough, I will ask you about the time you spent without me, the moment when my air hugs visited you but your cold shoulder turned around just to get consoled by my bitter kisses on your palms, I will cry and take your tears out, to gladden my seclusion in my claustrophobic room filled with your touch, your presence, your aroma, your sweet deceptions, I will ask you about the calculations of my broken bangles in returned gift and wait, there are infinite things I've kept in my throat about the infinitely small piece of fiction-about our love. Still, when I randomly see your blank display pictures with no status-abouts shown, the name saved my moon looses it's moonlight but though, If i try to check out your new-catharsitic eyes in these freaking hell social medias, my beats go mad like a broken meteor. Oh damn shit! See, I can't change, likeways even today I am on roll to speak. Is there anything you have there in your heart? Oops, sorry see again I forget there wasn't anything for me there, Your eyes deceived me or my heart got so. The denigration I got with the fantasy I live with your intimacy actually brought me as an omniscient of worldly wisdom in reality In just a pity short age and I am grateful to that but wonder about your countless gifts of dysthymia....
I still remember 10th of December When you cried in front of my porch light. Then I stared in your blue eyes, you asked me how to stop this which haven't started. Tears started to dance on my cheeks. Your hands reach to kiss those drop of feelings but they slip from your smooth hands in the sky of darkness.
I still remember 10th of December when you asked me why our love is not enough? and I said because I'm like a river which can't hold anything for too long, so how can I hold you in my arms till your tears fade away. And then those ropey clouds started to melt into the place of our last promise.
When the night falls and you intentionally increase the volume of the earphones , beyond the limit warning , to flaunt , to show your nearby , how cool and calm you're , somewhere deep inside , you always know , how much you're broken , how much you've been broken , how every breathing moment , is becoming a trouble , and how even the silence , it's feeling like a chaotic double , but still , You go ahead , with that not-so-forgotten slogan , the show must go on ...
for , despite your spirits lying low , farther the pain , that encircles you , grim , yet slow , notwithstanding the fact , that every drop of adrenaline , inside You , it's lacking the flow , and despairs dark have conquered , that realm of the facial glow , but the world around you , grasped by the effect , halo , it keeps expecting from you , to revivify and continue , with the show ,
not that you lack freedom , but nobody's there ever , with you or your boredom , this is the land of the rising sun , where someone's grief , sometimes , for someone , it becomes fun , and sometimes , even a smile , from your dimpled face , can be , for someone , deadlier than some gun , so they keep saying , laugh and the world will laugh with you , so , they need from you , to continue with the show , nothing matters , even if , your pain tends to or does grow ,
for , this world of ours , it doesn't like , silences , creepy , neither does it comforts , feelings charred and faces weepy , for , it's always fond of faces , that are pretentious , but show happy , they're just trying to make sure , they're feeling proud , what if you are feeling , isolated in a chunk of a crowd , that's none of anybody's business , every single person here , is fanatic for own happiness ,
this ain't something new , for , barring a few , only the self-centered , are the new , well mannered , so don't ever think , of running mellow , don't try to find something , concrete in this big hollow , just breath deep , focus on the flow , recollect yourself , and make go on , the show ....