I was surrounded by darkness, well actually i prefer it the absence of light gives me a way to think more about a person i am, and as the clock struck 12 i made my way to the source of buzz only to witness the specks of tiny lights passing by. They must be someone's hometown, someone might be in love with that place and someone might be leaving that place with a heavy heart just like i am leaving but not with the heavy heart though. I have had my sets of happiness and misery, so i don't complain much, but it might have been nice to have someone see me off, ask me when i will be back, telling me to call them once i reach my destination. And by "Destination" i actually now realise that i don't have one, i just boarded the train to run away from my problems. PROBLEMS Which haunt me every now and then, well they scare me more than the demons under my bed. And i had to run away, not that they will not come back for me. I know they will, they always do just like a boomerang coming back to the owner who threw it away. They tear each part of me and i am in pain for i don't know how many days. People romanticise problems as a way to being onset for something great but why do we wish upon something that makes us endure this hunger games.
So, tonight i decided to disappear into far away land, set myself on journey i don't know about. Not that anybody will care but why do i care about somebody caring. I just wish that someday i will turn into one of this places where someone will belong, someone will be happy to come back and someone will leave with a heavy heart. -Vaishnavi
Wait until the darkness takes over the light in this world and maybe your heart too. Think of the ways the world has wronged you The pieces of innocence you left over period of time Parts of you still intact in the fragile body which still pain excruciatingly when your eyes meet the love in other pairs.
Remember the first time someone made you smile so bright that you wanted that day to last forever and sky to be filled with rainbow's each time the other one smiled. And the other day they left you in the middle of love maze, making it hard to find way back to who you were or what you wanted to become.
Open your diary, Put in the date or don't, it doesn't matter Write poetries in boundaries Where there is no point in pinpointing the times Cause poetries aren't bound by archaic definitions.
Close your eyes and enter into the world which you wish never existed. Witness the fall full of love, Winter embraced in warmth, Summer full of rain.
Now look at the parts of you scattered on the slaughtering table labeled under - Pressure, Daydreams, Heartbreak, Joy, Race, Colour, Regrets, And many more Choose one to write on, cut through it Let the blood stained metaphors splash all over you Find the Crushed bones and similes study their death Check if their is life in the structure or is it just void overwhelming emotions you felt once, Listen to the sobs, screams you silently let flow when this specific part was being cut through Chiseled words, Burning rage, Empty eyes, And Write.... Write until you feel empty, Don't you worry about the rhymes They always find their way, Pent out thoughts like there is no tomorrow which will come and no today which will end.
And once the heart feels empty There are birds chirping, sunflowers dangling, Sunrise anticipating the end of darkness, Moon smiling proudly at the mess you created, Sky looking like a pallette of colours to paint your day, Find the closure, Close the door to opposite world, Draw out curtains, Get back to reality, and Put a final full stop.
Just look at the reflections in mirror, Find the hope in your eyes Make it your muse, For you have been surviving through Fall of love, winter of warmth and summer of rain What more is an unannounced storm. Just look at you and write, Find that long lost smile And put it into your heart and ONE LAST FULL STOP. -Vaishnavi
Why my mother sleeps with a dagger below her pillow?
Warm skin against cold floor Blood dripping through veins originating chaos Thousand eyes gathered to witness Yet another slaughter Of dreams drapped in white lilies and yellow sunflowers Archaic dagger sitting still in her hands Piercing thoroughly through flesh Like it's a meant to be place
Cold body against velvet liquid Dripping rhymes of daydreams Thousand eyes admiring Crushed white bones Of dreams which once were full of hope Silvery dagger still in flesh Letting the echoes of pain silence them Yet another night has passed and the moral of story is still to be drawn...
Thousand eyes evacuated the place Someone close froze the flesh White lilies which have turned red Stood there as symbolism of revenge Drew closer the deep breaths And woke me up from a Slumber which was disdain
I look into her eyes they are still warm and alive For i might never be able to pinpoint The slaughter which happens each night What might be its cause? As She carefully cuts each new part Telling me to hush the silent screams She likes to be called A R T I S T Of my lowely life She thinks i should be P A R T Of her for rest of my life. Or It might be other way around She cuts through D R E A M S Which weren't originally mine Piercing through V E I N S Which are sinister and full of pride Turning the lilies R E D Reflecting my past mistakes
I might slip my time through same dream for eternity for-
She is an atheist who believes in love She is a warrior who beguiled the war She is a prey waiting to be seen She is a chaos in still thunderstorm She is a magician which world will never understand Someday i might ask my mother- Why do you sleep with that dagger? And listen to yet another beguiling answer......
As the affair of lonely moon with infinite stars plays up in the midnight, and the letters in front of me make up
As Goethe said- 'Everything is a metaphor.'
I wonder if this life is too. You scoot beside me asking thousands of questions and I can't make anything of them to answer, for I know that answers change over time. With each passing moment we all change the flow of air, the blood flowing in our veins, the meaning of letters crafted on blank pages and emotions which seep through heart. But all i want is a moment for us to be true to ourselves. For you to remove that facade of happiness over your face when i can see through the naked emotions your eyes portray. And for you to see that we are not what we were used to be once. If this life is a metaphor, i want it to be a tragic one. The one which can be broken in half. Which when you first read the first half seems happy and the other one contradictory. But as you grow through the life one day you'd understand what seemed happy was sad always and what seemed sad was complementary. If some day a red moon appears and wants me to commit the sins i prefer. I'd wish to remove your existence. I might be portrayed cruel but I'd like to know what it feels to survive without love. What do desires make up when there is no way to accomplish one. I'd like to freeze those wishful dandelions you plucked and wished on for our 'Forever'. For I'd like to see the death of myself and poetries i create with a void in words.
Just like the silvery moon up there you smile with your eyes, a deep one and lean in closer, whispering a departure. And again i wish on the words
"If life was a metaphor make it a tragic one. " -Vaishnavi.
She is running, running and running For finding an abyss of exhilaration.
Beneath the dark clouds she lost in dark, woody and dense forest but still alacritously her foots stepping forward without any hazard Open her arm wide, In betwixt of colossal trees on the sound of psithurism she's dancing baltery.
She is running, running and running For extinguishing all anguish.
With bare foot Breached all the rule of world, her eyes finally found the barque of blitheness. Like floating dandelion seeds and feather of birds she is trying to taste the freedom of air and peace. In Makeup of dust and coal, In the middle of the sea she is playing flute mellifluously Interwine wood and flower in her hairs enhances her charm. And her hazel eyes playing blinking game with fireflies instead of Finding shoreline.
She is running, running and running For finding the shoreline of inner peace.
In Soft breeze and aroma of night queen flower she is looking for solace Hermit thrush sings to her sweet lullaby And her smile showing an enormous zeal for her selcouth feelings.
I wake up, in a delusional state, with scars over my body, I try to remember, but my I can't. It's dark in here, I look for a candle to light, but it still isn't enough, I realise there's darkness around me, with me and within me pulling me. I pick myself up, and totter towards the dim light I can see, it takes me to my dingy room, which I fail to recognise is mine, I look for myself,and find me hanging from the celling. It's the next morning of the night you killed yourself says a voice. I follow it blindly without even thinking twice. I look at the beautiful blooming flowers on my way, and the big bright moon shining above me, I feel the fresh breeze on my face, I see children smiling at me, I can smell my favourite dish being cooked I find my problems disappearing, my wounds healing. I realise it wasn't worth it, it's too late now so I just walk aimlessly around, wishing I was still alive as I slowly return to dust.
April 22 | 6:21 pm
Not really sure why writing is feeling a bit tiring these day, maybe I'm just tired in general. I wonder if my regrets will go away once I die, but no matter what you do, there is always going to be some kind of regret tearing you down, I believe. it's silly isn't it?
/ I'm happy you are here, don't give up. It's going to be alright. Take care, keep yourself hydrated and stay safe. You are precious/
It's a matter of great concern and a must need to tell every near-dear, friends-enemies, relatives-neighbours that COVID-19 "SECOND WAVE " is way more dangerous and hectic with new kind of symptoms that we mostly are unware.
I hope you'll be doing well in this crucial time. Nothing but a few minutes of search for the new guidelines and symptoms of covid-19 , could save more than one lives. You, your family and all other beings in your contact can be saved by you. Just take precautions and do others too to take.
I'm sorry if I did something overwhelming informative kiddo but after looking at the prompt this thing hit my mind.
A saying:- "prevention is better than cure."
Salute to all the doctors and para medical staff who are fighting this battle from past one year and now too with unbelievable bravery.
Teenage girls are mysteries, they conceal their problems behind layers and layers of makeup and weave crowns out of daisies, sprouting beneath their damp sands of grief, and read love poems by Shakespeare to bloom like violets on a fine summer day
They take hours to choose the outfit that could fascinate anyone's eye though their wardrobe is filled with melancholy they keep swallowing when they hear their neighbors whispering about the type of clothes they wear and how their dressing sense makes them a slut and characterless
Still, they decorate their skies with gold florets of trust and dreams of love that Jane Austen talked about but everything falls apart when they cry after school because of some boys who harassed them for the sake of fun and the words of Bukowski starts making sense to them
They watch movies with all the happy endings and mourn in silence when their parents ask them to stop being a kid anymore but they couldn't utter a single word and it takes a long time for them to collect all the shattered pieces of their torn soul and poetry starts gushing through their veins and they inscribe magic and fairytales to live in them for real
Dried metaphors of hope burgeon up again in the garden of their life and they shed tears to see a lovely future blossoming, sparkling right in front of them and every lost piece of their messed puzzle adds up to their strength and they continue to bleed affection despite all the extensive pain this world has given them and everybody could see clearly that they were grown up now finely and beautifully
Back with a long and boring writeup. You may skip. ______________________________
When heart plunges the blood capsules towards the optical nerves, The nerves crystallize them into me, And gently, I roll down the cheeks, In the form of atoms, Carrying the emotions in Avogadro's number, To intensify the surrounding air With the Grandeur of fountains, Squirting the feelings inside my owner, After which their heart feels feather - like free, Ready to spread their wings Until they need me again.
From bagging a top position to bearing a heartbreak, From bragging the best to handling the worst, From the magma of heart's crust to the iceberg for mind 's thrust, From slipping the mat of life to saving the one's from that slip; I carry the weight of everything To serve my master faithfully.
Even after that, I energize myself to not show Up infront of the ones whom I don't know. Yet they forget me, As if I am a piece of hackneyed cloth, That needs to be thrown, after it fulfilles their own need.
Will they every realize my selfless love, Of accompanying them in their black and blue? Will they ever felicitate me for bringing out their inner Shakespeare? Will they adorn me like stars in the sky or let my drops die in oblivion?
THIS IS POV OF TEARS WHO FEEL SAD FOR NOT BEING LOVED.
I look at you and see relinquished summer finding a shade beneath blushing magnolias and sparrows kissing my bleeding wounds. There are dark blue stains on the edge of your face because I kept tracing sadness all night long on your chapped lips. Will you forgive me for painting you with blood since I lost all my colors and all my skills?
I look at you and see a handful of fears melting into anxiety attacks, blistering my polaroids into rust. I carry knives everywhere I go to remind myself that death will come soon. Still, I carve bitter rhymes to give you something so you can remember me after the end. Will you keep my poems safe in your heart or bury them six feet deep, just like me?
I look at you and see half-dead words I spoke on the day when the sun didn't glare a bit, and the sky was a barren cemetery of despised poets. You cut galaxies apart from my ribs and smash flowers inside my soul and I can feel shadows blooming into grief and engulfing my whole entity. Will you still call me beautiful when everything in me will lose its spark?