the last time they have asked for my name was to write it over my grave to left it between the tulips and peony hoping my death to heal making me wait for the arrival of dandelions forever
when life turned it's last page and I looked back to all the pages that I have left blank I found nothing but your absence written all over it (your arrival is still a mirage)
now that I'm under the grave counting the times I have died over your absence this death seems nothing but an end to all my deaths for this grave feels more home than the thorns of your memories
I have told them to write your name over the epitaph of my grave for I'm nothing but the last evidence of your presence and absence
they say ‘time and tide wait for no man' yet tide returns back everything devastated, half but there but time washes it all away not returning back a single glance I wish my death to be time or time to be my death not returning back in any way
i remember your way to home straight from this graveyard little right from half kilometre away and I'm waiting for your arrival Like autumn waits for jasmines
my throat carries the sins of long lost love I arrant your name more often gulping down the fears of loving you and loosing you at the same time
six feet below the ground When I search for your fragrance to hold me in it's warm embrace death gifts me a death and life holds my little finger with a silk thread . . ~Elly @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork#postoftheday
T.W- DEAR DADDY OR R, IF YOU EVER FIND THIS POEM UNDER MY PILLOW, IN MY WARDROBE OR BETWEEN THE PAGES OF MY FAVOURITE NOVEL,PLEASE KEEP IT ASIDE.KNOW THAT THIS IS THE ONLY SUICIDE LETTER I WAS ABLE TO WRITE. AND STILL IF YOU AREN'T ABLE TO UNDERSTAND IT,PLEASE TEAR IT APART OR THROW IT OVER MY GRAVE.
so it was a summer morning when I woke up to the brightest sun in my eyes and that dying star of the previous night in my heart and for the first time I felt something underneath my chest (probably that dying star taking it's last breath)
when I tried to open up how it feels to Carry a dying star of last night inside your heart/soul waking up to the brightest rays and trying to soak in the brightness even though your heart is filled with the hues of the dying stars I felt the lack of words even now when I'm writing somewhere the words are getting stuck and I can barely explain this
depression! a word I hear quite often some seek therapists others just choose to be poets but trust me!! I have never wished to be a poet I have never wished to hide my poetries underneath my tongue, scars, notebooks, pillows or what not! you can take a tour and find poetries tucked inside every corner of me.
so daddy! when I didn't want to be a poet anymore I chose to come to you and explained what I feel and how therapies can help you put your spects down kept the book aside looked at me and asked me if anything was wrong or I'm over thinking and told me that everything will get better (you never mentioned therapists you never considered my depression)
dear R! I came to you then told you how I can't sleep anymore and how anxiety never lets me in you told me how my depression affects you too! I thought you would help me but you told me that you,being away from my life can make me get better with this so I lied to you
A poet never dies a natural death somehow an unfinished poem gets stuck in his throat and somewhere between trying to write a poem and letting it all out he dies
so this is the last Time I tried to write my suicide letter hoping to succeed I know it won't reach you but someday may be when you'll decide to take a tour know that Somewhere a poetry got stuck and I couldn't breathe anymore May be this is how I was meant to quit May be this is how You're destined to read me ~ Elly
your name on my skin smells like flesh and marijuana tastes like leftover hopes and a spoonful of hatred death feels like nerves scattered everywhere continuously caressed by salt water and love peeling off all it layers one by one
intoxication of memories inhalation of miseries your name on my lips like counting rosary beads yet not enough of you and I let it infuse love lying on the floor, choking itself to death and your smile sparkling in my eyes (that constant distraction)
this suffering serves four and I'm the only one here on the voracity of it love feels like a half sung prayer before funeral the prayer that reaches everywhere except the one place that it meant to reach
-the space between us- the miles that I never counted the seas I have never crossed of all that I cared was the breaths that we never shared and the moments that were left alone to die
past carries the memoirs of my survival and I here dying over the paradox of gunshots and paper cuts
they see reflection of melancholy in my metaphors and my moribund verses detoriating slowly
and I see a falling star smiling at me happy about it's last burning
perhaps the smiles you sent have forgotten their way to home the tears now scroll down to my cheeks and search for your name on my lips
your name tastes something like war draped in silk and each time I take your name love stays just a gunshot away
you said my heart was too heavy to carry around everywhere you go so you left it in the middle of the road & let it walk alone
for so long I used to consider it home the 6 feet deep grave you buried me inside
I wonder how many bodies have shared my soul & how many times they have fallen for you !! . it's scary how your touch is craved by my soul it's like something on fire needs soothing
my poetries never ask for your presence they never ask for your arrival your absence has made them barren
it's strange how time has lost it's parts tracing your memories and how I see them as whole even if I'm scattered
your love is like a tsunami tide it came once in a while and left everything devastated
how can I let them out?? the pain that stings every second the memories that keep me away from being yours me living on the false promises you made the labyrinth of your love and you !! . . my funeral will have your name in the air smelling like tulips & caramelised love overcoming the rotten smell of my death decaying with time
there is love hardly known by some she may be old living over the flowers and the thorns longing for someone to hold her gentle but not hard she looks at you and smiles . . -Elly
In the palette of my life, There were sorrows, heartbreaks, misery, agony and woe, I've painted my soul in these shades of dolour, I wandered and wandered, Through the mazes of my past and present, But those shades of life: the crimson joy, ruby red love, amber exhilaration and dandelion bliss...have remained unknown to me, It's like I've known only the dark phases of the moon, I couldn't portrait the curves of smiles and sparkling eyes on the canvas of my monochromatic poesy, Yet this portrait of mine stayed so beautiful, Maybe every shades of blue and grey with few drops of beige, Made it chef-doeuvre of my life...
Wishes keep us going in life. We wish to have a dreamy life. We wish that we get lots of food to eat, a mansion to live in, have lots of wealth and be healthy always and then live a longer life. I know, this is naive. We don't literally think like this. But somewhere inside our minds, haven't we secretly wished for these?
L O N E L Y W I S H E S
But there some wishes that come from intense solitude. Once I was participating for a speech competition. I had prepared many topics like problems of our society, corruption, bribery, environmental problems, poverty, child labour, etc. But the topic was "My world, My dream". When all the other students talked about how they wished to be a teacher or a doctor, all I knew was to talk about what I learnt, about the society. I quickly realised that I need to wish for a world where there aren't any of these problems. From then on, I haven't wished for luxury. Remember as humans all that we need are :-
Health Shelter Food Clothing Love and harmony Help to fulfill our destiny
When you ask me to make a wish, I will only wish for giving these to each and every individual of this earth. I am not any great person and I indeed do not know how to speak great, but I know that there are people who suffer. It is not them that you should know about, it is their suffering, their hardships, their feelings. I wish their mild wishes also become. They will always wish for only the good, because they are people who have suffered a lot and they know how it is to suffer. May be they are more literate than us all in knowing what humanity actually mean. Let their wishes come true. Let their stomachs be filled and their poverty be erased. Let their wishes no longer be lonely.
Far from the graves of the unkempt past, a zephyr blows melancholy, dancing to the tune of the trumpet the dawn blows. Songs of the clouds ring in my ear, declaring a celebration to be held within the reign of the sun. And I, knowing that it's time to awaken the shine of gratitude within me, slept again, beneath the blankets of regret.
"Happy Friendship Day!" a voice swayed through the creaks of my window. I peeped through it. A young skinny boy, with tanned skin and burnt brown hair, stood below, showing a smile through his half crooked tooth.
I remember him. I remember talking to him. Wiping his tears off. Giving him the last packet of my favourite biscuits. I remember saying to him "he was a nice man. May he be granted higher place in Jannah". I had thought he wouldn't survive long.
But there he stood, with a smile as real as the sun that breaks into the house of the moon every night, to steal the sky from within it's heart. He waved at me and my eyes caught hold of the tired, crumbled skin of his hand. Who would believe that these hands have endured just seven callous winters of the ruthless poverty?
His eyes, that had no shine of hope left within them, kept gazing at me quizzically, with a tinge of guilt sprinkled. "I am so glad you are here. I am coming". I tried my best to not let him hold the chains of doubt once again.
As I descended the stairs of my house I wondered what made this boy smile despite all the pain that has been served to him? How did he manage to gather the blooms of glee, when all he was ever given was autumns of undying sorrows?
Is he not afraid of the fate that has snatched away all the beings that belonged to him. Is he not afraid of the gale that blew all his fortune away? Is he not afraid of the smiles that betray him at every turn of his life? Is he not afraid? Why is he not afraid?
Or rather, why am I afraid? I wonder.
The cool zephyr blows again. And I, having known enough, opened the curtains of my heart and allowed the light of gratitude to shine on me.
And I see him smiling there. Again. Above him, a ray of sun shines. Through all the unkempt walls of the shadowy clouds, it shines. And he smiles.