33 posts
  • murryben 4w

    Another weird poem before I sleep.

    @writersnetwork Thank you yet again and again ❤️

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    I take a run down the street,
    It's the damn bluebird in my heart,
    Been doing the talking again
    Been singing me the blues.

    I run and I think of you,
    How many years has it been?
    Four? Five?
    God, I miss you but you'd
    say "Still running away
    from your problems?"

    Sweat trickles down
    my spine. Purple sweat like
    Prince's Purple Rain. I quicken
    my stride.

    I run
    Not stopping,
    I pass a panting obese man,
    How am I any different from him?
    He'd like to keep his life,
    I share this kindred fate with him,
    That's the thing with life,
    It's sweeter when it near its end.

    I run,
    I run my blues away,
    I run and I see faces,
    No, eyes... Sad eyes,
    And I wonder if they
    run to live but
    it's the same

    It's this life,
    This madness
    This sadness
    Urban sadness on urban
    eyes in urban cities
    And it multiplies like neon
    lights in bustling bars
    on a Saturday night.

    I run,
    For dear life,
    For sanity,
    Until the knives
    on my flesh stop
    hurting and my knees
    sag and whisper,
    "You can go back home
    now, empty handed "

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 4w

    @/writersnetwork thank you for the repost ��

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    ~Gently Falls the Rain~

    I have been growing hope in
    your backyard and stitching
    prayers on crooked spine that
    forgot to stand tall. If my feverish
    lips entreat your cerulean eyes to
    house my crumbling form, wrap
    me up in the flowers of hope that'll
    spring from the cracks of your
    grieving backyard. Bedeck my aching
    bones with flaming irises and tell me
    why, out of all the names your lips
    spelled, mine felt like a melody your
    lips in adoration curled upward to.

    When the yellow sunflower fall
    off my eyes in the wintry suffering
    of a waning moon, unrhyme and set
    free my soul like you would your
    poems. Let me breathe in gentle
    quiet inside the folds of your warm
    reverie unpunctuated. Scatter
    my ash towards where the wild wind
    in untamed glory blows. I shall exist
    in mellow satisfaction in the wind you
    try to catch between your cupped hands
    and in the smile of those abandoned
    flowers you stop to gaze upon daily.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 6w

    The rain is falling and
    I feel an epiphany break
    from my feverish lips.
    Do you hear my heart thump
    in this shattering silence?

    I look at you in morose
    contemplation, sometimes
    in pleading, oftentimes in
    dismal acceptance but your
    eyes, they tell me a story
    of how your house once lost its
    roof and now you stand naked
    in eternal damnation for a life
    you thought would be kind to you.

    We descend lower and lower, Further
    away from this madness of living,
    a life we gamble to spite both devils
    and angels wrecking our well laid
    plans. It breaks their heart to hear
    us say so, but life was simpler
    when we slept foetal in our mother's

    And like two wounded animals,
    Our eyes lick each others wounds asking,
    "Where does it hurt?" and answer in
    just the same breath, "Here and here
    and here, right where my bones are".
    You see, Nobody understands rain and
    grief like we do. They haven't stood in
    the rain, soaked to the bones and wished
    for lightning to strike them dead.

    ©Meri Murry
    #start #wod #benecc
    @writersnetwork thank you for the repost ♡

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    ~Dark Falls the Rain~

  • murryben 7w

    Nary a doubt must your heart murmur
    Whereby the creatures of the sky and land
    To feed on heaven's abundance in the
    Come forth my love, Rest easy your frets.
    In light steps must your form find me,
    Resting in sweet surrender inside Earth's
    sweet bower.

    'Tis here Gaia summons the wind,
    On a conch dazzling with rhinestones,
    And the sky in pearly reverence weeps,
    To witness her nameless divine. She walks in
    lithe grace,
    And the hills and mountains tremble in adoration, While grasses part in delight to make way for her gazelle feet.

    What gaiety must the sunflower feel,
    When the bees cluster to woo her affection 'neath the amber sun!
    What delight it is to have the wind kiss, my flaming cheeks the colour of a cherry!

    Anxious beats my heart, waiting for your footfalls. When your form finds my outstretched arms,
    I shall bedeck your tresses with stars and kiss away the city's smog from thine eyelashes and
    Poetry shall find us running among golden fields,
    Serpentine cities could never truly understand.

    ©Meri Murry

    @writersnetwork thank you for the lovely repost. Much appreciated ♡


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    A Shepherd Serenades his Lady Love

  • murryben 37w

    #divorce #trauma #poem #life
    @writersnetwork @mirakee
    *** Inspired by Charles Bukowski. Pretty certain I botched it up though***

    @mirakee OMG! Thank you!

    Here's to Charles Bukowski ��. Love you forever and ever❤️��

    You are ❤️ personified.
    Thank you again time for the read and repost.

    To you all who read/liked/reposted, take my ❤️ already.
    #benecc #podben

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    ~On His Tragedy Of Being A Man~

    There's a sob stuck in
    my father's throat
    that refuses to come out.
    and so it stays lodged
    and tickles and tingles.

    Sometimes he staggers
    home in the dead of the
    night and calls out my
    mother's name.

    But my mother,
    My mother... She is the
    deafening silence that
    echoes on bare walls,
    the empty spaces between
    the ceiling and the fan.

    and so the pots the pans
    no longer silver now sits
    idly on the sink.
    The hearth, the warmth
    has gathered cobwebs
    and taste like death.

    But father, dear father
    tells me to smile pretty
    on days he combs my hair
    to take me to school.
    Ah, but he forgets to smile!

    There's a sob stuck in my
    father's throat that tickles
    and tingles and stays
    but a man's got to
    be a man.

    If not for himself
    then for his family.

    And so he swallows his sob.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 38w


  • murryben 42w

    Thank you @writersnetwork I am beyond happy and to you all who read and reposted, much ❤️

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    And I hope Forever is a person you find in me even on days when it gets too hard for your comfort. For truly, I shall be here, as madly in love with you as when it all began.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 55w

    I don't know if it even makes sense. Here goes nothing.
    @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay #benecc
    When Broken Hearts Sings

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  • murryben 58w


  • murryben 60w


    "Why do we fear that which we cannot see?"

    I woke up that morning in a sweat again with this question echoing in my heart. For a hospital, the silence was a little unsettling. Except for the erratic beating of my heart, everything remained quiet.

    Why do I fear that which I cannot see? Why do I fear that which I cannot control? My constant tryst with pain and sufferings had strangely made me pessimistic I deduced. In the quiet stillness of my room, I sat alone that morning, exhausted both body and spirit, broken and inconsolable.

    One year, seven months and eighteen days of endless pain, I had been counting. This really wasn't the first time I had woken up in a sweat and yet, the pain was nothing compared to the irrational fear that feasted on my soul like an old festering wound. Somewhere I have been told, it is not the sickness that kills you. It is the fear that devours you. How true! My fear had crippled me so much that I had stopped seeing the world in her varying shades of colours except in black and white. What then did I fear the most? Was it my fear of suffering and pain that kept me from living my life in colours?

    If my fear of pain and suffering had kept me from appreciating this life that was gifted to me, what injustice I have done to it! Surely life entails so much more than living in fear. I have often been told that suffering ennobles a person. Well then, could it be I was in the process of becoming a better person and this pain I feel was a part of the burden I had to carry in order for me to see the light at the end of the tunnel? How much more had I to drink from the cup of sorrow before I was made whole again?

    I am only human and a fragile one at that too. And that morning as I laid fighting my inner demons, I thought I heard my heart singing, "What will be, will be". I thought I felt the hair at the back of my nape bristling to the lyrics of the song. Yes, whatever will be, will be. Perhaps, to see the world in her resplendent colours, I needed to open my eyes and accept the unknown. In order that I may live again, I had to accept fear as part of my instinct and learn to tame it. I realized, happiness and sadness is just a coin toss away and I chose happiness over sadness.

    And so I laid, looking out the window from my hospital bed and like every other day, the Sun, in all her bright glory broke through the cloud and illuminated the entire room. I had been seeing it all wrong. I was too blinded by my fears to feel her warmth on my face upto this day and that was the biggest tragedy of it all. It was time to let go my fears.

    I am only human with my fair share of Hope and Dreams. Among the many photos I have in my phone, nothing stands out as striking as an old vintage photo of Albert Einstein I had saved sometime back. I never deleted it. It makes me smile to think today that despite being cooped up in the hospital and despite the sufferings I had to endure, I actually thought a day will come when I will be able to frame it and keep it on the walls of my bedroom. It stands proudly there today. A testament of the hope that endured.

    Life does not happen twice. A life is a lifetime for a reason - Anything that sweet and beautiful doesn't last forever. Ergo, make the best of it while you can and never let your fears cripple you down. Never stop dreaming. Also, while you are on your journey, it will do you a whole lot of good to carry sunshine in your pocket and hope, in your smiles. Live! Yes, Live!

    ©Meri Murry

    //The song is an extract from Doris Day. Forgot to mention. This can't get any sweeter. Thank you for making my day WN❤️❤️❤️❤️

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    A Reverie

  • murryben 61w


    Time was running out and she stood on the threshold of despair, her heart hammering wildly against her chest as beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. The regret she felt in her heart was like a time bomb, ticking furiously away, seconds away from explosion and she knew, should it explode, she would be one chaotic mess and nothing will help her from ever getting back on her feet again.

    Then numbing pain stole her heart and she felt it cut her to pieces. The jabbing pain was so sharp it felt like broken shreds of glasses cutting on flesh and she gasped and doubled up, her hands clutching her heart in misery. Why did it have to end this way? She wanted to cry but no tears will come. Not that she didn't try but it refused to come. The divorce papers lay on the table.

    Caught in a plethora of emotions, she stared at the papers, her mind screaming into a bottomless pit. Alone and afraid, already wanting to crawl on her knees and beg him to take her back, grovel she will if she must, she bit her lips. Anything... Anything at all if only he will reconsider his decision, she thought. All that the papers needed was her signature and she will be destroyed forever, she thought.

    But then she remembered him. His disgust as he looked at her a few minutes ago. His haughty face as he threw the papers at her and declared, "I'll be back in an hour. Have it signed already" and his obvious indifference as he went out the door without even giving her a second glance. She remembered how they had been married for five years and how the marks and bruises on her body bore the evidence of their union. She remembered his hatred and anger when the doctor had diagnosed her infertile enough to carry a child in her womb. Marriage? In sickness and in health? To love and be loved? She smiled bitterly. No, she had not known any and what she hadn't known was enough to break down their marriage.

    Something inside her cracked. Will she ever be happy again? She was willing to gamble on it. If her signature could bring her her release she was willing to take the chances. How will she know if she didn't try? Maybe, the gods will smile on her once again approvingly and this time, maybe, it will all work out.

    On steady toes and steady heart, she studied the papers for a long time before she made up her mind. Sighing softly, she finally put her signature on the papers. Her ticket to freedom! It was time to give herself a chance and she was willing to risk it all. Perhaps she will come to regret it again but the bits and pieces of pride she still had left wouldn't allow her to grovel and crawl anymore. In any case, it will be better than staying trapped in a loveless union.

    An hour later, she handed the papers to him but this time she wasn't begging anymore. He backed away a little, surprised by the defiant brilliance in her eyes and the beautiful mocking smile that played on her lips.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 61w

    I am an old soul trapped in a young body, a curious being surviving in an alien world which, I feel, I don't belong to.

    Perhaps it's what happens with old souls, perhaps there are the likes of me in you and perhaps you feel as I feel, deeply and poignantly and there is no escape from the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that constantly bombards your mind. Perhaps, at the young age of eight or maybe, even younger than that, you escaped into a realm of your own in between the pages of your books, seeking solace in the letters that played on the pages, living and breathing with the characters there. Perhaps, just like me, the sweet smell of books you inhaled couldn't ever compare to even the best perfume in the world.

    Why do you write then? Could it be you feel and see more than the others? Could it be, just like I have said, you are an old soul too? What makes you a writer? I know for sure, everytime I take up the pen to write, I do it with the intent to bleed. Somewhere between the metaphors and the verses I string together into fine pearls, I know that's what I am. It's where I will live. Inside a heart that feels deeply and seeks release, where possibly can I find my release unless I take up my pen? Does that not make me an old soul then? An old soul trapped in time I don't belong to.

    Somewhere between the heartaches, the tears and the emotions that overflows is born a writer or so I have been told. I do believe it. Somewhere between Van Gogh and Starry Night and the story that reduced you to tears lies your true self. Somewhere between the blue sky and the grassy ground, you traced the clouds with your fingers, your face turned upwards and existed in that moment, bled your poetry and your true self was born. Somewhere between the bruises carved on your heart and the hand/s that laid it, you must have caved in only to give birth to your true self. You'll always be an old soul and you'll never belong anywhere. But perhaps, that's what makes you you, a complex intriguing mystery. Yes, a writer.

    ©Meri Murry


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    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 61w

    Owe you big time! THANK YOU!!!
    My third reposts! Yay! You never fail to pleasantly surprise me. Thank you!

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    Autumn feels like
    a heartache. Like a
    sober kiss before
    goodbye, Or a cold
    crippling touch before
    the final meltdown.
    And you claimed
    to love, just as you
    always do. But
    listen,If you had
    loved, why am I here
    alone clinging to your
    memory like the
    last leaf clinging
    desperately to her tree
    before her fall even
    when I know
    there's no salvation
    at all?

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 63w

    A poem begins as a voice in the head and emotions in the heart that grows louder and heavier and finds freedom only in its unleashing and home, in its reader.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 63w

    Chaos is a seething ocean. Turbulent, consuming, destructive and I am one step away from being caught in its whirlpool swirling in my heart. I have been seeing nightmares in black and white. Of people, of incidences locked up in the abyss of my memories, like an album but there's no last page and so, on and off it goes again and again and I am one step away from being pronounced insane.

    Silence is the last recourse for the battered heart and Anger, it's offspring. Sometimes I think I am a crack on the window pane. A slight wrong move, a forced push, a sudden yank and I'll be one countless shred of glasses that cuts and wounds.

    Anger is like a creeper. Growing, circling and choking until there's no life left in you. Oftentimes, I confess, I have found it snaking its way up to my throat, threatening to suffocate me. Silence, I feel speaks the loudest. Mind though, only a good listener gets to hear it. And if you are one, you will find it has a distinct haunting voice. It is like the sound of a funeral dirge, like the wind wailing on a windy march night.

    Pain, in its nature, licks and burns and gnaws until what's left of you is a flesh picked bone on sunken eyes cradling despair. It's like gravity, there is freefalling but there's no destination. I saw pain the day you walked out on us that winter morning and winter has never been the same since. I grew to dislike it. It chills me to the bone and there's nothing fire can do to revive me.

    Trauma is the demon hiding inside your closet. But on certain days when it rains, there's this bolt of lightning that illuminates it all and there's no hiding it anymore. You are a bundle of mess and your tangled hair and tears soaked face is a testament that there's no salvation. Sometimes, it's like a bad tattoo, etched deep into your skin to stay forever. Itching because it is infected and as much as you wish to do nothing with it, you cannot help your fingers from scratching it.

    This ramble? Yes, this ramble is a product of a sleep starved soul. You call it insomnia but I call it a blood sucking parasite for the energy it drains me off. In between the twists and turns, I have never been more philosophical and never been more jealous of you too. Philosophical because there's life and in my delirium, I dissect it to solve it's mystery but who am I to solve it when there's the rest of others who cannot decide what came first, the egg or the chicken. Jealous because there's you, peacefully asleep, sweetly smiling to a dream your soul has taken you to while I lay awake battling it out.

    ©Meri Murry

    @writersnetwork 30 weeks later, this gets your attention���� Gracias ❤️❤️❤️

    Pic credit -- somewhere on #instagram

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    Silence is the last recourse
    for the battered heart and
    Anger, it's offspring.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 64w

    Beauty is skin deep, found among hearts
    that allows the sunshine to enter it, vibrating warmth and kindness without prejudices even on cold dreary days of rain and storm.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 64w

    Down the river where the golden fish swims, sprawled on bed sized rocks of feathery blues, we vowed on love and endless love and stayed drunk on promises of eternity within latched fingers.

    Down the river where the fallen leaf floats, like paper boats sailing home to freedom, where the water gurgles in endless gaiety, we saw visions of summer and sunshine, of flowers and buzzing bees, of freedom and dancing feet.

    Down the river where the birds merrily sing, we chased butterflies barefoot along the summer fields on shut eyes, and we were drunk on young love, intoxicated by its sweet smell. We planned and planned of a tomorrow together.

    Oh, to be young and to be in love and to stay so forever! But for this startling epiphany of brittle bones and sagging skin that winter brings.

    ©Meri Murry

    Edit: Ec��. Thank you @/writersnetwork ♥️

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    Oh, to be young
    and to be in love!
    To stay drunk on
    fallacious fantasy
    that being young affords!
    But for this startling epiphany
    of brittle bones and sagging
    skin that winter brings.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 65w

    The mirror? When did it ever lie? You could run away from it all, the constant fear and trepidation, the agony of living, the hurting and the pain, the demons that slept as long as it was day and the sun was a ball of deep oranges, her fury, a testament of the fume that snakes it's way up from the earth and envelops and constricts every living being.
    But in the darkness of the night, all fear comes alive and there is no running away from it, she thought as she stood staring into the mirror.

    She never liked the mirror at all. It never showed what she wanted. She had been staring for long at her reflection. It felt as if the person on the mirror would swallow her up. It was mocking her. Taking a dig at her and the upturned lips smirked in loathing and accusations for the human she wasn't but for the human she presented herself to be. Hypnotised, she looked deeper into her soul. When was the last time she saw her eyes lighting up? When was the last time she had been truly happy? Dear God! Why was she pretending to be happy at all? She needed to let go of the pain she was holding onto. She needed help!

    For as long as she could remember, she had been sitting on chairs seeking shade under the umbrella. Pretending that the heat didn't burn at all. Pretending that it was okay as long as she stood under the umbrella. But it was all a pretense. A mask that hid the ugly thing that was under. A game of play and pretend she put up with everyday. She had been laughing the loudest. Yes, she had been boisterous to the extent of being insane. No, she had only been scared of being discovered for her true self.

    But she was tired of it all now. It was time she made a decision for her own sake. It was time to peel the mask away. It was time to meet her own soul, to shake hands with herself and live for herself. The pleading eyes in the mirror only resonated further her decisions. It was time to put the scissors to good use. It was time to cut the cord that connected her to the mask.

    The person in the mirror smiled finally. It lit up the mirror. The eyes that were dead had come alive finally. It was the prettiest of smile, the kind that comes after a long tiring battle and the triumph thereafter. It was time to let it all go and be her own self. At peace with herself for once, she stood grinning into the mirror.

    Moments later, she sat by the table under the lamp. Her tiny frame straight and proud. Picking the pen she wrote on her diary, "The mask has fallen and so have I won".


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    Let me sing you a lullaby,
    And watch your demons
    sway to my voice.

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 69w

    #epistrophe #benecc
    Mighty pleased. Thank you for the EC ��

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    To think you've faded,
    Although I seek you among
    piled up rubbles of yesteryear's
    memories in earnest,
    To find it empty.

    To think I've awoke,
    from the spell
    you cast,
    aware, anew,
    accepting the void you left.

    To think you've drifted,
    like wood passing
    down the stream,
    taking away the essence
    of your being.

    To think I adored you once,
    when you are now a hollow echo,
    like those words you
    forgot to keep.

    To think you've faded
    into the thickness
    of a shut eye,

    To think you
    breathe still in the
    charnel house of
    memories I thought I
    buried eons past,

    To think it was love,
    It could've been love,
    If only it had been love,
    Can I blame this rambling
    on a heart I forgot to tame?

    ©Meri Murry

  • murryben 79w

    Though for now the
    landscape of your dreams
    may look so bleak and distant

    And although you may walk
    on shaking ground overgrown
    with vines and creepers,

    But by God, as long as this
    breath of life runs in you,

    Do not ever give up.

    I promise you,
    One beautiful day, you'll
    paint your dreams in all
    shades of colour before
    every disbelieving eye

    Every lost soul who chances
    upon it will draw their hope
    and comfort in its beauty
    and like you, vow to never give up.

    There is endless beauty towards
    the other side of the road.

    ©Meri Murry