Bukowski : Charles Bukowski, a German–American poet
And by Bukowski I just mean " a poet " in the following poem because each time I mention references someone or other tells me that they need to read the writer mentioned in order to understand my poem which is never the case :)
When you start bleeding poetries at 2 a.m without your mother offering you a sanitary napkin to hide the stains , paint your lips in red and stretch them a little more than usual. Nine out of ten times she will not notice the damage!
When you start sailing poems in the ocean of melancholy and you know your father is a harbour devoid of poetry, sink deep , die slowly and accept that you will never make it to his eyes!
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I was 7 when Ma said I could no more go to granny's house. Her picture hung around the stairway with rose flowers she loved. I'd sit in the backyard trying hard enough to sing Krishna's song as she did. I would mumble as many words as I can and sat beside her rose plants as she would.
I was 13 when appa said I can no more play with boys down the alley. When I screamed of losing the only friends I had, he mightily asked to make books my friend. I'd sit at the window watching sunsets and see them play.
At 17 I lost the child in me. I grew up to someone I wished I never knew. Music, flowers and people didn't make me happy instead reading words carved of melancholy and happiness at times did. The darkness that once scared me has started to build a home within.
I never listened to my last story from Grandma, I never learned all the Krishna songs she wished I knew.
The people I called my second half never knew why I left. They still smile at me, they do. Yet I can't wave them a hello without a shrug and guilt down my throat.
The child in me had all right to know why I left her hanging in the middle. I see her sometimes in Ma's eyes when she talks about me. I wish I could hold her in my arms and tell her it'll be okay.
Goodbyes are hard but even harder when left unsaid.
Dead girls carry keys in fists and aphrodisiac in their sleeves
The first woman who was a feminist died single and failed to carry on her genes forward according to the theory of evolution by Yuval Noah Harari conclusion, women who were submissive lived on to carry the blind inheritance
P.S- this poem took me a lot to write. It forced me out of my comfort zone. I would be glad to get some honest reviews on it. It's napowrimo and I really wanted to experiment and get out of my comfort zone. So here it is #gtnapowrimo21
I always feel like writing letters to the sky, thanking it for the immense power it has. Coz nothing breaks my attention from day to day problems like a picture perfect sunset. When I'm staring at it, sitting on the edge of my chair, I fail to come up with reasons to lose my smile. Looking up, I start to realize that the world is indeed beautiful, inside out. Problems begin to surface only when I'm looking away from it.
Anyways, it's always a pleasure to be visited by a sky that isn't your regular blue or white. Albiet, the cost you end up paying is a huge amount. i.e the growing yearn for a second visit. Coz similar to lightning, luck doesn't strike twice in the same place. Or maybe it does, but I haven't witnessed it yet.
Lately, with so less days left in Summer, I've been rendered restless; I've been running devoid of patience to see a horizon that is draping colours like a modern canvas. I had the luck of seeing ethereal sunsets last year, I wonder what happened this time around. Are the gods mad at me? I wish the kid in me gets to see a couple of beautiful sunsets. Before a mob of dark clouds start gathering daily before my eyes, I wish to see the soft ones blush like nobody's watching. I'm even ready to hide behind a curtain, if it means getting to see the sky to its fullest.
She's a beautiful souls Somewhere in the limelight Unexposed to the colorful world Unwritten in any verse Not tempted to hear She's like a scented dusk Incarnation of angelic spirit With noble decency Beauty like her manifest rarely
The supremely graceful epiphany Life changing courage
Let beholders stare At your fulgent elegance, Your lovely manifestation
She is the one Like no other
With the fabric of nobility And that fire and zest Exquisite grace Mighty presence Vibe in as a cerebral delight
I wish my world was like her poetry, full of elegance and tranquility. Always working, fitting a scheme. I grew chaos but she built Her words like a dream
Daisy blossoming Beneath the summer sky Petal parasols unfurling Aromatic amethyst Thoughts fill my head,
She was born under the moon Nocturnal butterfly Pollinated by pale moths To live one day then die
Her short season’s end nigh Shriveling once the frost sets in And conceding to the ice
A true pleasure to stand by Her short-lived sweet fragrance Would all surely vivify
Let me touch a life like yours And bring me a touch of magnificence, Sweetness, And ever lasting happiness, Like a beautiful daisy.
She's a haven of tranquility cloudiness climes and starry skies.
Her laugh lights up the world Which the sun takes in vain For it shall never shine as bright as her.
The way she rush into a room with Such ebullience, Brings us such in euphoria
Few things that make her so dear to me.
The smile, the laughter, the voice of an angel, the good times, the bad times and even the painful, With her the world just needs to be explored.
She's a wise mind is envied From all those around her for they wish they could be speak with Such eloquence And outdo life as she do.
It was only through pure serendipity That I met her, Without her the world feels so blue.
She became my bestfriends instantly, it took me just seconds to choose her, and only a minute to realize, I'd do anything to never lose her.
I could see her weaknesses behind her smile, How she accept her faults knowing it’s all worthwhile. Shr paint her canvas of pain See the chance of something new
All the words I could write for her Still wouldn’t be enough.