For her.

She walked down the lane
with sorrow dripping from her hair
that flew against the wind like
a rebel child of broken love and
she grew older with each passing moment
as her face became accumulation of mismatched fabric patches
of uncountable days that she lived in the truest sense
of a life she fathomed to be real and absurd together
and felt it like the desert earth feels each drop of first rain of seasons.

I don't know what I was thinking

I wanted to love you like the beautiful paintbrush

That I stole from my mother in my young days

Of colours and weirdest thoughts;

And the brush had a little crack at the end,    

And it became my favourite thing,

Even at times when the lines and colours

Betrayed my imagination and I spilled everything around

Like a completely disoriented mad woman.

There’s a rupture in my reality.

I saw it first when the brush died;

The pests of the old house ate the bristles, I guess.

And then there were deaths and lies and smiles

That I forgot in time.

Then came you, and I thought I could love

You who come with the messiness of the palette

In the middle of a painting on a lazy afternoon.

But I have forgotten how it felt to hold my brush,

And now I’ve forgotten how it felt to hold you!

Well I don’t know how to love,

‘Cause I don’t know what love is.

But today is the first rainy day

Punctuating the end of our winter.

Won’t you wait till spring, before you leave?

Winter stories

Winter is crawling into my bones
Feasting coldly on my marrow,
Waking the past, the sorrows tucked within…    
My tresses gone, my skin harsher
Than my broken voice now.
The leaves fall in a serene brace of unsounded endings
As the trees frame the olden boulevards in a ghostly manner;
I wake up into weary grey mornings of dead fauvists
Or sometimes facing blue windows fading into the night;
My feet cold, my bed smelling of stale coffee n’ liquor
And your somber absence, an empty space, within and without.
You said you’d love me to my filthiest core;
Well, my scent has vanished in ashes of years-
Years of illicit fucking, crying and drunk wanderings
At neon-lit wastelands of crammed up third world cities
And decaying bridges between lucid dreams and needs for a fix.
And heaps of those years had left me
With something borrowed but fused in me;
I have lost all my abstract limbs, but the everlasting murkiness;
A shadow clinging on my back; a shadow of a strange past-
A past of twisted sorrows which I hid in my bones.
Would you still give me the warmth that you promised?
The warmth that you bear in the palms of your hands
And the cracks of your lips turned bitter
By the dead yellow cigarette butts;
The warmth born of cold, in your pausing breath,
A cold my insides have long been diseased by…
The voiceless mouth of a void in time
Kisses the memories mislaid in the dark of my hair;
I see you now on a distant ship suspended near the northern sky,
While life seeps away slowly, facilely
From the corners of my quieter eyes.

You.

You my love

A faceless man

Standing with your smoke

And madness

And a box of magic

Across time and space

In every lifetime

Of my soul

Over thousands of years

Through thousands of bodies

Changing facades

Crumbling inside

And I - live and die

Time and again

Waking up

With half-forgotten dreams

Of a faceless man

A rugged being

With his timeless spirit

And captivating words

Haunting my aging heart

At every forlorn dawn

That rises in the sky

At the end of ever shifting

Strangest hallucinations

While voices sleep in stupor

And eyes come round

From a faraway trance

To grasp within

A mundane reality

That never quite got over

The silence of the hearts.

A Lucid Dream

And I’m falling down

Into the feral sea

Where the waves dance

And march in a slow parade,

A carnival of grins,

Of the joker and of you n’ me,

Trying to break out

From the same old crowd,

Saving some bleeding tulips…

And how we will feast

On the salt and the ships;

With my heart against a wall

And a head full of webs

With countless fireflies stuck in it.

It rained one night...

Empty hands stretch out;

A red light of a distant watchtower…

Solitude runs down from your hair

As a nameless wind kisses your shoulder;

The dark night slowly makes love

To a freshly dead brown moth …

I sense, I behold –

A lonely box-window romance.

Dash-|

What's wrong with me?

well, that's one and only thing I'm trying to figure out these days.

I left Economics, I left my fuckedup old college, I left the bad crowd. Now I'm where I belong.

I still am not happy. err..though I'm not sad either.

but still.

why this feeling?

Am I mad?

shit. a whole lot of shit.

I just want to sit down and read something. may be some good contemporary poet's work or so..

because I feel like an impotent Man. I can't write a thing, not a thing that makes sense.

and here I am whining.

But I'm not this girl. I'm more than this. 

I can write, I can love, I can laugh.

But not right now. Right now I'm just purely impotent and no lousy or good medicine can cure it.

so here i go...

On the island

I wait

For what I don't know,

Longing for an unknown,

Detached from the mortal world

of Men and Women...

In the pitch dark
I wait

For the love of 

The Heartless.

Where to go, no, I don't know.

Disturbed

After effect of failed love, a disturbed mind.
thoughts and feelings I suddenly discovered last night...

I can sense this distance
Growing slowly between us,
As the smoke passes my hair
Escaping bound of your lips…

The smell of your body is fainter,
So I take the other way around
Caressing a crying heart of my own;
It’s the time for me to let you go.

I wander in an empty space
Placed for me within a black sea
Of slutty dancers and scary clowns;
Shells crack under my boot, as I try to runaway.

The head is spinning,
Round and round so fast…
The body is crashing,
I puff and puff harder…

Don’t feel, just touch;
Put me on fire,
Cheers to our dead love,
And drink the warmth…
We’ll daze the winter, tonight.

Crooked mind inside a beating heart

Your tears have met the outfall
And one more drop for humanity;
The dull, damp lines of poetry - mocking sanity,
Deep inside dwells the murder conspiracy:
As your stoned hands grab my ribs
I search a safer room for my grimy dreams.
Darker nightmares n' psycho lady's wish,
A faint throb comes from the weary heart
Like after you've taken the happy pills,
When the sky seems to be falling on you..
And the world around you spins round n' round
With thousand buildings and countless stories
Of life, of people damned with cruelty and pain,
And you still remain thirsty for some bloodlike rain.

Blue bed, red shoes and my bokehs

Where words are hidden in puzzle of silence and pain,
and a shadow longs for existence,
I save some wet touches and a lil serenade
for my heart or the lost bodies of nameless solitude...
Here lingers no clean lenses,
dusty pictures of skeleton eyes.
Somehow. So many colors merged into black n' white.

Bokeh

A pain with no reason,
A metamorphosis of hidden love,
Undying feelings...
A blue bed of acidic dreams,
No one speaks a word,
Momentary smile, broken decades ago...

Buried deep
some silent souls,
whispers unveiled
as I walk down the passage
among thousands of dead...

And sometimes I wish the wheels stop spinning and dragging my life somewhere I don't want to go...

With my old red shoes and acoustic time, I would rather stay alone.

Randomly Dead Poet

No other poem will be born from my pain,

As I lay down my hands in the cold of shame.

The suffocated heart has killed the poetic soul,

Lyrics of my life don’t rhyme anymore.

No more teardrops wait for a knock on the door,

Lonely footsteps die away in the sea shore;

The morning blues stay till the sunset

Celebrating the pitiless death of a nameless poet…

P.S.- click on the image to see larger size.

Crumpled words of mind

Life is treacherous, like the moon’s spell

Cause we have to live and die another day…

Love is a metaphor, a red bird without mercy

It chases you to take the causeway to death

Don’t dream in a borrowed room wasting your breath

Life is longer than love, hold hands and stay…

Stay like the smiles in the photographs you took

Or the wonderful lines in that old book

Paint a pebble in your morning blues

No more conspiracy of spite, spineless filthy wishes

Stumble upon a doormat and dream of gumball rain….











Something I clicked and edited :)

[Click for full view plz]

Die with me tonight

The whine of sorry rainbows
All around to grab us tight
Are you afraid of sorrow?
Living is dangerous darling,
Die with me tonight.

The toxin of mind that’s weak
Spineless thoughts of nothingness
Are you afraid of silence?
Loneliness is dangerous darling,
Die with me tonight.

The darkest fear of losing it all
When everything ends in a stroke of time,
Are you afraid of death?
Living is dangerous darling,
Die with me tonight.

yes. another bad attempt at poetry. pardon me. -_-







written for Sunday Scribblings: http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/

I dare - NOT

This week, Sunday Scribblings gave us a dare to write on DARE.
And this is a new remix version of an old poem I'm posting with dare, related to this dare thing which I lack dreadfully!
Did you understand? .__.
I hope not.










The Poem Which Was Never Written
The poem which was never written
Stares at me silently,
Looks at my anxiety without a cause,
My sobbing without any tear,
My dreams with a baloney dare!
She laughs looking at me,
My white blank papers.
I could only tell her some words -
Words which have no meaning at all,
But would it be alright?
Would she be contented with that,
Or would she chase me again?
Does she scare me or she inspire?
Does that poem have a body?
A real figure, smiling lips?
Some love in a little heart n' feelings within?
Whenever I try to grab her-
She disappears;
And when I try to escape-
She chases me!
That poem whispers in my ears
Some shocking lines!
She tells me to write her on those blank papers,
Put radical thoughts in it,
Infuse some dreams of Utopia-
And burn the world with her words...
She is just a stupid, a heck of stupid being -
She doesn't even know that
This puny creature is too fragile to do that!

P.S.- I love you

Holding my breath inside
I step outside the door,
I wish I could see you there
standing for me with a bunch of rose.
Downtown I slowly go,
Counting the maple leaves
scattered all along...
Cold dewdrops on the grass blade
Touch my feet gently,
I shiver and think of you.
Siting on a roadside bench
I wonder in the emptiness -
How my dreams are lost within you...
Slowly I sing the song you wrote;
Words are not enough now,
Because There is so much left to tell you. . .

P.S.~ I love you.


.....
I wrote it because of my alter-ego!
She is a hopeless romantic moron.
She lives here --> Bad Pixie's Dane

In The End

“Water…some water”
I heard a broken voice crying behind me –
Another dying soldier lying on this earth
With a bleeding leg and a bullet in his chest.
Slowly he cried for some drops of life,
I could be the savior or could I not?
At least they say we are the saviors of the country…
So I stepped ahead to bring back a life in dead desert;
And fast came the gift of war towards my heart
And rested within tearing it apart…
Nothing was felt but a soundless pain,
Flowing of blood what I could see, only,
And I fell weakly on my knees…
No more I heard the cry for water,
Not even sounds of guns and bombs…
But there were voices, again and again, 
Coming fast and fading away;
Did I hear screams of death or prayers of life?
Or was it the mixed up thoughts of mine?
Reflections of memory went one by one…
I saw the beautiful dusk melted in love,
I smelled fragrance of the fields outside my window,
I remembered the old tree beside my house,
The playing kids in the lane, the bell of recess,
I heard my guitar been played again…
And unknowingly I knew I was going to bed
For my endless sleep and peaceful rest,
I knew I would never touch her hair again,
I knew I was to leave my love, my pains…
And another bullet stroked my leg,
Down I fell on the wet earth, numb and senseless…
It was the time to go, to walk beyond this world,
Away from the morning dews and cold war nights,
In a solitary cell they would call a soldier’s grave.

-------------------------------------------------------

Note: random thought. :|

and yeah, Mr. Owen inspired me a bit. 

:)

Her Peace

She was sitting on the riverside,
Swathed with the shaft of dawn,
Breathing in a lone moment…

The early wintry breeze shivered her,
She gazed at the flow of water blankly…
Wishing her life to pass by fast like this.

Peace she has now is more bitter and painful,
It is the peace of silence, no screams, no sound
And she felt her words lost in somewhere else.

Peace she wanted, engulfed with love and tenderness,
The peace she never had, she never tasted,
May be her frozen eyes still longs for it…

And may be she could wait up for something
To change her life, to soothe her wounds,
But she was too broken to stand up and fight back again.

For life has given her more and more pain,
Rapturous feelings she never expects
Even her sore eyes never bled again.

She still sits there, and the sun rises and sets …
But she never came back from where she was gone
As she has found another peace in the lone vale of silence.

-------------------