Writer in the Dark

The melancholy attracts my pen

little by little I start to cry with every word that I strive,

echos of misery wrapped in a bottle

the more I write, the more it heals.

twilight calls me, sipping the happiness

the void that wants to breathe, gets filled by this,

I constrain myself to see the light around

hollow is my heart which just prefers sorrow

the blood in my veins freeze but my fingers do not stop,

my blood becomes my ink and my body a paper in thin

it hurts to scream as the words are let out,

but peace does lie in letting it all go around.

the pleasure doesn’t let me write a phrase,

it seems the moon is full and it misses the emptiness draped over it’s face

my soul craves for some grief, they call me morose

with the lovable petals, thorns do clasp to a rose.

the writer in me wails for it can’t see the letters anymore,

with the fortunate moments, they all have lost their course.

once again I invite darkness to my self,

the Sun of my face wants to suppress and the Moon

wants to dance over the orchid side,

doomed agonies would help me excavate

emotions hidden in the depths of my heart,

bestowing a direction to the ship I have lost,

igniting the empath in me as I start to discard,

the ‘happiness’ recedes midnight sharp,

A writer is born in the dark.

Crimson calls a broken girl

I don’t know if I will scratch again

but somewhere I do wish to see

how words look when they aren’t cut away

every syllable and metaphor breathes chaos

they decipher what I try to say

and yet my heart can’t feel anything

that’s what they all complain.

the poems I write shares the pain,

somehow they connect the dots like the draught calls the rain,

people like to call me ‘art’

little do they know every second I am tearing apart

with every sunset, I try to see

what lies across this sea,

the one I have created in my mind,

the one where I tend to hide.

they ask me ‘what’s wrong?’ and I shake my head

how will they understand who never could see the Sun in it’s red,

crimson streaks covering her face,

bleeding every colour, bleeding into day,

how will they understand the life I live

where home is built in faded memories,

gulping the echos of the sky,

my soul revives after every sunrise.

Past perfect

I see you coming towards me,

the rays of Sun on your porcelain skin

it brightens up the sadness of your face

and I wonder, have I just reached the edge?

you step closer and I start to retreat

I don’t want to see how you are calling me

the memories we share are set high

my feet roll in the sand trying to grab the rhythm of the earth.

striving hard to knock my brain,

is it my dream or just another riddle you like to play

I start to run now, my legs stiff

the sand is doing its work, your smile deceives

the air above breathes of cherries

the one’s we held when we are young

the bedsheets entwin our soul captivated in thee

don’t know if you have good intentions

but I see myself stuck forever in this sea

knowing the currents and it’s hustle

I stop and even with a larger force I yell for you to see

this feather is lost and lonely

yet she doesn’t want to sail in this dead sea.

Epitaph

Some day’s I don’t want to write
crossing the words that come along the way
the pain it brings makes my mind
rewind once again
all the memories I now name
as mistakes, all the glamour
of vocabulary fades,
left are all that I want to erase
the dark poise of past
is something I can’t explain
someday I don’t want to write
for with the words my pen bleeds,
I start to cry.

Hazard or rot

Every time I decide to jump,

I see this massive sea

rocks scattered all around the base

What if I can’t breathe?

I do know how to swim but what if I don’t reach?

the perfect place where there fills air

where rocks won’t collide and tear.

The waters are scary, I step back

not knowing how to conquer my fear or doubts

I breathe in the air,

the smell does feel the same with no risks or mistakes

clean and shallow to its whole,

what am I still looking for?

there are peace and serenity around,

no crimson flakes of rays, the Sun even knows now

how I am scared to risk it all for a life that I do not know how

for a place where I do not feel safe and sound.

I click in the wrist as I am about to take

a flight from this land of similar tastes.

I close my eyes as I take a step forth

as I fall, the air I smell is different now.

Lust for Life

Maybe there was an end

To all the mess we made,

A streak of light down the hall

we saw just when we were about to fall

flashes of the Sun that we had searched

but never came across,

was gradually preceding the line

I looked at you to tell me it was a dream,

You looked at me

to tell me it was a new beginning.

The last letter

She was counting the last days before she called it quits. Probably the last restricted days that she had to withal. There was so much she wanted to say to each one who was in touch with her, but she couldn’t even manage to type a single ‘Hey’. She didn’t want anymore to pretend. Or she didn’t care anymore that whether they named her an ‘attention seeker’. The pain she was dealing with every minute was real, and she knew it. No one had to validate that her suffering was genuine. She didn’t want to ask for favours or someone to love her because she knew, people did love her only when they needed something. After all, not anyone can choose a sunflower over a rose, not everyone gets the love that she was filled with. Not everyone was that lucky and true to themselves to be the last phrases that she could ever count on.
She knows the world would miss her, she existed for a reason and maybe that was complete. She had always been the hole to consume darkness that everyone radiated, increasing her diameter metre by metre until she was a large empty space herself. She knew she had saved a lot of people’s lives by her simple strong sense of compassion and support, she knew she would leave the key to conquer broken dreams after she dies.
She wanted to stay, maybe she would. If anyone ever just said those three words which she had always wanted to hear. She wasn’t brave enough to die with her eyes open for she loved the colour blue in the scares of the sky. She knew that would change her mind, she knew that the sky would call her again to fight and live and this time she didnt want to be alive. She wanted to fly, forever and ever away from her cries.

Autopsy

this time you dont really cry
you stare at the darkest vein
the way it surrounds all of you
wanting to remove it from this corpse
still you wonder, should you get up and try?
try to fix the roots from where
you first started these bloodlines
knife on your hand, you want to end it all,
because you know there is
no one there who would ever
help you rise this fall.
All eyes are on you as you start to fade
people asking why you don’t wanna talk
as you are gulping your last breaths
every petal of yours which made you ‘you’
certainly seems different now
you want the poison to spread every inch
but you dont know how.
You want to touch the sky
and not in dreams this time
you want to escape this empty town
to the one who shall call
you ‘mine’.

Happiness is a butterfly

One beat you see the jar filled
nor till another, you see it empty
the waves come to you
close enough for you to chase it
when it starts to retreat
the taps on your windowpane
when you are crying lonely
at night
you find it and you smile
not knowing how to explain
With every breathe you take
the fearful night comes to an end
you think, what can surely go wrong
with this thing that you found
the day might have other treacherous
rounds,
Just the moment you close your fist
it vanishes in a second
As if it was just a mist.

Stroll on the sandclock

He looks at me while I try to fake another smile. 1,2,3 and yes I am doing it again. Like always. The waves are touching our feet and retreating, leaving the urge to touch the water and wash our open scars. I see him looking at the sky which has turned magenta with a flock of birds flying across like a ribbon of hope in this ravine which I fail to comprehend. Maybe I am scared, terrified that everything will end again for I know the legacy. Everything that I touch surely dies.
“Can I ask you something? ” and maybe I know what he is about to say. Because this isn’t the first time someone is trying to know me all over again. Because this can’t be the first time someone is striving so hard to love me. I smile.
” Are you suffering?” he twists the question and I am surprised. I was expecting some common why-dont-you-talk-much questions.
The light is growing dim and the darkness is coming back to my soul.
I smile again, looking into his eyes. This time a genuine one. The goodbye kind.
“Aren’t we all ?”

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