Rich
The rich…
What do they pick up as they walk through life leaving their prints on the sand?
What do they pick? Empty shells? Pebbles? The washed-ashore bloated dead?
What do they bring to supper? Are there fish to fry on the fire?
Is there kindness in their hearts?
Oh these are questions for the real, not the rich.
Or am I wrong?
Do the rich have a heart?
Do the rich have humility?
May be I’m asking the wrong questions…
Humility is the virtue of the rich.
Those in power either choose to be rich or remain so very poor.
So, let me ask again,
Are YOU Humble?
Lamentation
I have seen the face of selfishness,
It’s repulsive!
I have witnessed the image of unworthiness,
It fills me with disdain.
Every time I look at it, I’m consumed by the insatiable urge to tear it apart.
I look at how pitiful it is and I wonder, how?
How did this come to be? Who made you? What made you?
The answer was staring at me through the mirror.
She’s So Ugly
PC: Christine Wu
It’s amazing how we are quick to judge
And seldom slow to anger
How we make assumptions and then believe them to be true
How we make our opinions our God
And worship them, blindly, in the temple of our own minds
How we give ourselves more importance than we deserve
How we do NOT give people the respect they deserve
How we think we know best
When really we know nothing at all.
Our mirrors are dusty, just like our minds,
We don’t let the new wash over us
And we let cobwebs of preconceived notions ruin that which can be beautiful
Understanding can be beautiful
Being respectful of other peoples’ beliefs can be beautiful
Imperfections can be beautiful
Ugliness can be beautiful
When will we stop judging and start embracing?
Never.
You Smell Of Memories
You smell of memories,
And when I’m with you,
The scent of sadness permeates the air,
Leaving me gasping for breath.
You smell of yearning,
You smell of lust,
You smell of longing,
You smell of thirst.
Darling, you smell of me.
Both PC: Saul Leiter
Too much
PC – Anastasia Smurova.
Sometimes we love people too much,
Love is responsibility.
Love is ache waiting to be felt.
Love is a tragedy in the making.
Love is beautiful.
Love makes you do all the things you yourself wouldn’t approve of.
Love pushes you to the point that you do not recognize yourself.
And if that love is poison to someone.
It’s best to let it go.
Sometimes we love people too much to keep them in our lives.
Come, Ruin Me
My Nemesis,
In how many ways can you break my heart?
You surely know more than one.
And how many times can you stomp it sore?
You surely can do more.
How many times can you beat it blue?
Till my heart bleeds dry,
Until I forget you?
A Gift No Joy Can Bring
Sometimes sadness fills you up and the emptiness vanishes,
You’re friends with the wounding silence,
And tears do not seem like something you shed out of mere hope
That once this ordeal passes by, you’ll be fine.
But tears turn into the despondence of the one who has given up all hope,
And is no longer anxious, no longer worried, hence no longer concerned about the sorrow
Because, sometimes when sadness fills you, you do not feel hollow anymore,
And that’s a beautiful gift even joy can’t give.
It Takes Nothing
It takes nothing…
It takes nothing for me to lose myself in you,
It takes nothing for me to melt away in your hold,
It takes nothing for me to be mesmerised by your sweet, velvet voice,
It takes nothing.
It takes nothing for me to go from loving you to despising your every breath,
It takes nothing for me to go from having you as my universe to shredding it to pieces,
It takes nothing for me to go from worshiping you to hating your every goddamn word,
It takes nothing.
You see… my love,
It takes nothing for me to go from being overjoyed by this life to being miserable and wanting it to end.
It really takes nothing.
I danced with joy in the rain today and then it saddened me.
Detached
I feel distant,
Removed,
As though, I do not belong.
Worse, I never did!
Love shouldn’t feel like that, should it?
Is it me running away?
Or are the waves receding?
I’m left utterly despondent.
I fear abandonment.
I fear helplessness.
I fear being me.
I fear.
And fear makes us do all sorts of crazy things.
Foolish
You think I’m foolish,
I do not comprehend…
The things that transpire behind my back.
Let me tell you this,
I know,
I understand.
But it’s good to be foolish,
Than to be wise.
For this world sees not with kindness
On those who fight,
Sadistic ways.
Test of our patience.
Let me be stupid,
Alone.
And away from all the games you play.
You, who claim to be mine.
I seek not your approval.
I seek not your love.
I seek the stupidity of an infamous fool.
Sorrow In A Cave
The rebellion of the sorrow in a cave, temptress on walls and a blade to succumb too.
Let’s drill deep, further seep, into the shell. So safe so dark so at home why won’t the edges blur? Why won’t the world melt?
Scratches along the walls, the wolf behind this cage. How shallow seems the sand and how horridly the edges peel away.
You can’t hear him howling, nor can you feel his pain. You can only stare at the ferocious creature. So tamed by his own rage.
Writhing in my own monstrosity, I envelope in the arms of heartache, Fuming I curl helpless, bleeding on my own page.
The wolf peering at me through the mirror. Is it me I should be afraid of? Or is it the human face that hides the monster?
Stalk slow, Die slow. A tyrant stirs, Resilient every feeling so crippled. It’s my wake, your memory and the their ripples. . .
So engulfed in your wrath that you spill from your bones. Blood to dry your tears. Hope to slaughter love. Laugh you sinner.
Jeer while you can, the tides may turn and the caves may light up. Hope lies in shadows of fears, dare to love and fear to breathe
Blithering wind. Scorching warmth. Are you not frightened of the agonizing, terrorizing nothingness? Your soul withers.
My soul withers where wombs lay bare, as pure as sin and half as fair. Stones unturned and sorrow I’ve had my share.
Yet I smile with my life laid bare. At your feet. Where you kick and curse. Sweet.
I scream everything down, the caves painted grey and love burnt for warmth. Hide…hide…hide.
~ By Varun Chakravarty & Mitchelle Rozario Jansen
Checkout Varun’s other works on http://stateofmaroon.wordpress.com/
Now what?
Now what?
Should I just let the door CLOSE, and shut out the voices?
Or should I fight, knowing it’s a lost battle?
Now what?
Should I pick up the pieces?
Or should I DANCE on them and watch the colours unfurl!
Now what?
Are you going to just WATCH as I bare myself, moment by moment, piece by piece, one by one, to one and all?
Aren’t you going to stop me? Slap me? Shake me from my trance?
Do you delight in my reverie?
Now what, sweetheart?
Now what?
Is there no beginning after this end?
There should be, the stories say so,
Legend says so
History isn’t going to REPEAT itself?
But mama made me believe…
And I believed. Sadly, I still do.
This is going to CHANGE, right darling?
You’ll wake up any moment now,
Abandon your grave and hug me tight?
I can’t hear you.
You’re scaring me!
Don’t joke with me anymore!
Just SPEAK to me once baby,
Tell me love…
Now What?
You’re beautiful
You’re so beautiful.
And you deserve so much better.
And even though I miss you,
I’m happy for you and this new life you’ve chosen.
But I’m selfish and sad.
And you being beautiful just makes it all the more insufferable.
Why do you have to be so beautiful?
Living Or Dying
Every moment counts,
Every word,
Every touch,
Every promise,
Every breath counts.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
Life and its uncertainties…
You can never tell
This mystery is some vulgar, beautiful, wretchedness,
We have got to endure.
Loving empties us within.
We forget that we’re losing strength
We forget that it’s robbing us of our sanity
But we give in any way,
Just for those few stolen moments of bliss.
Temptation. Yes, we’re tempted to enjoy the temporary glory.
Forgetting the eternal damnation we are calling upon ourselves.
Life. Love. Misery.
I know not of any other way of living,
Or dying.
A Love Story
What’s lost?
She didn’t mourn during the last rites. Numb with bereavement, she stood motionless.
They lowered his body into the earth and therewith buried her spirit.
She had not wept at all in days. They shook her, wailed, brought forth memories of him, but to no avail.
She had lost the will to feel…
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The Crowd
And when I let it in, it crushed every ounce of me within seconds.
I was a goner the minute I let my guard down.
It was as if the consequence I so feared were unraveling in front me at the speed of light.
And the blow… Oh, it was just too fatal.
I took a deep breath, again, in search for some solace. Ha, all in vain.
Standing there, in the middle of the square, no one could tell the tornado inside.
People indulged in the hustle and bustle of their own lives.
Babies crying.
Old couples holding hands walking in the silence of their love.
Young couples fighting over a trivial deal.
Children rushing to school.
Mothers scolding kids.
Father rushing to earn the bread and butter…
Standing there in the middle of the square, no one, absolutely no one, could tell there was a tornado whirling within.
The calm facade camouflaging the crumbling structure.
So beautiful.
So lovely.
So picturesque.
Yes, life is poetry.
And I just hugged the soil beneath my feet.
Divine Ipseity
We’re afraid to face ourselves.
We’re afraid of what it might do to us,
Even worse, what we might never be able to do, ever again.
Once the truth is spilled from our lips,
Ones ugliness is made known.
We feed ourselves with pride and then with guilt.
We revolt harmony,
We treat it like we would an enemy.
But why should it matter?
We do what we think we should.
We do what we must.
And in doing so there should be no remorse,
Only contentment, that we did what we truly wanted.
There’s great joy in being who you truly are.
No matter how crude, lonely, gruesome, painful it gets.
It’s a beautiful melody when we reveal the true ugliness of our soul.
It brings a very evident change in us, celebrates our liberty and all that we are, is made known to all and sundry.
Grace After The Beauty Is Gone.
That Still Night
It was the first time she felt the fearsome marvel of a man’s body. She asked him about his deepest darkest terror. His eyes glistened at the very thought of that day. After what seemed like an eternity, he answered her, with every detail and vehemence as though he was reliving that very moment again, once again. They sat there in the haunting silence of their hearts and souls. She had learnt of the most ghastly experience of his life and she could not unlearn it. She did not wish to. She did not need to.
Waters
There’s a price to pay,
For every thought that passes our vulgar mind.
The sand holds no answers,
Yet we kiss it with our anxious feet.
We let the waters caress our soul,
In hope that freedom will be ours when dawn approaches
We let our minds drift with the winds,
They brush the horizon and there’s a momentary gleam in our eyes.
Hope is a killer.
A killer we mould with our very own hands.
Hope is the glass house,
We build or tear down as we please.
Is there no way to let our hearts go numb?
Is there no way to feel but not shatter?
Is there no way to let go off that which we have no control over?
Is there no way to free ourselves from ourselves?
I guess there isn’t.
So let’s move with the waves.
Let the cold outside brew the cold within.
And let’s just float away.
Far, Far and away
To somewhere we don’t want to go.
To a land or water or sky we won’t call home.
Let’s just leave to never return.
Slaves To Love
Love is a cruel thing.
It gives you hope,
Then snatches it back in a heartbeat.
It gives you solace
Then drowns you in your own pool of blood.
It makes you feel beautiful,
Then shows you the mirror that only reflects the ugly,
The distorted.
Love is a saviour that destroys us.
The more you let it breed,
The more it will eat you hollow.
The more you feed it with your soul,
The more you’ll lose control.
Love cannot be tamed.
Tread carefully, friend, tread carefully.
My 30th and final contribution to NaPoWriMo.
Cheers to a wonderful journey.
My words may not be good enough, but they are liberating.
Serenity Amidst Chaos
I want to sit on a bench,
Palms on my lap,
Smile on my face
And calm in my heart.
I want to sit on a bench,
When the storm approaches.
My 29th Contribution to NaPoWriMo
Feeble Confession
I’ve written to you several times.
Words that could tear you apart.
That could make you bleed.
I’ve buried several letters, you know.
**
My hands reached for you,
when you were searching for someone else’s.
You held mine anyway.
Just as easily as you let it go today.
**
Why do you lift up my spirits?
Why do you make me believe?
Just to go.
Stay for a little longer,
Hold me till dawn comes to greet us.
**
My 27th Contribution to NaPoWriMo
They came, they saw, they said.