And Some Days I Like To Let Myself Be.
Oh, It Does Get Exasperating,
It’s Unnerving, This Joy Brewing Within
But The realization That It Won’t Last
Turmoil Is Not Just A Phase
It’s A Way Of Life For Some People
Some People Like Me
People Who Don’t See The Point In Being Happy All The Time
People Who Don’t Mind The Ache
People Who’ve Found A Way To Tread On The Frozen River Of Sorrow And Loneliness
Self Enforced Sorrow And Loneliness…
Living Perpetually In Fear
Wanting Nothing More Than To Just Sink
And Get It Over With
But Some days
We Love To Break Away From The Mundane Obligation Of Being Miserable
And We Smile. A full, Broken Hearted, Smile
Who Doesn’t Like Change…
Even If For A Little While.
I have been infatuated by several men.
Some for their Adonis like frames.
Some for their mere sensibilities.
Others for their strength of character.
But I’ve learned to love just one.
Yes, I’ve learned.
And once you learn something…
It takes a lot of will and time to unlearn it.
“I love the rains,” she said. “Is that so?” He was intrigued.
“Oh yes, a beautiful sunny day saddens me.”
“The rain on the other hand, I love how it mirrors the state of my heart.”
To this he sang back, “My dark cloudy soul drifts into the abyss of nothingness, going nowhere, leaving no trace, just pouring, and weeping a little, every passing minute.”
That day he found his soul mate
And she found love.
Patte jo shaakhon se toote
Bewajah toh nahin roothe, hain sabhi..
The solitary being doesn’t need anybody.
It loves company,
Revels in laughter and belongingness,
But does it need them?
It was forced to thrive in ruins and it did. Alone.
The self’s conversation with loneliness
Is one of great wisdom,
The colloquy of that which doesn’t exist,
That which could be,
And that which can never come to be
It leaves the heart brooding over meaningless incidents,
Scarring even the beauty that once was
And you watch
And you yell
And you spit venom
Because that’s all you’ve known to do well
Me, Me, Me.
I, I, I.
And that’s all that matters.
Why mask what hides on your skin? A puzzle of a chaotic struggle, You call that love?
I call that life. Endless struggle. Art made of scars. Red with blood, honey, black with sorrow.
I’ll come for you oh my friend, with kneaded bread and sweetest wine. You’ve suffered enough in these places so cold.
I’ll sit with you. Exchanging silence for love. Is that enough?
It’s enough, if I can watch you lie in embrace with the warm hay and a fire to tend to you.
So then come, my friend. Let’s meet under the stars. Like old times. Like forgotten times. Let’s live again. Without fear.
Let’s taste grass, fall off a hill. Snow kissed cheeks and let rivers be so still.
Let’s play games for two. And laugh mindlessly. Let’s just be, you and me. The world can melt for now, while we watch.
Let’s hide behind trees and lie through the sands, run along the daffodils, let this madness creep for our hearts it fills.
And you words, they drill. Like ink on my skin. They leave a beautiful imprint on my heart.
I’m not here to stay, mark my ways with dagger on willow. Promise me, you’ll stay so glee, never look back or down below.
I can’t promise you glee. But I promise to smile even if warmth flows down my cheeks.
~ By Varun Chakravarty & Mitchelle Rozario Jansen
Checkout Varun’s other works on http://stateofmaroon.wordpress.com/
Subject Under Focus ~ Smokey Semantics.
This Moved me to tears. What more can I say?
Dear Father, August 1974
It has been more months than I can remember, since I wrote to you last. While I have no words to justify my regret over my inability to inform you, as to whether I am alive or not, I feel a certain sense of relief, that I have brought myself to be able to say the things I will in this letter, here forth.
Much has changed, worth talking about, in the last few weeks but it isn’t worth sharing. It has no ounce of joy in it, or happiness, or capacity of reflection for anyone, I feel. Still, I have decided to…
View original post 729 more words
My contribution to InkBlood’s upcoming workshop subject “Lascivious Love”.
You see; letting go is never easy.
Love is a beautiful sentiment. You’ll know when it happens.
Sometimes, this love has to be nurtured for it to bloom. At other times, it just exists in its full glory. Either way, love is something you can never run away from.
And that’s what makes its beauty so terribly dangerous.
It jeopardizes our sanity and in turn, our life.
You’ve got to battle it out. Like a soldier on the battlefield fights for his life, you’ve got to fight for your sanity.
Things aren’t always black or white. They’re grey.
Love is that dark shade of grey you wished you were never acquainted with.
Yet it is the sheet tent you made as a child, to lie under. Do you know what I mean?
It’s an addiction, one that ruins you.
Yet you’re infatuated by it. You keep going back. You’re…
View original post 235 more words
They dance on an endless night,
To the melody that sorrow plays,
Lips unite, to end the charade,
Seduction and chaos around their hips,
They move into a silence,
Oh beautiful bliss!
Giving in to the desires of the flesh,
Bodies collide, souls unite.
And Love trickles down their skin.
They sat upon the shore.
Looking straight into nothingness.
They were happy.
Away from the chaos.
From the maddening crowd.
They really were happy.
She looked at her friend and said, “You know this land is beautiful when it rains.”
“Well,” her friend replied, “This place is beautiful always, everyday.”
“Did you see that?” she asked. “No, what?”
“That!” And just like that, it began lightening.
And then on that summer midnight hour, it poured.
They danced together.
Two insane friends.
Danced on the beach.
Mimicking the waves.
So the waves,
They danced upon the shore.
Drenched us in laughter.
Breaking our hearts,
A million times over.
It’s the sole saving grace that lets me breathe, every passing moment, breathe, a free, independent, breath, taking away the sorrowful rain that drenches me every night and birthing love that is buried deep within my soul, love that is asleep in an unshakable slumber of ache and all the things so ugly and beautiful and insane.
I write… to save me from myself.
Take me where I don’t belong.
Let abandonment brush my being.
So lost in an unknown land,
Take me to the forgotten plains,
Let me befriend lonely,
So alone in a strange world,