Morning
I thought of those who had died in their sleep
Such a beautiful way to go
You rest, you dream, you leave this earthly shell behind…
I wondered how peaceful it would be
How there would be no suffering; at least in death
A thought crossed my mind. But I didn’t say it out loud.
Wishes are made with closed eyes and secretly in the heart.
I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep
6.30 am. Birds began to chirp. Sunlight beamed through the cracks in the curtain.
And I was awake.
Never have I felt so alone, so dejected, so sad.
Happy Birthday Handsome
You weren’t here to hear me speak my first words,
But you heard me say ‘Papa’
No one ever did before
You gave meaning to a word that meant nothing to me
You didn’t watch me take my first step as a baby
But you helped me up every time I fell
Oceans apart you stay
Closest to my heart you are
Your smile, you laughter, your words and your silence
They mean so much to me
In your heart is where I wanna be
Every day and always.
Through your mind, I want to run
Every time you’re down
I want to be your smile
When cry is all you want to
Happy Birthday My Handsome!
Piece of my heart,
So far far away,
Yet so so precious.
Happy Birthday Papa.
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.
Desolate
People are desolate,
Lonely islands walking about,
They lay barren
In the wake of the destruction.
People are foolish,
Blinded,
By their own selfish desires,
Unheeding, they pass each other by.
People are people,
Consumed by the worry of what the future holds
Engulfed in the past,
Sweet irony.
People are desolate,
Lonely islands walking about,
Oh, how they lay barren!
In the wake of the destruction called Life.
Artist For Both Pictures ~ Nigel Van Wieck
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.
An Off-center Trip To Have – Jordan Part I
Waiting at Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport -T2 Terminal, my stomach was churning. I’d never been abroad, and definitely not in a place that many asked me to stay at bay from. The urge or will to go there was stronger than any heartfelt word of advice. I was going. And there I was ready to board the plane to Amman, the capital city of Jordan with a stopover at Doha, Qatar.
The view from Doha to Amman was breathtaking. See it to believe it.
Upon reaching Amman, the feeling was unreal. Touch down, but I was on seventh heaven. I couldn’t wait to embrace all the adventure that beckoned me.
Our first stop there was Madaba City. This city in The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordania is best known for its Byzantine and Umayyad mosaics, especially a large Byzantine-era mosaic map of the Holy Land.
We visited the church that had the huge map on it’s floor and it was amazing. The Map of Madaba mosaic was discovered in 1896 and the findings were published a year later.
The mosaic map depicts an area from Lebanon to the Nile Delta North to south, and from the Mediterranean Sea to the Eastern Desert from East to West. It also depicts a lot of old testament christian sites as well including Dead sea, Jordan, Jericho among others.
We were also shown a mysterious painting of Mother Mary inside the church, which was said to have the appearance of a blue hand out of nowhere one day. The hand wasn’t there in the original painting, and no body knows how the hand appeared out of the blue.
Have a look here:
We made our way to the church through the market place and what a beauty to behold!
I was mesmerized and left in awe of the cobblestone roads, the stone buildings the sky. Beautiful is an understatement.
** End of – Jordan Part I – **
Failing Completely
She fell in love. From the moment they first argued and she saw herself losing. She lost to no one and yet, here she was falling and failing completely. not knowing what hit her. Love. May be.
The seemingly everlasting nights, welcoming the sun light like a mother embracing a child after a long day at school. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t lay awake without having him traverse her thoughts, to and fro. she was falling, my friend, she was failing completely, not knowing what hit her.
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.
Let’s Toil
Work like a Trojan,
Plough through the day,
You see, for love,
Life is a small price to pay.
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/
Evanesce
Slowly fading, like the setting sun.
Do you belong to some,
Or to none?
Music drifts further away,
It’s the way of this world.
Never to stay,
Are you watching me smile,
insincere though,
turn away, let me cry a while.
Hold me in your arms,
Then disappear
When I’m calm.
I won’t cry, I promise you,
Please let me be
The one you go to
I’ll listen as you speak,
Will forever
your secrets keep
Just one small promise I seek
You’ll say goodbye
Every time you leave.
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?
Beautiful Mess
She sunk further in to the mess she, so beautifully, created,
Every fissure carved out with love,
Every hammer rammed through with passion,
Every cut traced out and made with precision,
Meticulous detailing of the cracks,
Scratched out blue wallpaper…
She breathed the mess through her soul and it came to be!
Her inspiration, you ask?
Oh! nothing really,
Just her heart.
Just her old, tattered, torn, little heart.
I Miss You
Sometimes I miss you
But I guess I shouldn’t
I’ve only to close my eyes and I’ll feel your embrace
I’ve only to hum our song and I’ll hear your sweet voice
I’ve only to remember and I’d find your lips meeting mine
I’ve only to lose myself and my soul shall drift to you
I guess I don’t need to miss you
Because…
It is you in I and I in you
Forever
Or is it?
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…
Read and please vote for the full piece here:
Appreciate it!
The Walk
I walked the path to your beautiful little home.
To our beautiful little home.
The overwhelming familiarity made my steps heavier.
Each step killing me a little.
I started losing parts of me.
At every step something went missing, an eye, a hand, a leg, my shoulder, nose, ears, arms, thighs, face…
Every step took away a part of me.
When I reached your doorstep, our doorstep, there was just one thing left of me.
The faint throbbing of an aching heart.
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.
Him & Her
He was like the wind. The wind that caresses you before it passes you by.
He was the empty night sky. From where I see him, the stars don’t shine anymore.
He was the midnight lamp. The one that goes out when you’ve still got a little more of yourself to pour out.
He was the rose. He was also the thorn that pierced through.
He played with cards. With hearts. And anything that would wreck lives.
She saw a bed of roses at her feet. She was deceived. For they turned into nails…
And steams of blood ran across.
They came, they saw, they said.