I Bleed Words Sometimes

Posts tagged “Smile.

Too much

1625467_942696235761024_3658108102813100371_nPC – 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.


Foolish

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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.


Evanesce

Thorsten Schnorrbusch

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?

Tim Walker

 

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

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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.


Divine Ipseity

Lydia Roberts.

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.

Grace After The Beauty Is Gone.


That Still Night

Denis Roche.

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.

She leaned forward and touched his temple with her quivering lips. And moving slowly like the orange basked sky disappearing into the purple haze of the misty cloud, she kissed his high cheeks, his sharp nose and whispered gently to his lips. And without contemplation, without any resolve or question he responded to her every silent command. She did not wish for him to lead, today was her day to give. For the first time in her life she was sure of what she wanted. She wanted to touch him, caress him and kiss him right in that dark, fearful part of his soul that had been so meticulously concealed, never to be revealed to any being, breathing or deceased.
His pain and terror wasn’t hers to take away. It wasn’t her intention to make it go away because she knew, more than anything, that she could never erase that grisly memory which was a part of him. A part that had been carved and embedded into the bottomless abyss of his very being. Memories can never be replaced, she could not replace his with hers either. All she could do with every sway was attach this memory to the unpleasant one he already owns. And maybe, just maybe when he remembers the original gruesome memory, he will remember this; he will remember her and remember the poetry they created together-alone that still night. It was the first time she felt the fearsome marvel of a man’s body. It was just like she always dreamed of it to be.
~ by Madonna Rozario Jansen

Do You Understand?

Sometimes all you need is for someone to understand you.

For someone to overlook the inequities and embrace the flaws.

For someone to let you scrape your knee and let the tears roll by.

Sit with you, laughing, when you’ve fallen, face down, in a muddy puddle.

Clap, when you’re on stage terribly nervous.

Hug you when you want to be left alone.

 

Someone who…

Walks in your shoes instead of judging you,

But never lets your selfishness go unnoticed

Holds your hand through the proverbial storm

Sticks a foot in the door when you’re closing them out

Gifts you a book, knowing you’ll probably end up weeping all night reading it,

Knowing also, that the gesture would brighten your heart

 

Sometimes you wish you weren’t loved.

But understood.


A Little Dream

Vincent Bourilhon.

I wish so much for you to go, and grow and be.

I wish so much for you to leave.

But somehow, somewhere it’s difficult to say.

It has been difficult to feel.

 

The possibility of a together tomorrow is tempting.

It’s tempting because somehow I know It’s unattainable.

And I’m OK with it being so.

And yet, it’s difficult to see it happen.

 

I’ve wished too much lately,

But here are a few more,

You see it doesn’t hurt to dream.

 

So I wish,

I wish, that when the rain pours down on your face, you miss me,

When the same sun shines upon your frame, you miss me,

When the same moon kisses you under the night sky, you miss me,

When morning comes, you smile, knowing I miss you.

When the night puts on its armor you let down your guard and you miss me.

 

Is that too much to ask?

I think it is.

You see, no one said love would be easy.


Rhythm Of The Rain

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“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.


I, Me & Myself

Ankahee:

Patte jo shaakhon se toote
Bewajah toh nahin roothe, hain sabhi..

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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.

Right?


Dost

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/


Sanctuary

I forgot where the safe place is.

It was burnt and caved in by them, there is none but just open moors and taverns.

Lost homes, missing havens. How do we find them again? You reckon, we never can.

Don’t we scratch the walls and extinguish beacons.

Build walls we can barely climb. Build the impenetrable cage of memories of a different life. Lost life. Rotten beautiful life

Skinned knees, broken bottles. Oh! How we climb and slipper and wither, these thought the choke how feeble are we to dangle.

The more we sink, the more taller it gets. The more we try to forget the more we feed the growing chaos. There’s no escape.

Just somebody put us down, the clawing on the earth of fable, for a faithless climb. Broken, distraught and hollow.

Let’s fill the pit of sorrow, with tears of the past. Let’s burn our present and our future let’s swallow.

Such shame and deceit, No honour in your crimes? We weep while you bask in your rhyming lies. We reap and we reap…

And we reap some more.

 

refuge

 

~ By Varun Chakravarty & Mitchelle Rozario Jansen

My 24th contribution to NaPoWriMo

Checkout Varun’s other works on http://stateofmaroon.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

 


Seasons

Doors closing in

Seasons change and rightly so, but do you watch the colors dance and sing? Do you watch how they fade and bring… New life?

How you crawl behind those showers, stars they die when you strife?

How you let yourself believe there’s no hope for hope. Or love beyond the cries of the night. So much clamor for hate!

The drums at night stifles silence so blind, it wreaks of love so dishonest and dry. Drape in hope is my shunned envelope of faith.

I take turns burning up and getting colder. Getting older. Morphing into a new being, I didn’t know lived within. Inside out.

Do you feel the walls cave in and the house burn, the dead weight shoulders propped? Lost in the ashes, thinking aloud?

And you wonder what saved you? Why was salvation granted to a wretch? May be all the glory is in endurance of love and ache.

For ache I do, head held high. The flag burns brighter and salvation left to pry. Define me in my rhythm of my own forgotten wake.

Wash me down in the waters of shame.

I burn in boats of blames and games.

~ By Varun Chakravarty & Mitchelle Rozario Jansen

Author’s note:

With my co-authors permission I’m adding this poem to as my 15th Contribution to NaPoWriMo even though this is yet another amalgamation of a random conversation we both had. Hope you guys like this effort. Cheers!

Checkout Varun’s other works on http://stateofmaroon.wordpress.com/


Perfect retreat

 

It has the power to heal.

It is your saving grace.

It is your escape.

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When the world is closing in on you.

It will show you the horizon.

Open a new avenue.

It smells sweet.

The beautiful scent of knowledge and power.

It’s your healer.

It’s your friend.

It’s your solace.

It’s your refuge.

Books.

Your perfect hiding place.


Loss

You’ll lose them all,

And then you’ll lose sleep over what’s lost.

You’ll lose your life,

You’ll lose your happiness,

You’ll lose everything you’ve lived for.

And then one day,

You’ll see how futile it was.

How utterly ignorant you were,

How ungrateful you turned.

And you’ll be ashamed

You let hurt, burn your life, taint your soul

Rotten your mind, disfigure you beyond recognition.

When all you had to do was look away.

Walk away.

In to the love that was standing at the door.

Imploring you to embrace it.

But you were naive. Stupid.

Not anymore.

That counts for more.


To mourn or smile?

You stomp out, whimper and cry, you bleed, bleed again,

You incite the venom, the poison, your soul so despises.

You sing so sweet, so melodious, of heartache and pain,

Yet hate you welcome, your brothers come home after ages?

You seek the new, the old you discard and slain,

It’s easy a bargain to make, to burn the ashes

Of our past glories to relive the agony and smile,

To hurt and curse, yet experience little happiness for awhile.

 

This is my sixth contribution towards the NaPoWriMo project. My humble attempt at creating something on the lines of Ottava Rima an Italian form of poetry.


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Hold me in your…

Hold me in your arms.
Rock me from side to side.
Lift my spirit up,
before I crumble and die.
Because, Darling, it’s time I heal.

~ Mitchelle Rozario Jansen