Hurt-

Their most genuine and tragic thoughts,
Should be locked and kept away.
Of great perdition and damned loss,
Thinks your mind, the better days are over?

But you don't exist.
You can't decipher.

You speak when in pain,
Only because happiness has no words.
Recklessly they come pouring out,
Their pathetic sounds of empathy.

But you don't know.
You can't understand.

Sunshine and starts, fresh and free,
Pace now, look ahead, and ponder deeply.
How can you stop this, when will it end?
Change this course, make them at ease.


Enmity with emotions.

AndAgain-

It is so much easier from behind the glass.
The effortless lying and the generous laughter.
"You seem so happy"
Yes you do, but it is the silence of the words.

Wallow deep in the pits of numbness.
Reminisce about the cold and ice.
"Your ego seems well fed"
Yes you're proud, let's see for how long.

Either wicked or a mere invertebrate.
Others seldom act in a way that is desirable.
"You'll get what you want"
Yes you might, but it could be worthless.

Striving for a higher low. 

Knowing-

Playing roles has become quite a breeze.
Bitter and happy, gloomy and forlorn,
It is all about the front that matters.

You should just pry open those fingers.

The immeasurable skies pass by with ease.
Cloudy and clear, orange and blue,
Atleast it hasn't started raining yet.

You should just let the sand pour down.

Things have a way of turning out differently.
Great and mediocre, high and rock bottom,
There's no sinking lower after the lowest.

You should just speak your mind now.
But your mind knows not.

TheGrey-

You want your life to be meaningful.
It should have colors, pinks, and blues.
There have to be others, trivial and significant,
For times of folly and times of need.

It is an arduous task collecting the pinks.
The blues are always in a squeeze.
Their predicaments should be disregarded.
Isn't a life without colors just prosaic?

There are those that will withdraw,
And others who will desert, strand, and jilt.
So prepare and be wary of the grey.
How is one to show affection for these?

Their mixing and forming different blends,
Can confound the brightest of them all.
One after the other creating an absurd concoction
What was added when and how did it become so?

Soon the palette will be washed off clean,
And you will have newer colors to work with.
It may please you to have another chance.
Will you seize the yellow and reset the canvas?

But show your work before the rain comes,
For it will run down all the colors into one.
To a blur the depiction will begin to become,
And to grey may turn your life again.

Escape-

Faster now as you try to get away,
there is consistent slowing you down.
Airwaves barricade your path as you persist.
And they all try fleeing the denouement.

But you can't seem to move.

Sluggish now as you view the aperture,
doggedly dragging the weight in fear.
You look back over your shoulder.
And hope that you have escaped the worst.

But the door just won't open.

Stagnant now as your heart outraces your being,
helplessly shaking and the final cri de coeur.
You break the wall and let it all out.
And breath in the ameliorated escape.

But the roads have no signs.

Floating now as you realise their duplicity,
their transience perturbs you ceaselessly.
You want to wake out of the torment.
And forget the days of sand and glass.

But silence is a black adversary.
So you conjure it all away.
And run.

Darkness-

A sound, a creak, the ticking of a clock.
Exhaustion takes over but respite is distant.
Delusions in the dark dominate perception,
And in hopes of rescue, the soul screams silently.

Fear.

Light tries to dissuade flighty notions.
But there is only so much brightness in this world.
Their existence is translucent and vague,
And they are attracted to the horrid and degenerate.

Anger.

The being cannot help but question your actions.
Narrow and self-indulgent are their minds.
Goons and foes, uncaring and withdrawn,
And you try to forgive and hope to forget.

Silence.

Rush in then, simple times of content delirium.
Wish upon a wish that everyone was like you.
They do not persist, they do not plead,
And life is lived each day as it comes.

A pretense of an unloving existence.

VoiceOfTreason-

Unthinking, exhilarating, heavenly, rapturous,
and the state outside is of no importance.
Being selfish and unaccomodating is rewarding.
Doing what you want to do, for as long as you want.
Thrilling is the catch and the adventure.

Then you're on the road.

Shadows in your mind, a heavy stone tied to your center.
This is how it will be, a preview of what will ensue.
You don't know what you want but you do know,
you maybe probably most definitely don't want this.
So you sit back and engage in the happy masquerade.

Then you're at a traffic light.

Expect nothing from others, said another,
That's the only way you will ever avoid sorrow.
So you try and essay, and try again.
Ofcourse you expect, and hope there is life on mars.
And you are poor in abundance.

Then you're at the destination.

The reclusive bird flying low among the clouds,
commiserates the others that cannot soar at all.
But there is peace on the land, a content certainty.
The catch does reside in the earth and water.
So it ponders landing and grounding itself.

What you have might not stay with you forever.
Gratified unappreciative.
"If you love something, let it go"
                                   let them know.



 

Addiction-

This state is surely one to be abhorred.
Too many directions and subsequent turmoil.
You thought you knew what you wanted.

It is, or is it not what it seems anymore.
Layer upon layer of guile and pretense.
You wish you could see through it all.

A chime and it all goes back to being pink.
You're enamored and it will take time.
Find the castle or make the moat your abode.

Cool breeze on a bright afternoon.
The repartee between the sun and the sky.
They smile and jest, then abstain and avert.

Will the clock ever strike that time again?
Maybe it will and all will be pink for good.
Else we can live inebriated and forever pretend.

Change is imperative.

.

UnderstandingYou-

You explored and rummaged,
Piles and mounds, of dirt and rubble.
Of lies and deception, and of truth and tales.

Where did you lose that perspicacity?
When was it that all your grey cells evaporated?
Wasn't it enough wading recurrently through the swamp?

But the island of spring in all that mist seemed enticing.
The mere notion of a blissful swim and subsequent repose.
A chance de novo, a shot, hope and a prayer.

And you jumped into the realm of pretense.
Airy and dense, thrilling and mesmerizing.
Just smiled and died a thousand deaths.

You stared them into a quiver and a tumult.
The Pinkdom was all at merry unease and inquietude.
Till the very same old grey seeped in, sure standstill.

A seism, alarm bells, and trepidation.
The island of spring now seems vicious and malevolent.
Mercenaries, pirates, pillagers, narrow characters.

You disintegrate and weepingly lament the carnage.
Unvarying conduct and overlooking of premonitions.
For them divinity intervenes in perpetuum.

Tolerance is not a trait you're endowed with.
Untrammeled are the actions of this self.
Attempt at comprehending your desires.

Observe and cognize, till the skies are pink again.
Applaud the TLC and the regard before it pales.
Shrug it all off just now and later dissolve in the rain.


The dwarfy and precarious, stand tall and resolute.

SlippingBack-

It is a disorder, this conviviality of yours.
True is the notion, "present mirth hath present laughter".

And you must cash in on the 'opportunities',
Else the bell will toll, and long it will toll,
Till you to your previous delitescence return.

You abhor the actions taken by them.
But your ballgame too, is carried out unorthodoxly.
Loss. And caustic are their shows of farce.

Encircled one, struck off another.
Ignored the mediocre and the unseemly.
A profusion of options and a cataclysm.

Bereft of life is the bird since the sunny days.
The bright beady eyes and the capable wings.
You're almost pushing daisies now.

So try and fly, with all your might.
Smile and seduce, rock and run.
You are meant for fretting and impairing.

Gain and collect. Solace and security,
Their veneration and yearning.
The painstaking efforts taken to confess.

And like a name on a list, selected.
Only to endure for a short pink while.

Reviling the flippancy.

Ennui-

It is a deathless cycle, forever in nature.
You can't displace the beliefs that govern your very being.

A new face, a new high.
A new start, a new experience.

A new low.
A new end.

The transition is now faster than ever.
But you try to tighten your grip.

And you try to feel.
You try to rise above it all.

No schemes, just serendipity?
Monotony and misery?

"We'll see", time will resolve all constraints.
They make you unsure of what you want.

"Maybe", time will determine the course of action.
But you are not one to relinquish.


Not even time can be given that kind of power.

Prescience-

The moonlight nimbly cascaded into the room.
It gently caressed the silent figure that stood there.
The silhouette that faced the portrait of a rose.
In a reverie, it was falling and languishing.

A gust of wind, and the windows blew open.
Fresh air gushed in, but brought with it no respite.
Droplets fell on the marble pane,
and a stream flowed down the wall.

Wintry cool breeze sent shivers down the self.
Feet planted, eyes fixed and arms hung at either side.
The aching bosom heaved and the figure shook with a sigh.
Forever, the rose would retain its beauty.

But what would become of you?
A resolute and firm countenance depicts fortitude.
So too does a determined and stern one.
Can you let the elements determine your happenstance?

Break and fall away from the portrait.
The being strived to stay above the surface.
Brighter was the moonlight now and it exposed the figure.
Darkness fled and the bare form stood unmasked.

The rose looked down at the simple self.
As the flame wavered and the candle blew out,
the clouds thundered and sent forth sentiments of malaise.
Foreboding was the witching hour.

Shadows danced around the figure, ridiculing it.
But it stayed fixated upon the flower's evermore contentedness.
Even the winds of change cannot undo the done.

And the self knew.

BeingTorpid-

This is taking you far away,
away where you don't even laugh or cry.

Deafening silence.

Still are all the broken shards.
Shards covered in the injuries they have caused.
Motionless fragments of beautiful glass,
that were caught in a whirlwind of tragedy.

Awakened slumber.

Begin again, start anew, rewind it all, you yearn uselessly.
Regrets will just bereave you of tomorrow.

Vanish into nothingness sorrows of yesteryear.

Accumulated emotions take flight into the vastness.

Blinding reality.

Yet again you find yourself in shambles.

So you invoke the wrath of God upon them.

The latent fiend is quick to resurface.

It brings with it seas of irascible grievances.

Loud echoes.

Shut them out. Refresh the chapter. Feign complacency.

Exuberance, gaiety, fireworks and rainbows.

Pink for now.

Sunbright-

A profusion of thoughts and a flurry of ideas,
But you've run out of ink to pen them down.
Just when the precipitancy of your wishes is infinite too.

You start to misrecollect.
What. Think. Think again.
Come back.
Vanished?

You engage in excogitation, anticipating an ephiphany.
Cri de coeur!
Voices in agony; Please let us not forget.
We have come this far.

Alas, you have come out too far.
But the stars are brighter here, the moon bigger, the colors better.
And you could be happier.
Do you take it all and justify thoughtlessness?

Let the corporeality of your soul not be an impediment.
"You're going to catch a cold, from the ice inside your soul".

They will stab you, cut you, open you, then examine you.
Only to understand that minute yellow speck in the core.

And they won't.

Won'tBeTheLastOfYou-

So you won't take a bow.
You feel that the winds will change direction.

A smile.
And walls made of cobwebs are deconstructed.
It's been a while now since you plunged.
The darkness is astounding.
It hides them all.

So you envelope yourself in the assortment.
Shrouded in the richness of grime.

Disembarrass yourself.
Effulgent will be your demeanour, promise.

A nod.
And the glaciers of incongruity melt.
It's been some time since you looked. 
There is no vision for miles.
Reassuring is the sound of your thoughts.

After all, you're just as enterprising.
And you just won't let it get over.

AboutYourself-

It's funny.

You can write about him, her, and them too.
But when it comes to writing about yourself, you can find no words.

How is it that you know yourself best and yet you know nothing about yourself?
Do you need a mirror in front of you while you write?
Or perhaps a song playing in the background?

After all, you do tend to relate to most songs. They depict your very life.

Do you realise how odd it is talking to space?
More odd is talking to strangers about yourself.

They say you tend to talk to strangers about yourself when you feel estranged.
No one cares. You don't either. You're selfish. You don't want to listen but you want to be heard.

It's funny.
You can talk about him, her and them too.
But when it comes to talking about yourself, you can find no voice.

And it's scary.
You have so much to say.
But you're running out of time.

Don'tYouForgetAboutMe-

Will you walk on by like they don't exist?

Their faces form an aide memoire, yet you won't recall.

You want their love and their hate, be their raison d'etre?

Tis but an easy task, being pensive in front of the scornful.

And the commoners are not fooled by your astute ways.

Pretty pink things, fancy sweet talk, zeal and excitement.

Everything is to be spoken of with great vehemence.

See, they must believe you.

So you become a mere 'brick in the wall' in this pinked up world.

Yes, sweet remembrance for you always. And forever.

But it is a matter of time and not enough of it. Fait accompli and you can go back no more.

Let your self not pass you by?

There is only so much you can do to quell another and then avoid being trampled on in return.

Atleast you were thought about.

C'est la vie

01-01-11

You're irresolute. And enveloped in depravity.

There is no end to your lies.

You lie to your mirror. The thought of being relinquished sends shudders down your spine.

After all, you've never been alone. Who can even survive alone?

Now that kinda existence is just absurd.

The sand pours down as you try to think about the right answer. Is there even a right answer?

Slow it down.

It has changed. There can be no answer.

That's just ludicrous.

There's always an answer.

But you're a liar. And it makes your soul gray. Your reflection wavers at your very sight.

Morality is just a value. It is rather discomfiting.

You appeal to your self to eschew the truth.

There is an answer.

It is the origination, of an impasse.