A Bloody Creek

A bloody creek of memories
flows in my deserted heart
A blithering existence of centuries
in which merriment is disbarred
It washes my despair fresh
and leaves my soul scarred
It leaches to fuel the fires deep
these flames outreach the stars
It’s tormented, tired and anguished 
which once was hallowed ground
My being had never faced such
numbness, so profound
I sit quietly with my eyes closed
while I feel these memories dart
A bloody creek of memories
flows in my deserted heart

The Happy Doll

There once existed a happy doll
Long shiny strings, they control it all
It sings, it dances, it smiles and jumps
Its arms and legs are well-sewn clumps
All who see it, smile and laugh
It’s known to break the sorrows in half
It’s such a happy doll you’d think
Wide shiny eyes, they never blink
But, there is misery and no one ever sees
one glimpse at it, your soul would freeze
If you ever see it laying alone
or when the puppet master is not at home
You’ll find it in a dark and shabby drawer
Discoloured dress and halfway tore
There are fabric patches on the chest and back
They tell the tales of a subtle attack
It sits and smiles but won’t complain
It cannot express its perpetual pain
You’d hope one day it would bawl
There once existed a happy doll

Silence after the Storm

I deliver peace, I am not a messenger of mayhem.
I could never bow to anarchy and its believers,
I defy them.
However, I suffer from the carnage of hopes,
I reek of havoc and my dreams tied by a shabby rope.
My soul veils the fires of hell in me,
My thoughts haunt me like hell hounds’ swarm.
Do not mistake me for the hushed wind on a lulled sea,
For I am the Silence after the storm.
Still, I deliver peace, I am not a messenger of mayhem.

A few deep lines

A few deep lines to remember you by,
A few dead nights with quivers in my soul.
These lines are covert, faded and sunken in my skin,
They emerge back on my body when I am sitting alone.
They remind me of your hatred for me,
The insult, the jealousy and the fury I condone.
They’re healed, they don’t hurt and they barely squeak,
They lie mute under my cuff If I take a peek.
Well, the night comes back and I hear them groan.
Then I pick up my quill and I word their howl.
A few deep lines to remember you by,
A few dead nights with quivers in my soul.

Ruthless Love

Love OH! Love, how ruthless of you.
Stole my beloved, Well it’s not new.
Love OH! Love….

How many times did you crush me to sand?
How many times did I follow the command?
But anarchy and chaos are what you brew.
Love OH! Love, how ruthless of you.

I forced to fall again in an abyss.
Every time I trust you – you bring me to this,
where my eyes tear up and my mind goes blue,
Love OH! Love, how ruthless of you.

Stupid as I am, I will fall to you again.
I’ll give my soul and watch it go vain.
Then I’ll cry for THAT – as I never knew.
Love OH! Love, how ruthless of you.

So many wounds and stitches to heal,
Pain and agony I no longer feel,
It’s torn so bad, I can not just sew.
Love OH! Love, how ruthless of you.

Mind you I’ll be Okay – for I am strong and tall.
To learn to fly, I did need to fall.
I will stand up and fly – will be one of the few.
Love OH! Love, It’s so true,
The harder you pushed, the stronger I grew.
Though you tried hard to kill, but could not do.
Love OH! Love, how ruthless of you.

Just Another Summer morning

The window of my room was slightly open, white panes; the shades were meshed and smelled clean. A wooden chair faced the window, old and a little dusty, creaked when I sat down on it. It was a summer morning, bright, breezy and calm. As I sipped my tea while looking at the view outside, took a deep breath, waited for the very sip to coarse through my throat to the empty pool of happiness in me, replenishing it. Yes, I love tea. 

Quiet and steady eyes, observing everything in peripheral vision, glancing at nothing. The world outside my window was sort of blurred and non-existent to my eyes at the time. No, my eyesight was not weak; in fact it was perfect, these eyes saw what any other pair of eyes don’t see sometimes. The sorrows in the blunt and fierce smiles, the insecurities pilled on in a mind residing in a perfectly functioning body but I am not going to talk about all this, I am not. I want to talk about a picture that no one had seen, lived in my pocket. It was a picture of the times when time stood still, a picture from the world built in my own mind, a picture of someone who was once mine. 

My left hand reached for my pocket and felt like I was unlocking a cage that had been locked and forgotten about from a long time. This cage contained a beast from my past, sired by my insecurities, wailing regrets, mourning hopes and tormented heart. It grew bigger every time I tried to fight it, so instead of facing it I locked it in a cage a long time ago and was never able to summon the courage to even look at it. As I put my hand in my pocket, the cage was opened, my heart started to beat like that giant, unmerciful and maddened beast, which was eager to get out and unleash its wrath upon me. It charged towards me and as my hand felt the picture on its fingertips, the dainty feet were getting closer and louder, I took it out and looked at the picture and all I could see was a dark figure with flaming red eyes galloping towards my very soul and then the beast bashed against my existence with its long blunt horns, thrashing my ribs and drilling through my gut, throwing me up in the air and then smashing me into the ground. I looked at the picture for the first time after a long time. A sudden silence, a lifeless moment, a deceased soul and a cup of tea were all that was left in my room at that time. My eyes teared up, hands trembled and heart ached like someone put a thousand melting metal balls in my chest. I laid on my chair cold and stiff but breathing.

After a while, a cool breeze entered my room through the window, brushed up against my beard, kissed my cheeks and dried my tears away. Instead of my shaky hands and bleeding soul, I got up and somehow managed to put the beast back in the cage, as I put the picture back in my pocket. I took a deep breath again, I smiled facing the white window, took another sip of my tea, heard my chair creak again, glanced at nothing again. The morning was still calm and bright, and the world was still blurred and non-existent.

A Damn Good Sailor

The sail is torn by the thunderstorms, the mast has been broken by the recurring gust. The hull is punctured, the paddles are heavy and you are tired. You, who are smashed and torn apart by the very tides you once sailed. You, who once stood tall and proud on this very ship which is almost about to sink. You, who would sail to the unknown waters fearlessly, is tired and lost. You, who after all this keep rowing and hoping. You must be a damn good sailor.