I am just realizing that I’ve had a hole in my heart for a very long time. It didn’t fill up with the time that has passed, like I had thought earlier it would, and now i know it never will until I fill it myself. Stuff it with all the discarded waste in the world, from sawdust, rusk, vegetable peels, wasted bones from the butcher’s shop, dead bodies from wars, and all this will never have made any sense to me, how i’ll know, it will never be enough, and I will need to always press in more and more, if need be, barbarically jump on the filling and jump until everything is well in place until there is no more place for anymore stuffing, then pour cement over it. This hole i speak of, angry and obstinate, hungers for more, eats everything thrown in it, like a drainage basin, always empty. Sub holes, now, that i need to worry about. But can I? Don’t i already know where the holes all lead to? I need to die. Then the sea will finally fall quiet. And the howling beasts’ cries will begin to fade….
The stars were once plucked from the ashen grey skies.
They shine on lips now, and in eyes which cannot cry.
The sheen of all the silken dresses was extracted, and torn apart.
Making the poison that flows in the waters to mix in the dirt.
Every heart has slept, every bedside lamp extinguished.
It’ll be just one last time, that we would get to dance…
The paper fire’s shriveling up in the dusty grate,
We’re burning up our old love letters to warm us tonight.
Come on, baby, dance with me, this’s that one last time,
When it’s time to bid goodbyes for good and smile.
History ends tonight, civilization will die with the ghost of us,
Tonight there will be no words, just two couples of teary eyes.
And we dance, silently, until we fall, of exhaustion.
Two finite hearts finally, slowly dying in each other’s arms.
So how does one get out of something like an addiction?
The smoke that fills the room intoxicating time to bend,
Dancing on the floors in little twirls, to seduce will to decay…
The ever growing appetite calling on the blender to hurry.
There’re going to be guests in the house of the old man.
Few words spoken amidst the thousand candleflames chuckling
The noises whispering with the dusty old glassware and cutlery.
The wines will be flowing, the grapes crushed for the bees.
His old beloved’s had plunged down from a lofty cliff.
The smoke’s been burning thus for years and years,
The wines flowing, and all the wax finery will one day melt,
The ground, where everything always find a way to return.
What hope does he have, or what hope befell on these,
Little hearts so torn up to not understand these tragedies.
That chance, mere chance begot them of…?
What of the orchid flowers of temptation,
The sin that offer a heaven of forgetfulness and fantasy?
But in the drizzle of your paradise you’re washed clean,
Of having committed prostitution with death.
Addiction is bad they say, it makes you live a lie!
I say being good, you’re not living the truth either.
Death is inevitable, the day will come we’ll give up anyway.
Being good, you’ll hurt more lives at the end.
Or die scared to death, reality was not real,
Stuck in an asylum you’ll wonder if people weren’t real.
You’re the single human prototype stuck in a virtual illusion.
Some stupid experiment in a stuck up madman’s lab,
Who calls himself God.
Do you want to get out of misery, take the first step soon,
And ask yourself for the truth, and ask a thousand more times.
The scary truth is inevitable, because you’ve known it all along.
Something you can never give up on, cuz’ you’re just hooked on.
Forever and ever. And you don’t care if you don’t win it there.
And still, you just can’t give up. Can you?
Obsession, you call it, I call it love. Just love.
At last, but what happens to the one who gives up on life,
Fearing that she’ll end up loving living it too much?
The air simmers, blisters. Induced hallucinations.
The cracked open mouth of wounded earth,
Seeped with blood red and covered with rust.
Centuries and eons of memories clouded by dust.
The fragile lines were breached once long ago,
The tempest had once rushed into my shore.
It’s been long and time has swept away the resort
The floods and waves of tide haunted me to drown.
Then the sea is just a embittered memory,
And it was a heap of sand I’d leapt into. Not death.
See, the passion had been sung well to drone.
To arise and laugh back, when mirages mock.
It’s been long I’ve lived scared to scraps and bolts.
It, the post traumatic stress disorder in me craving blood.
But I’m ready to go all out again, for surfing in the sea of love.
And she has to come out too, the madwoman locked in my head…
The fighter in me. The rebel. The poet. The lover.
The unchained philosopher, her storm unleashed.
Night has finally settled bets with daylight
There right there, fate’s let my midnight sun dawn.
Now again the tempest blows ashore, from the east.
The distant roars of the hungry cranky clouds resound
After flashes of desire reflecting his heart and mine.
After a long time I know, it will rain and it will rain.
I have spent countless restless nights, waiting, waiting, wishing for the end of the world. Wishing however is not the right word for it, since the word doesn’t cover it, aptly enough, the sensation, the burning desire that has consumed the best parts of me with it, over the centuries (or should I say millennia?)…Hell, it seems I do have lost my count after all! Worthless, futile has been this life, I know, I shouldn’t be allowed to live this life. I shouldn’t exist! Reduced to this weakling, I await death to come personally to drag me to hell, if there exists one, and yet, the wait is endless…
Am I dead? Can’t be, I am talking…but who is hearing? Someone definitely is…otherwise how would you all know about my personal rumblings? Am I alive? I don’t feel so…I have been hiding from all the world, people who are the off-springs of my own bloodline, in darkness, in shadows, I have been creeping around like the monster I am, watching my people die – in my own hands, some passing with time as well, perishing in bodies, fading in names… Watching changes everywhere, new lives, new faces, all the while I remained as I was. A stone. Harder than granite, I cannot fade. I cannot die. Yet nobody remembers me.
I am a monster, yes, I am. Suffering a fate, I’d myself brought upon me, cursed for all of eternity. I’ve just dragged on…without any family left, no friends either – just time and darkness, who’ve kept me company. But, I’ve had plenty of them. I have spent eons in my wait for the end, but fate doesn’t allow it. I have sinned, I deserve to be damned.
No, I deserve to be damned.
Here is my latest piece of verse I wrote,
“Hopes will never die, as long as my heart remembers the graces you did to me.
When, in the dreamless sea of dreariness I’ll find myself sinking,
I’ll delve deeper under to visit your underwater palace of the seeking.
There in your mysterious ways, and will, and there will I find myself again.”
Fire burns dimly within me,
A spark slowly dying.
Air fails to resurrect,
The dying spirit from its end.
Water comes nowhere in the question,
Earth, will you take me in?
What is that revenge if it’s not taken with a passion?
Of, what use would that murder be,
If it doesn’t satiate the bloodthirsty anger?
And definitely, is there a way that
Love will find the way out and into your heart,
Unless you learn to set it free?
Among a twirling shower of stars,
I wish to soar high into the sky.
In the arms of my angel I would lie,
A wisp of mist binding the two of us.
We’ve won our love after an eon of war,
We began with love, with eternity we’d end,
Sealed with a kiss, and a ring on my hand,
Together we shall be, till Death make us part.
This is the new dawn of our lives,
Our second heaven, but yet the best.
First Heaven, remember, was the time,
When we’d first found our love…
Wrapped up in the mellow musings
Our heavens will live on with us.
You were like October’s rain, rinsing away the ravages of Juno’s mayhem.
The last embers of a hissing fire, was extinguished with your shower.
With every step you took toward me, you made the crickets in the thicket fade away.
The something that used to corrode my insides, I was finally ready to give up.
Exhausted and lost, gasping for water, I had collapsed.
Hallucinating, probably, dazed I was, fatally close to the point of incinerating myself.
Though not a waterbearer, you shot an arrow from your quiver,
Through the rocks under my feet.
At your grace, upon your mercy, it was spring in mid October,
There sprang a stream, bubbling and splashing, abundant in plentitude.
But I did not lean down to quench my thirst;
Since there was Old Narcissus’ sad tale to note.
Then, passing away, seeing another in distress, you galloped away.
To quench someone else’s lips, to heal another set of broken wings.
You didn’t even turn back once, to see your magic peeling off undone…
That I am left alone again, left to go back to my October in mayhem.
I’m born of the uppermost caste, finally disgraced.
You are of that enemy side, the name, we must not take.
But still, by whose fault and curse, we met by the face?
Whose bad luck was it when I fell into the gorge?
Even though, never expected those answers.
But during those hot sleepless nights,
When my mind shuts itself out,
These questions come alive.
I thought it was just a pretty crush,
Which like a hangover drops with a lemon bite…
It’s over for you I know, I know it very well,
But I don’t know how the little ray of hope made rainbows.
How and when the crush became into admiration,
And admiration into dedication, devotion and obsession,
I never understood. Like a biological alteration,
You left wordlessly after giving me a lesson about true love.
I was emotionally bland first. You gave me the words,
And a reason to speak out, but then you left me in a state, worse.
Oh, Lame Saint, such is my ill luck, I can’t even call us a couple,
Of star-crossed lovers. I know we never were.
I don’t l0ok often into any of the mirrors lately,
The image repels me – one that couldn’t touch your heart.
I’d break everything that’d remind me of it,
And besides I have a personal score to settle with glass.
Just on a mere train of thought,
I would like to lean over a clear brook-
I’m sure I can end my life that way,
Imagining I’m you looking through my eyes…
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A hundred, thousand years without rain,
I’ve wandered the driest of the deserts,
Climbed the highest peaks, there is,
Tonight, I’ll come home to you,
Let me drink, let me sleep, in your bosom…one last time
Embrace me, O’ dearest,
Then make your sweet brother,
Lull me to an eternal sleep.
Hard it’s to please him,
Dear and dearest,
The wind is rippling softly in the nigh,
Clouds have hidden the moon up high,
Lost are the desire of love and lust,
And there are the shadows from my bygone past…
Creeping and crawling under my skin,
I can’t free myself from the bond that binds me akin…
Fleeting through the ages, my shaken heart rewinds,
The gone is gone, that’s how the quest had gone.
I don’t have it in me, another bloody fight.
While reason threatens to tear me apart.
Lost are the desires of facing the gone,
That the darkness will pass and it’ll be dawn.
Rusted leaves and brazen tree trunks,
Sooty boar tusks and fur dripping muck.
Cows walk amidst humans here,
Where squirrels too can give away a fright,
To scare off a big fat girl in red shorts,
To gather up her clothes and scream and run.
Then suddenly an old kite hunts down a lazy dove,
Relishes in with a cannibal smugness,
Its new prey’s flesh, while the rest of its flock,
Watches and flaps from afar, too dazed to act.
Then nearby, a girl with punk-style headphones,
Stamps her feet to the earth,
Puffing out a miniature sphere of dirt.
When I see her extracting a little red camera,
I figure, maybe, she’s an amateur photographer,
And she missed the most spectacular shot.
A kite tearing out the entrails of that innocent dove.
I smile a little, wanting it badly to tell her:
Next time, leave your music at home or get a wireless.
More distractions for me. More people I see.
Here and there, somewhere into the deeper woods,
Where it’s too dark for the sunshine to peep thro’,
Show-off lovers fake their rendezvous,
Sometimes, holding, sometimes leaving hands.
Sometimes holding shiny, pricey techie baubles,
Tattooed with a half-eaten apple, which can’t even be eaten.
Faking the love, faking the passions, even their kisses,
Which is nothing but a pseudo status symbol,
Of some non-existent phase they think they’ve crossed.
I wonder to myself, these twosomes, threesomes,
Handsome people. How can they even for once think,
Turning a back to the world means the world won’t see you?
Well, it’s their problem, I tell myself, not mine!
Under the cover of the dry, barren trees’ shade,
Joggers, in their suits and tracks, slog around,
Hoping to water the dry, dry grass,
With their drops of sweat that fell on the ground.
The rusted leaves and the brazen tree trunks,
Remain standing, like they have, all along.
With no one to water them,
No one to sweep the leaves to a grave for once.
Parched in the want to be remembered and restored,
The old park stands firm in its wait.
Unlike the red humane benches of concrete,
Lives of the wooden trees can’t crumble away.
Maybe there’s another reason for this:
They’re green. Not red.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And I too cannot sympathize.
I am as well dressed all in red. Inside and out.
So I just leave. The Spring’s Garden,
Like a winter’s desert, still gasping for a tempest.