Bad Poetry

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Oh damn.
We just laughed and we laughed.
Until we were bored of typing 😀 smileys,
and we started to fight.
Things started going down the drain
and my brain too started walking drunk,
you know going left and right.
I know this is bad poetry.
But haha, I hope,
at least if you would’ve seen it,
it would’ve made you laugh.
I am laughing, too.
But you have me blocked.
Things really shut down
between all those laughter riots
and our amateur jamming sessions,
didn’t they?
Why then, don’t I still have the heart
to erase those .wmv’s we recorded?
Maybe because, like day after night
and night after day,
after you left,
my beautiful mind has gone just haywire.
Stuck there, and my day still dawns at dusk.
So extreme, they were,
our insane sciencey discussions,
the earth stopped upon its axis,
that glazed winter froze,
the minute you were gone,
and life is like a glass ball,
filled with gel and glitters,inside which
the Princess now dances alone
amongst twirling magnificent snow flakes.
All night long.

Random verses all written in a day.

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When separate eyes meet in a crowded city square,

Over exploits of their humanity, and time, once and again–

They know they were meant to stay together,

Because they were met by a chance of eternity,

To be lost again, and again.

***

I walk through a dark corridor,

The air hungover with muck and gloom.

The door of the forbidden room stands tall

Like the brooding death of innocence.

I’ve arrived the point where it appears clear,

I’m just trying to kill a love I’ve given up believing.

But the stark darkness stuns the virginity in me,

Which is eager, very eager to take me,

Someplace else…

***

Those roads will be difficult to walk on, now alone.

The sand pebbles and germs, and the whirlpools of air

Which like separate worlds, have flourished to life

From the touch of our feet last trodden.

Preserving our childhoods, and pearls of sweet labor lost-

How dare I violate the sacred order of the worlds,

Which, if, might be conspiring to bring our feet together?

Which, if not, how can I disturb the ghost world,

Where in spirals of dust, our ghost selves would dance?

You will apologize to me, I know, you will. One day.

You know, I deserve one, for what I will have to go through…

The trauma of never being at home, while at home.

 

Higher [Part I]

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The charm… the grace

The faces, the fears

The hotness of winters

And the loudness of tears.

The words, and the gestures,

The wishes left hanging in the air

Only if it could’ve become a private joke.

Little gestures made within indecision.

The sweet breeze hungover with cheer.

The storm rolling inland bears the promise,

Of bringing new showers and more promises.

Unspoken and yet, somehow too obvious.

The arms, the chills, those never quite felt.

The white sea, the foam and frizz.

The damage done the first time

She knows will stay to harm more.

 

Wanderings. Road bumps. Glimpsing back.

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So, the thing about curses is,

When they are cursed, they learn to love

They all love out of suffering their eternities –

Merely out of desperation,

Of having known misery.

Living with cursed people offers you the bliss of being surrounded by the grace of good hope.

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I know you, you’re my mirror self,

My soulmate. I have not given up loving you.

You know it too. Maybe not yet.

You’re arrogant not to admit it thinking of me just yet.

Years will have passed, you will have returned home streets.

With your fancy dollars and shiny tipped American boots

You’ll think of what happened to that sad little girl who thought, “she loves me!”

“Is she so even now?” you’ll wonder sarcastically.

Last month her new bestseller was criticized about being too vulgar? Not too hopeful.

You’ll decide, you’ll have to remember to meet some very old school-times friends,

And remember to drop in a line in between some fancy quote,

“You know the author, was she that vulgar back, you know, at school?”

Then add a little modestly, “You’ll all will know better…classmates after all.”

“Classmates hardly. She was this sad little kid trying to pretend of being brave,”

She sneezes into her napkin. Then nods curtly. Gracious.

Your buddy tugs at your arm. He means, you’ve got to nod too.

She’s his old school darling, and you nod, remembering.

Your beer is slowly warming up. You rarely do beer anymore.

But these old school reunions, so irresistible, drinking beer isn’t silly looking anymore…

You remember the conversation going on. You ask her, “You mean she isn’t brave?”

“She is now.” Big eyes. “Oh well, she changed. About after the time we all left school.”

Oh, her friend said. She brightens up. “She wrote me down on her list of acknowledgements.”

“Well, there are a lot of rumors.” You clear your throat.

“Being a woman and writer at the same time doesn’t mean she’s a lesbian, alright!”

“Oh oh! Defensive!” This was a three way argument. You spectate.

“Well, I remember she was friends with you for a while, isn’t that so?”

Sharp cuts on your memory, refreshing the old wound.

“I don’t remember her very well. Barely used to talk, you know…” Your neck arches.

“Hmm, maybe.” She sniffles her nose. “Maybe.”

“But she wasn’t a bad person. Maybe, just unheard.”

“That’s an understatement. I think she was just stupid.”

You gull down your thought, yeah she was, she trusted people blindly.

I know you’ll want to know it more now than ever. If “she really did love me?”

You’re my shadow self. You’ll rise to find what happened to her. That girl.

That insolent little girl who promised so strongly of being different from the others,

Ending up doing the very same things. You were frustrated and gave up on her.

Now you feel bad. You weren’t any bit generous with her either.

For causes which are null and void in your head atop.

The night you drive by your old house one last time,

You pass by the spot you had come forward to drop her by.

The sun was in your eyes, you didn’t want to go further.

She’d turned back to look you in your eye, asking you to come further. You chose not to.

She kept going on. She was silent and shaken, like a whimpering poisoned lamb.

It had been the final straw, but you never knew. She gave up believing that she can love.

You want to stay now, find her and ask. But she is the hardest thing to find. Everyone tries so.

Rumors also say that she lives at some hermitage, and some say in disguise.

So many of these you don’t know what to believe. You may never find her.

But you won’t forget her even. She will be this question in your head.

Despair not, you’ll meet her again in your next life,

You’re soulmates. You are meant to meet eventually anyway.

You’ll wonder “If she really, really did love me, she should have told me so!”

But did you ever question, from what little you know of her, do you think she knew it

Well enough to know what she doesn’t want to covet something because she likes it?

Weren’t you making yourself look too good to be out of her league and all?

You knew she was buying it all. And yet you sold her some more.

You called her paranoid. You called her schizoid to live in detachment from civilization.

You pushed her away and yet she was so loyal, so nice all the time, wasn’t she?

Oh, you thought it was all just a show for you, didn’t you?

You thought she was just another bigtime girls convent bitch!

You walk up the hill, she used to talk so much about before,

Jokes about going jogging around the peripheries, in new Reeboks.

Oh, those exaggerations of hers, and she thought anyone would buy it.

You catch a little boy whistling a very old song somehow still familiar.

The author asked you to listen to it, once ages ago,

And the ghost of the song stayed stuck.

The servant boy was going shopping for his owners.

The list showed a packet of Gold Flake lites.

You had to ask now. And yeah, here lives the author. No coincidence.

You let the boy pass. You stand at the door. And wait.

And wait.

You are my shadow-self. You won’t wait long.

In my case, I wouldn’t have.

I’d probably just walk away.

Knowing we have eternity together.

First Book Published

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It’s been great, after all these months of painstaking juggling between college life and the hassles of getting published, that finally it’s all over and I’m past the phase I used to be a closet poet and novelist. The journey though has been filled with difficulties, I have no regrets, and it adds a little more credit to my patience that I didn’t give up halfway and back out of the deal I signed when I had dared to dream of reaching out to the masses with my thoughts, ideals, dreams and words in print. It makes me immensely happy that finally I’m almost there where I had envisioned myself to be, and exactly at the right time I had wished it to be.

It had always been a cherished childhood desire to be like my grandfather, Tarini Kanta Bhattacharya, one of the most revered men in my life, a noted figure in the literary scene in Assam, where I come from. In my teenage and late adolescence I took up the pen to experiment with poetry, and failed a lot many times. And this year, 2013 being his 100th birth anniversary, I’m overjoyed to dedicate my book to the beloved legend, who never got to see the garden he had planted so long ago, flourishing so late, as me, a granddaughter he never got to lay eyes on, lives her life on principles he had once taught to his little children, which he himself believed in.

My wish to have a successful career in the world of science was in shatters, when I realized more than anything I’m an artist at heart. I was born to write, and I don’t know from where it just came to me, the desire to write about beauty, and love and anything that draws the soul to question monotony. Dreams, that’s where it all began. And harshness of the world, and still beauty that tore through all that. The complexities of human life, and the organism, that can think and yet with unthinking brutality, like just an animal indulges in savagery in the name of civility and all things holy.

By the time I reached my teenage, I’d seen enough, even at my home, the presence of a different kind of love other than the kind commercial Indian movies portray, but quite understandable by now, and petty squabbles. Even reading different story books and observing fellow friends in my school, made this desire grow, and gave me a silent voice that could be recorded only on paper. I wasn’t very good in my English lessons in school, and used to be despised by my teachers for tormenting them with my dullness and non-responsive behavior, and as you probably guessed, I was never a bright student; always average, at the corner, like a spectator than a participant.

In the romance department, I was worse than the advanced kind of disappointing. My fellow friends would be talking of their boyfriends and I would be pathetically eavesdropping on their chatter, creating in my mind, judging, contrasting, modifying on the basis of the existing kind, a new kind human being, who, as a lover would make up for anything anyone has suffered in their lives, the lack of adventure, the monotony of always doing the same thing, and following the same roads that lead to the grave, having no newness to the institution, and that guy, that kind of guy, I had in my mind, that I wanted for myself, actually never existed.

Then there’s a very famous writer, my idol, Joanne K. Rowling, who spoke through the fictitious Professor Albus Dumbledore, in her book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” and that just changed my life towards the path I finally decided to take. This moment that I took up writing seriously, the year, 2007 also being very significantly important in my life.

Fanciful were those days, and also so memorable!!! Naive as I was, and pure of my unadulterated heart, foolishly I happened to stumble into the student activity room in my new school, my eyes opened to a sight like I’d never seen in my life so far… In the far corner of the room there sat this young boy with funny hair and the most carefree laughter scribbling on a desk with a couple of his friends and that sight, and with a glimpse of his eyes and smile, and my heart hasn’t been whole ever since. He fitted the mental image of my perfect lover, that I’d had so early in my head, with whom I’d begun writing my first story…the image of Dusk, and ever since I’ve never seen any other sight lovelier than that stranger boy sitting there laughing off with his friends, his entire guard down.

I wished to know him better, but then I wan’t very good at making friends, and retaining them. Especially people, I’m drawn to so fatally. IT didn’t last, but over these past six years, I’d had enough, to know he wasn’t at all that much the hero I had in mind, because I wasn’t that image, he had in his. Nevertheless, that love in return blossomed me into a woman, enabling me to write of my passions, and desires, and of love, to the closest degree I can mimic. My book is complete, the first one that I wrote to describe that ideal boy and introduce the chief character of my very first story, that is still under construction.

I wished to do a lot of things, and I’ve tried a little bit of everything. And I have no regrets. I’ve got a life ahead and I will live it as long as my time permits, and will do everything that I’ve ever had a wish in my mind (well, not everything…specially not those which are illegal, haha) to do. Beauty has always been my companion and my strong belief is that it’ll always continue to be for me who is one Libra born, and I believe in myself above all else, that I’ll never change for me, for the world, maybe yes, I might seem, but for me, it’ll be just choices that I made, which in my heart I’ll always remember, what I went through to decide standing on a crossroad.

Moving Nowhere

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Chaos it is when I give it a thought,

As to where we’re headed, that fate has wrought.

Peace that I feel in they words’ embrace,

To think, it grieves me, our love for thee is just thy vehemence!

 

Delirious, moonstruck, blinded by desire,

I feel sacrilegious, accompanying thee,on this godless voyage.

Damned we are, condemned by fate to live in doom forever,

Infernal is the wait, to find that horizon, to bring us back to mortal age.
But the sun is not setting and the endless main of waters, ceaseless ahead–

What scares me is that, I don’t see a wish either, a wish strong enough,

Since the wheel is in thy hands and I’m just a guest on thy anchored barge.

But the sun is not setting and the sea is dead, no winds for the lifeless sails don’t bluff.

 

Moving nowhere, standing still in the ocean of utter desolation, scares me.

We’re trapped in this nightmarish reality, I have no luxury of waking up.

Maybe I don’t want to wake up, I love thee for all I know.

I can’t shatter all those cherished dreams for this one nightmare.

 

Knowing I have nothing to wake up to, except the fact,

To learn which, will shatter me across the ocean.

Knowing our love was just my imagination I indulged in,

Wishing and crying for slumber to murder my obsession.

It will rain and it will rain ♥

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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.

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Accursed

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Wishes to forget the past wounds wont bear fruit, I know.

Like hopes don’t germinate from wet ashes.

But thinking of you, I really wish, I could forget…

I shiver at certain thoughts, my wishes, some dreams.

Because, again to give it a thought, it’s impossible,

And can’t exist.

Like I’m Calypso reincarnated,

Cursed by the gods for all ages…

To live in an all consuming solitude.

The fates, ever so cruel have left me,

Absolutely no chance at redemption.

Now, as my saviour, they’ve sent me you.

But I know you’ll go away as well.

You have to.

But, I’ll always be here,

Not thinking, not hoping.

Scared to even give it a spare little thought.

Even fleetingly.

Terrified, I’ll ruin the spell.

The fateful moment has cast between us.

But I will never tell.

Like Midas I turn everything I touch, to cold metal.

Which, like statues, start dying on me.

Wish

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Dream of starry nights, on a fresh lawn,

You’ll wake up to a dampened dawn.

Wishing for love, friends and shooting stars,

Hurt you’ll be, never think they’re made for thee.

 

Dream, dream, within your gilded soul,

Sweet princess, so alien within this world.

Where nothing can touch you,

With a feather, nor ever a sword.

 

Within your spirit, you live, you rule,

You create, wonderful worlds.

You live for a greater cause.

Others just don’t get there.

Breaking Free

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Had been locked up inside my own mind, as if,

Tied by rusting chainmail to the icy castle of night.

So, didn’t even have to  really struggle, to get out,

My spirit, unbound, just by mere thought, broke free

Like a canon-ball of shiny metal set to blaze,

Just shot out of sight…

 

Dashing past the clouds of mist and ghosts from the past,

Unholy things, those were, by inches, couldn’t touch my light.

Everything burned along the path I trailed in my way,

The purest form of energy, like fire, now flowing through me.

Firmly ridden on the back of the mad, mad wind,

I reach for the haloed sunbeams pouring in thick abundance,

Through distant holes in the wide blue-white sky.

 

My quest for peace, finally sated for a while,

I wait at the gates of heaven, to open up.

I haven’t seen my God, and it’s been quite some time.

Thrill of being Free

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Life is morose and life is dead,

Worries screaming in your head.

With lost hopes and all things worse.

 

From dawn to dusk,

Living and eating norms.

One smile, you wait, you die,

For a touch you’d fight and cry.

The sweet company that you crave,

Until freedom flies you to your nest.

 

Awkward first meetings around family and friends,

A stranger sits, trying to peep through your veil.

Cakes and cookies you never knew to make,

You put forward for your clients to take.

Furniture and cars accompany you to the grave,

In the baleful sound of trumpets you slowly break.

 

Thrill, you want when you step in the door,

Taking a hand and flowers on the floor.

Thrill is what you want all that first night,

Your stranger, for you, might not be right.

By the time morning leaves its shadowy cave,

You’re well into the unhappily married club.

 

There you wish that you were free,

Because there are sickles to your feet.

 

Or the thrill is when,

Zooming through posh streets late at night,

In the back seat of a little perky bike…

The air cool from late spring showers,

You throw your hands up in the air,

And leave the past with all its woes,

Behind.

 

Sin Cera

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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?

I’ll be Me, and You’ll be You.

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It’s the fact that it’s you out there, is the only thing that keeps me going.

I don’t know how else I could’ve gotten past my laziness and thought of all the good I can do.

All I could do by myself was sit inside my warm room, indulging like Hypnos himself,

Or flutter around settling my scores with all the people who wronged me, like Nemesis.

You took that from me forever, with the gifts of humility, forgiveness and patience.

With your persistent rejections, you filled me with stronger determinations.

I’ll be Artemis – I’ll hunt you forever, and You will be Apollo, in your blazing chariot.

Racing across the skies for all of eternity, and though I know, you’ll never be mine,

I’ll be content to see you for once, every day, at dawn…to start my day with.

High

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O’ you, miserable, miserly wretched geek,

You are poor, even though you think you’re rich.

.

Because numbers in your bank passbook,

Doesn’t stand for smiles that take your look.

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Waking up, you will see it one day,

You’re left alone, and the world has moved on…

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All cooped up inside your little nest, you are

Like an angry, very angry bird.

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As much you want,

You can peck and punch through your walls,

But no ear still, will hear your cries.

.

(You can’t eat your gadgets,

I know you will not ever–)

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Ashtrays will go on piling up, more and more

The dustbin overflowing with paper and rust.

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Decaf will always remain stuck to your mug,

But no one’s home to do the dishes tonight.

.

Old and haggard, you’ll turn with time,

No smile you’ll get, just scowls and butts.

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Lying in your bed you’ll cough and toss,

But no hand will touch your forehead with love.

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Then only two options you have: rub your fat snout,

With a clean white sheet, and come out, right now!

.

Or, live in it. And smoke up your life,

Puff by puff, soaring higher and higher,

Like a very angry bird.

By, Cyril Cliffette © 2012