A pretty lady with thoughts gruesome
A heart lady-like but deeds one and all unkind
She looked fear in face-
No act of medallion or an attempt of being brave;
The mere trouble that she craved.
A wish to leave it all behind
Yet a victim of trauma and memory that she cherished and longed to embrace
Each day a new person aids her introspect the vacillating soul
Better or worse- she doesn’t realise upon dusk or dawn.
She’s curious, not lost
She’s not damaged, just hurt
She seeks muse, not love
She’s tired, not afraid
She is heartbroken, not disappointed;
Or is this all she speaks to put herself to sleep each passing night?
Trapped in a room
There wasn’t just a woman
A man too; In total there were people three.
Always aware of what had to be done
He didn’t realize what has he done
His feelings were undressing-
Him being callous and cruel to one
While love daunted the woman who was deemed the OTHER.
She now dressed herself in scars;
Scars she was too shy to reveal
Too dignified to compare herself with the OTHER
And a bit undignified to be the one left behind alone; but only for a while.
They stood amidst the boudoir
Surrounded with confrontation-
While running towards oblivion
A room no more a room
But a storm of emotions
Flooded with being understood and misunderstood.
Words, if they had a name I’ll call them agony For every minute of pain they welcomed. Words, if they had a name I’ll call them misery For every tear a poet could shed. Words if they could scar I’ll silently let them mark every inch of my skin- Beneath and beyond- untill the sadist dies a learned death. Words- I’ll let them pour Untill and unless the fear is drenched- And now has a cure. Words, I’ll let them bruise Because violet purple red and blue- They come with avid hues. Words, if and only if they had a name- I’ll call them illusion Because in the end did we really understand?
The sun rises early
When my dad forges it upon
I wish to dream a bit more; but-
I like winters at my home.
His fear scattered across the rooms
On roof top sits his little garden
He nurtures the creepers and reckons the roses
He says things that:- I know he’s right
But no, I won’t listen.
I stand pompous and proud
I’ll fall and choose to rise on my own
That is when he looks at the creepers
And glances at the thorns
They say I resemble him-
Two egos too big and strong
But no- My father forgives me each noon.
I like winters at my home-
More cozy and less alone.