Losing Fear

I was taught to mold words 

which were not to be spoken off.

I used to breathe those dejected words 

to my lungs in and out.

My mouth is against a war with the ribs. 

Now I speak, but my hands are still trembling.

 

I had broken my bones,

bend them to stars and then the shape of the sun.

They were so beautiful,

I then turn them into stone walls

just to know that they are strong. 

 

I cracked the glass against the wall.

The shards of my heart, sharp edged with glory.

Mismatched, mistaken and mislead.

I am whole, apart and in-between.

Sidequests

We are sweeping dust off 

our live's now with our bodies.

We are tethering our vast emotions to the boats of life.

We slow our walk to the threshold of ecstasy.

Sweet surrender, that breaks empires, that opens the dusty doors of archives for the winds to move ancient texts.

How does a kiss alter the world.

How does a hug wake the lion of loyalty in us all, 

while the stone crypts crumble, 

And buildings made of mortar weep with indifferent ghosts.

We are born to a dying sun, 

as we dream to a rising moon.

Our existence is arbitrated by a rhythm.

Our bodies, altars for the numen's passion.

You at Three

 The first time you cried 

You were three;

Tripped over a small rock and cried endlessly;

Second time you cried, you were six;

Your playmate stole your toy and you cried endlessly;

But now,

You cry endlessly through the night at 3am.

Thinking whether to make it or not.

One Day of Life

 [Here in this poem, I am a girl in heaven. I imagine that I have been given a chance to visit back earth]

I have got just one day to live on earth,
One more day is all I wish.

Tell the time to go slow,
And not too fast.

I missed the time which passed away,
I wish I could get it back.

I wish one more day, I could gain,
I wish I did not have this pain.

I had always dreamt a future with you,
I just want to live a day or two.

But as I have no other choice,
And the only choice is to survive,

You'll have to leave,
I'll have to go.

The time has passed,
Yes... I'll have to go.

Decoding Thoughts

There's no magic in the process of writing,

Words are just open wounds with no intentions of getting better.

 

There’s this collection of madness in my head.

If you get your hands somehow on them.

Please respect my words,

As I am fragile.

 

So if you want to write like me.

You'd have to get yourself sick.

You'll have to puke yourself onto the notebook.

You'll have to carry others regret, but never yours.

 

I have no idea of how much of this is poetry.

But I know the difference

of a poet and a sick person.

The latter pays to control his sickness,

And a poet gets paid to become her sickness.

 

The first time I wrote,

The sky was full of fire

And my lungs smelled of wet blue-black ink which was begging to dry.

 

I learned how to give my soul a name that fits.

I learned how to take that river-clay within my heart and make it into something.

I learned how to look into my eye

and say "there's nothing frightening here".

 

Everything’s a work in progress:

Art, belief, knowledge and even myself. 

Ethereal

I can take you there..

I can weave words and create a portal to anywhere.

You can visit those places instead of just looking out the windows.

But I envy an artist.

They can show you the exact emotion worth thousand words without even writing a single one.

When those nightmares turn out to be true.

He smelled of cigarette smokes

And blasphemous nights.

He wasn't my kind of ecstasy,

But that night my demons were restless.

Nightmares were all I had,

All they wanted was a midnight party,

High stakes all Or nothing.

Sweet dipped Lie

I slept on a wolf’s skin. I needed that camouflage.

A sorcerer whispered in my ear spells of terror and licked my wounded lips.

Those remained dark moments in my life,

The thirst for blood, for transgressions and crimes.

The wolf dwelled inside my echo's, and in time, I devoured my knowledge. 

I unveiled like a primitive beast puffing fire and ice.