Whispers To The Oblivion ...

As I look through the black and white scriptures smudged with gibberish, I want to strongly recall when have I been sitting here before smothering dusky sunlight by the window on this bed. I know some other time too I was looking at my fingernails appearing yellow in the twilight- pale and bland like my life! I know there was another time in the past I was here, immersed in these feelings realising I was trapped in between reality and desires. When was it that this fear had originated- the one I feel simmering like a dirty brown broth, slowly pulling each of my entrails into destruction. It was a time I know, but can't remember. I wonder if it was long long ago that you had left me and this time was only a recurrence of the inevitable- past mingled into present. I wonder; my heart races through the night. I wonder and I can't stop...

It's only in these wee hours of the night,when the city rests. It's only when the nights are so horrifying that I can no more convince myself to persevere. I am a happy woman otherwise. It's rare that you don't  find me break out into fits of laughter at mundane jokes and grope my aching belly soon after I am like that great fig tree with the vibrant aura of victory against autumn. So fresh and lively. The tree who has submitted her life to the virtue of kindness.That who apparently knows of nothing but joy. It's baffling how never ever could a living being fathom what demons she hides between layers of skin that accumulate to harden into the bark over the years of struggle between life and death. The tree that has faced all the winds slash through her soul up till this moment. But the thought of storms scare her now. She is all but happy. A plethora of melancholic clouds have drenched her to the skin over time. You say,  "Too bad. Sorrow will dilapidate he...

It's only now that I realise, Decades of mourning will cease no cries. Love and disaster sewn in one, The eternal inferno I was destined to burn. Damaged was I, maybe a little more now Revived regrets into piles, and how! Like dead petunias on the sea afloat, Like blandness of a solitary piano note, I fell apart from the world to endure, The burden of a soul, impure.

It's beautiful, like the air blanketing insouciant cacophony of the city. Telephone wires swirling down the sunlit walls and ravens scaling the heavenward cobalt canvases, I peer out through the paint stained glass windows and see a little girl scolding the disobedient gray wall as a quizzical pigeon watches by. I look at her soiled locks ignorantly held into a pink headband, her clothes muddy and brown from the day's exhaustion and I realize how delicious innocence is, how flawless like the aztec patterns of the railings tinted on the gray terrace floor under twilight at dusk. What a pity that life, eventually, drains all of it like a book of poetry put under running water...

Deep into my chest, The rough jostle of your memories are felt, In obnoxious dreams and irreparable reality, Phantoms haunt me again, And I, sink deeper into blackhole

She alike the oceans concealed in her chest, All the horror that passed through her, Disasters put to rest. She alike the fiery lava, Charring self to dust. Amidst the grip of blurry fear, Follies of her past. She alike the leaves of fall, Swerving her way to doom. Faded amongst a thousand shades, Where dreary silhouettes loom.  She alike the winter bird, A herald to storms and rain, Chirping in the waning light, Her nest on graves of pain...

Tell me stories of what you are Verses behind your every scar Speak of the disasters love cast on you, Relive, I beg, the pain anew And yet you chose to stand tall, Amidst the fallen hopes and all Tell me, because it blazes insane, Unravel desires love long had slain.