anshikajverma

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I write words you perform and make them love

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  • anshikajverma 52w

    If given a choice,
    I'll choose a rainy August evening
    To die..
    So my soul sees drenched faces
    And mistakes them for tears in my name,
    And the slow pace of everything soaky
    Be taken as loss of strength with me gone
    And it being an evening,
    Won't ruin anyone's day
    And if it slows someone down
    They can just sleep on it,
    And find peace..

    ©anshikajverma

  • anshikajverma 52w

    I started everything with a wish to have that..
    That knowledge of who I am to them,
    Who are something to me..!
    I wanted to know that I make someone's life
    So good that if I vanish
    there'll be a vaccum of my shape in their heart.
    I wanted to hear a name for me,
    The name that I got from them whom I call mine.
    But sooner I found myself naked of them,
    Pale, untouched by belongingness.
    I wished to belong,
    that wish died in me.
    But I still am doing everything like I did,
    How mechanically loyal I am..
    my hopes feel as dead as these words ..

    Every greeting that I send to them
    Secretly wants to ask-
    Who am I to you?
    Who you are to me, you know it so well..
    But I..
    What am I?

    And I answer myself-
    A ghost of your longings n sorrows,
    A ghost of your dark frightening nights,
    A ghost of your needs for warmth.

    -Anshika

  • anshikajverma 52w

    Every night,
    My soul goes back to the day we ended.
    It sits there quietly,
    Sees the day happen
    And comes back to me
    With eyes full of tears
    And heart as cold
    As time.
    I never asked why,
    I can feel it.

    But today I couldn't resist asking,
    " We passed another day together,
    Why are you still so sad?
    Why do you cry and scratch yourself
    Every other night?"
    ..." Do you not like coming along?
    Don't you want it to be another fresh day?"

    - "I do, I always do,
    But something saddens me more..
    The coming of night,
    The whole course of revisiting today
    As a spectator.."
    And it started crying..

    Nothing breaks my heart more,
    Though it breaks every day in a million ways..

    It asked- "Why are your eyes
    twinkling with teardrops?
    What are you feeling?"
    -"I feel broken!"- said I.
    "And that's why I cry.."
    Said she.
    "My revisits confirm the coldness of our life,
    How badly we crave for love.."

    -" nobody's there to claim their love for us,
    I see none whose heart breaks seeing you cry.
    I see none to get festive with your smile..
    I am scared of leaving you behind every night,
    What if someday I never come back,
    What if I'm caught
    in the web of ticking clocks?
    How'd you live so cold?
    Who's going to cry for you, with you?
    The mere idea that you are lonely without me,
    You are as good as dead,
    Tears me to pieces."
    I hugged it tight,
    And I woke up sore
    The morning next,
    drenched in my own tears!


    ©anshikajverma

  • anshikajverma 52w

    My heart sinks deep
    in the darkness of night,
    Every night.
    It thinks deeper about things,
    Things that were invisible
    in the daylight.
    I feel choked of dialogues
    That I never could deliver
    So weak, that I feel my arms
    Breaking into fibres
    And being crushed by pushing away,
    When I only crave to be held
    In a warm, long lasting embrace.
    I see disbelief, disgust and unpleasant something
    In the eyes that see me.
    And I feel broken,
    Into tears, at heart ,in head, through nerves.
    I feel broken...
    How will I gather myself the morning next?
    Oh! I am..
    So weak, so very weak,
    So hurt!

    ©anshikajverma

  • anshikajverma 53w

    Every moment I wish for love,
    I wish it to be the love
    in which I'm loved before my face.
    The love in which he touches my heart,
    Before my body.
    The love in which I matter
    Before his desires.
    A love as true,
    A love as simple.


    ©anshikajverma

  • anshikajverma 54w

    What makes a story, a story
    A song ,a song
    A poem, a poem
    A tune, a tune?
    Is it the same as what makes
    You, you
    Me , me
    And us,us or we?
    I wonder sometimes,
    As I wonder now..
    I wonder so quite often.
    I thought it's the night,
    The daybreak,the clouds,
    The flowers,the birds,
    The sun and the moon
    And all the simple things as them.
    Or perhaps some complicated ones
    As hatred, empathy, love and everything
    That one feels to sweat or tears.
    Or is it something mmm..
    Something that one knows not a name for
    Something I try remembering always
    In the stretch between- "Oh it is...
    I don't know,I forgot!"
    And I still wonder
    What is it?

    ©anshikajverma

  • anshikajverma 55w

    It's been days
    Days since I've last been alive
    Days to be ghosting in my mind
    Days being naked and invisible.

    A stream of blood is piercing here,
    Right here in my head
    And I feel gas bubbles in my veins to heart
    I'd be dead if it was true
    I know that too
    But I still can feel things through n through.

    Not rhyming again
    Not at least in this moment of mourning
    But what am I mourning ever since?
    Perhaps the last of my wishes to be alive..
    I've already attended the funeral
    a hundred million times in my head
    It's half dead already
    Since thought of.

    I sometimes want to speak
    Seek out for a shoulder to soak me in
    And when I walk amongst shoulders
    I just feel being hit by them instead.
    I so overact my days to be happy
    That I even lose the happy bit I am with
    And everything
    Just keeps slicing me in.

    I feel a sharp knife getting deep inside me
    Coming out slowly
    And then making me bleed
    Like sweat.
    And this pain
    Do you know how it feels?
    I wish you don't, hope you never.

    And I die multiple times
    In the day, in the night
    I die ,
    Like being dead is life.
    And with it, in it
    I wander, lonelier
    Crying my eyes out
    Unheard..
    No farewell
    I die with,
    no word for good
    Of my rotten heart and self.
    ©anshikajverma

  • anshikajverma 56w

    Save me from drowning...

    Tell me,
    Tell me anything you ever wished to tell.
    But were saving for a day, unknown.
    Talk to me,
    Talk to me about everything,
    that you were storing for us to talk about.
    Write to me,
    Write to me the things you'd have written,
    If you knew you could write to me your thoughts.
    Share with me, the hidden, unconfessed ideas
    If you ever had any about me.
    Send me everything that you were keeping,
    Wondering how I might feel if you do.
    Speak to me the way you'd have spoken
    For me when I was gone forever.
    I'm collecting meanings,
    I'm gathering proofs of my existence.
    I'm trying to hold onto whatever that's there.
    Perhaps, I won't be there to know any of it
    To have or hear or read anything from you..
    Perhaps, it'd be thin air that'll let you know
    How warmth-less I died.

    ©anshikajverma

  • anshikajverma 57w

    How strong are prayers?

    Are they strong enough get one free of life?
    Are death wishes granted up there?
    Do people who can't kill themselves,
    die by praying his graceful hands to choke them?

    Tell me they do.
    Hint me or just cease mine to prove it.
    I'm praying with all my ashes,
    I'm praying with my sucked out soul.

    ©anshikajverma

  • anshikajverma 57w

    I left my asylum last night. Remember me... Brianna, The mad, wretched girl you once read about...?
    I am still alive. I wonder how and why. The asylum was working well for me. I was forgetting about the blur realities and creating new ones well. But soon I realised it wasn't treating me, I instead was inflicting my madness in there. I choose to write because it makes me talk clearer without fumbling. I killed something everyday. Sadly everything except myself. How mean and wicked I sound here.
    I left it for I adored it so much that I barely could realise that it wasn't my permanent abode. And I had no right to bring it down with me. I really am one selfish wretch I must say. And now I am here. Homeless and worthless. Spilling madness. I wish to be peaceful. I have heard of death. It sounds good to me.. how peaceful it's syllables feel on my skin. But i am too weak to kill myself. I wish I was braver , I'd have tasted the sweet freedom I have been dying for.
    I once was told that prayers work there where humans can't. How about praying for death daily?
    Will I die soon? I hope I will.. I hate the taste of poison and sharpness of knives . However will I finally meet freedom if I won't die? Ofcourse I know I can live 80 years for the world without letting anyone know that I've been dead for 80 years .. I have got some good acting skills you know. But death. I crave for it like a child craves for its mother.
    I will pray God... The best of all gods to grant me a wish of death and I in turn will give upon my life.
    Sounds like a deal? It better does. I'll be free right?
    How sweet it sounds to be dead in my head... How bitterly sweet it'll be the day I'll be dead.
    Dear God...
    Send death to me or I'll deny living. I will prove you wrong to have granted me a life. You know my madness well... Don't you?
    Waiting barefoot on the doors of afterlife.

    Yours
    Brianna.

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    Bree wants peace,
    Death is peaceful!

    (Read caption)

    ©anshikajverma