How it feels when a dream is not fulfilled? Like a rotten carcass lying on the beautiful scented meadow When the wind blows and touches the dead The meadow also reeks of dissatisfaction And I stand broken in the middle of nowhere inhaling the same stench my body exudes.
How it feels when a dream is delayed? Like that sore that festered badly that can't be healed with any remedies and medicines INCURABLE— the sore screams in my ear until my eardrums bleed and make me deaf And I know that I have to wear that shoe again which caused the wound to rot mainly.
So the line is - " I have been used to consider poetry as the food of " - . from ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴊᴜᴅɪᴄᴇ _______________________________________________________
When it seems impossible to visit the sanctuary , I create a little of my own with open doors leading to the rooms of my heart, mind , body and soul. Poetry creates a beautiful shrine for my emotions to be worshipped there and be read in a holy library.
// ' ,
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Remember the love remains in the sky , Not a single cloud, Nor storm can take the sky away from you . That sky is your soul , different and pure. And love is the embodiment of constellations etched beautifully on your soul.
// . //
In the scorching gaze of sunlight , poetry cast shadows large enough strong enough to swallow the heart's whole , giving shelter to the ripped souls . I am a dark poem my verses are a bunch of alliterations - stringing my heartbreaks in the black beads around my neck as a victory sign.
This is a long piece and my collaboration with an amazing writer @partlywater. I am so honoured that I could do a collab with you. Thankyou for doing a collab with me. Poetry is written by me and prose by him. ❤ I hope you enjoy reading this.
The Ocean of Death
The eyes are set on the ocean red As if it has engulfed the sangria sun Listen! The rasping waves narrate a story Of battles, blood and the sleeping dead.
The grief accompanies the perpetual cadence of sea, The diamond moon that glimmers turned into a ruby, The corals of bones and ocean reeks of blood, Like an inescapable bait, leaving some relics of me.
The seagulls mourn at the condition of (scar)let ocean, Flying overhead beckoning me to leave life's shore To stir into the painted waters of mystery and tumult Whispering with subdued emotions.
// Call it a whim, a satisfying one as such. The distance and the fence in between is a faded silhouette from a blind person's dream. I see someone through this window. Through the glasses placed angled towards me, or may be towards the sky. Depends on how you want to see. What I see in her eyes is something I don't see for myself. Regret of something that is not her fault. A pain that is not from her spine. The tears that means nothing me; or the sea.
Her pole or that bait isn't helping her. The fish is blind in the reddened sea. The battles and bloods as they say makes no sense to me. Blood I smell from here is of whales and sharks. The battles I care about happened in ships with nets and hooks. The colour I see is blood diluted with helpless tears and not ocean water. May be I am a sucker for this silence. Noises of engines are no more heard. No more plastic bottles or used condoms. Turtles wouldn't have problem coming to shores, only if they were let to be alive.
Seagulls fall flat into the crimson waters like six year olds after being raped. Even the moon is beautiful, at least in my eyes. The ruby moon shows no craters in her, looking perfect as the day she stopped by our planet. Enough of her being called imperfect and ugly just because she took some apocalyptic asteroids to save us pathetic humans. A bucket filling with steamy hot water, a view through my bathroom window, a woman in her gown fishing with a pole and in her feet touches the red velvet sea. //
The white sand no longer sing the same mellifluous song, The tides kneel down to touch my cold feet. No longer are found those sand castles and imprints The sea shouts, "Come here and dissolve, you have waited for too long."
The shark had taken the hook to carry me with it, The stream gurgled with blood bubbles and dirge, The tears have turned red and it is called the ocean of death, Losing my hues the way ocean lost its cerulean wit.
The poets will write on another poet's paler hue and demise, The world will dissolve and would be alive in some poetic texts, The more I see this carmine sea, the more I get lost in history, Dim is the opposite shore and may this sea not be real but all lies.
//A non existent lullaby in my ears, poking with a needle on that skin where it hurts the most. Is now gone to become an empty dry land with no intervention. No annoying cries of baby humans when waves hit their castle; as if the wave was the problem. What an upbringing? When the mother says, "Come my darling! its okay.. Fuck the ocean!" and the specimen laughs at that while its father clicks pictures for the LED clips at home. And you wonder why he grew up throwing plastic in ocean for the turtles to die? I almost hear the oceans anger to eat us alive.
At this point I wonder why this woman stands here with that pole in hand when all in that waters are hungry sharks. The silence from her penetrates the nerve wrecking ambience of this beach or so called sands by the water. I set up my journey down to her in a hope to ask a few questions. Having my hands in my pocket I walk with my mask on my face. Yet there is a stench of blood that my nose picks up. Not sure if I like it that much but the silence is a gift for which I would take some pain. Before my mouth utters anything, I see bubbles in front of her and she was catapult into the ocean.
Saw no emotions in her face except those tears in red on her pale skin. The three seconds I saw her face before she plunged in. I saw a fin with scars rise above the water a few seconds later. As a helpless man I stand here bowing down in front of a great white shark devouring the content for my next book. And some times I feel like its just one more down and its the time for the next. Took my hand out of the pocket, with it came my cigarette. Lighting that up I see the stream of disturbance where the fins moved along. The last few red bubbles rose up and I stood there and wondered, was that her tears or her blood or its just the ocean? //