Hang me like a painting but not the pretty one, I want the the cracked easel and the canvas ruined by your thumbs
Sketch me out on wronged lines, a rugged and raw image then fill the blanks with those empty bottles that have but a trace of shades left. Draw me out in all hues, bright, grey and pastel.
Those wayward brushes and broken pencils, use them now on my filthy face but remember to place the forehead high and eyes tear stained
Keep that neck slender but bent in burdens, the hips curvy, the arms with enough strength; draw me sweaty, draw me haggard, draw me real, draw me a fool, and hang me like a painting on your busiest shelf!
There's nothing 'tranquil' about the way winds crash upon the rocks and stumble back, the frenzied sky in a whiplash while the sea draws whirlpools of misery trying to fill up the full, exceed the excess, outdo the outdone
Yet, I'm 'at peace' here more than inside the walls I call home, the doors I stay locked behind. I'm at peace here more than the hollowed tranquil of silence, the giant elephant sitting in my room that's almost a pet now, now that I'm an adult and am told repeatedly to wager this peace with the hollow tranquility
I'm told this is my best bet, to befriend the elephant sitting heavy in my room because silence, for them, is tranquility while I want to be at a soundful peace!!
I splash a handful of water on my face and look up at the facade staring back at me , though not my own ;
I move away , back-back-back, it's my habit, you see, to back away everytime and look at the body staring back at me, though not my own;
There's too much skin, layers and layers of pathetic misery sagging down my sides and even the front, hatred weighing down my belly , a bundle of skin they despise to hell
The side of my skin is too heavy for this world to hold up, too salty for the society to digest, too unique for my kins to accept, so they keep damning it, pushing it to a corner like the nuisance kid made to stand outside the class
The side of my skin hangs loose, like a head bowed in shame, as if it's something filthy and not a part of who I am
The side of my skin is how I define me, layer upon layer embedded like soft cotton in a duvet, a duvet that keeps me going through cold eves!!
My loneliness, A scarlet river swallowing withered sunsets Across my chest, An abandoned city bathed in somber yellow Of the fading sunlight
Nostalgia is such a lonely word Dipped in thick monochromatic despair and longing, A widow's veil of sorrows Spilling sepia memories from the corners Of an antique picture frame
The nights weep neon a little longer And the hours bleed in silence Like old rose wounds that never heal As if someone squeezed all the colors Of a Pablo Picasso painting Leaving an empty canvass, A black hole. A void. Pale. Gray. Dull. Like the skies Drained of its watercolors And stripped of its rainbows and lilac magic, My loneliness Is a postcard memory of a barefoot autumn Hanging on a clothesline Fading. Withering. Haunting. Like ghosts of forgotten poems And tragic love stories.
• A bird that flies amidst growls of thunder • A salient voice that is sucked into a void • A fairytale that lives in a world of wars • A sunflower that is in love with the moon
I gather four torn pieces of a letter and twenty three petals of black roses, then lay them side by side, willing to witness a work of farewell. But this silence is deafening and my mind too tired, to pick the handful of remnant voices in a dying wind. I steal a last glance before taking on the same way to an end.
( maybe I'm wrong, maybe this isn't the beginning of an end- the thoughts echo louder than ever, but it's time, as always )
An hour passes, or perhaps two.
There's another letter at the doorstep, and a bunch of roses. A group of poets and another group of florists enter through the backdoor. They spend an hour, and leave. Just like that. : :
Farewells are never easy. Unsaid goodbyes are tougher. For all the world and its people debate on, life oscillates between predictability and coincidences. A cosmos of thoughts in the mind and another of stellar orbs outside. For even the sky is a misnomer to a dweller beyond ours.
A million years pass by in a flash. Our perception of years, only a mere tool to help us survive the brevity of an existence.
I replay a jouska of yesterday but it plainly gives away the mundanity of days I'm living. I convince myself saying, atleast these emotions name me alive. For what's in a farewell, is also in voids. And it smells of an old love.
You and I, we're all living at ENDS.
/ To all the unsaid goodbyes, and voided presences /
Edit - This post is directed (in a quite indirect way) to the people I met here, who left without a goodbye. Unsaid words of farewell hurt more, still we can't stop loving the ones who left. I'm putting this up only later, coz I couldn't tell them anyway. It's been a long time here, and things just happen. People happen. But some day, we've to let go of everything, coz they just go anyway.
A farewell is a #paradox , including this. Khamsamnida Yeoreobun
So, this is from a different pov. usually when people change, and lose a lover- in that time period, it's often labeled as 'I changed and he/she wasn't okay with me changing' which is true most of the times (I've been there) but then sometimes, when you are in this phase of changing - you yourself forget the person who loves you because of all the new flowers around you and it's partially you who lost them, and they tried but couldn't keep up with your pace for they are only humans.
I am a house of salt and sorrow Hiding my blood-stained stories In flashy metaphors And flamboyant facades But the vandalism on my walls Is the ugly truth that I can't be A thing of beauty if I am broken inside out, So, I pick up the chaotic fragments And the tangled threads of my existence After the mayhem walks out of my door
Sometimes, I set my bones on fire, Scoop and scatter the ashes To exorcise the ghosts of my past, I play spirit of the glass And gamble with the future To sit with me By the roadside as I untangle My braided expectations, Hang a few by the clothesline & keep the rest in my back pockets
Armed with a satchel of Ikigai & self-love, I step out of the shadow And massacre the demons of my demons In broad daylight, Dauntless, I collect regrets & daydreams And craft them into stories, & self-help guides On how to survive storms And how to triumph like a butterfly Who is born to seek the light.