Living Rhyme

Destiny's Rain

2011-07-15T07:54:00.000-07:00

A familiar scent fills the air,

The world is full of a familiar sound.

I allow myself that rare smile,

I run outside, feet barely touching the ground.

Arms spread wide to embrace it,

For a moment I forget all the pain.

For it has returned, as it had promised,

The annual bliss, the year’s first rain.

I feel its tender touch

As I get drenched to the bone.

The angels cry for me,

They tell me I’m not alone.

A glorious scene unfolds

From the clouds, peeks a sun’s tiny ray.

Each drop is reassuring,

Every bead washes the agony away.

Sometimes Life moves so fast,

Centuries fit in one moment.

Or often it drags on along so slow

Like a second filled with many millennia’s torment.

I can rise, and shine like a phoenix,

From the ashes I can be reborn.

Put together the pieces of wreckage,

Stick together the life I’ve torn.

My war, it has continued far too long,

Peace should have its deserving turn,

But it won’t be that easy, nor as simple

Coz in its own flame, the phoenix shall burn.

And so the clouds darken,

The heavens are filled with gloom.

A cold hand grips my heart,

I suddenly long for that corner of my room.

The smell, the sound, the scene are gone.

My world it seems so tired and worn.

And all I feel and hear and see

Are the whispers of pale ghosts walking by me.

The rain-drops are not alone,

As they roll down my cheek.

I search the heavens above,

But no more in my ears the angels speak.

I hug myself in grim acceptance.

I live a life which I hate.

Storms rage when it rains in deserts

The perennial hiss, the undeniable fate.

Trapped

2011-07-15T07:50:00.000-07:00

A thought in his hand,

A million on his mind.

He knows peace is a treasure

Hard to find.

Hiding from the brute monotony

Of the yester, the day, and times later.

In company of his only friends,

His pen and paper.

Life’s so plagued by people, he thinks,

Even as he stands on a vast sea-shore

That there is as much freedom there,

As behind his closed door.

Nervous, bashful and newlywed,

She quietly followed her groom, as he led.

Learning quickly to give and share.

Nurturing the home with her gentle care.

But why does the ‘home’ seem full of foes?

Why can’t anyone else feel her woes?

The house echoing with her screams,

Drowning her love and the broken dreams.

She asked for a handful of happiness

And nothing more.

Then why is her blood splattered,

On her closed door?

Falling from a cliff before the wings unfurled.

Shoved unceremoniously into an unkind world.

Exploited by its own kin

When their conscience slept.

The eyes now dry,

As the innocence wept.

Hurt and confused, sanity trembling

On the edge of a knife.

Scared and bemused, briefly dreaming,

But again beaten back to life.

Living in a cage, a tiny soul tortured to the core

Too afraid to reach out and unlock the closed door.

A broken beauty, with a broken heart.

Whose life did end before its start.

Getting up every day, only to sleep.

Someone else every day, cutting her deep.

Waiting for the next one,

Putting her clothes and make.

Happy like a cartoon,

Smiling but fake.

Faster and faster the death-clock sped.

Again and again dying on the bed.

Stuck between walls of shame and hate.

Searching for sunshine, but the hour is late.

No one undressed the smile she wore.

None ever opened her closed door.

The gates of heaven,

Are red with blood and gore.

As around the globe,

Humans ask for more.

Here we stand proudly,

on hell’s shore.

Millions existing soundly

Like these four.

A poet, a bride, a child and a whore,

Suffering silently behind a closed door.

Nocturnal Regime

2011-07-15T07:06:00.000-07:00

With a heavy heart,

and a restless dream.

Waking up in time

Of the nocturnal regime.

Looking for a way,

To end my plight.

I stepped out slowly,

One fine night.

When no one dares,

To speak-out aloud.

And the cemetery has,

The only crowd.

When the moon sheds,

The only light.

I stepped out slowly,

One fine night.

Every sound,

So loud and clear.

And whispering shadows

Call you near.

When the dogs rule,

Howl and fight.

I stepped out slowly,

One fine night.

Walking aimlessly,

To unknown places.

Or searching my haunts,

To find past traces.

Sensed by creatures,

But still out of sight.

I stepped out slowly,

One fine night.

Lusting and longing,

For a woman’s touch.

But too late for that,

I knew as much.

Born of this earth,

with the ether we reunite.

I stepped out slowly,

One fine night.

With no food or drink.

That’ll quench my thirst.

Nor any soft bed,

That’ll rest the cursed.

To search a way,

A fluttering flame may ignite.

I stepped out slowly,

One fine night.

Returning now,

to my abode.

Cursing the curse,

That on me bestowed.

Some sins were such,

the lord never forgave.

And thus at dawn,

I re-enter my grave.

What I missed the most,

Was his glorious light,

When I stepped out slowly,

One fine night.

Loser

2011-07-15T07:03:00.001-07:00

Small, lonely,

Down to earth.

Controlled and pitied,

Shamed since birth.

A ‘loser’ in this world,

Trying to find his place.

Not too slow to keep-up,

But forced to give-up the chase.

Always the underdog,

Scorned and teased by his mates.

Deprived of what he likes, and forced

To be proud of what he hates.

Scared and confused,

Searching blindly in the haze,

For someone to hold his hand,

Someone to guide him through the maze.

His mother disappointed,

His father ashamed.

They didn’t teach him to smile,

But for the frown he was blamed.

Walking behind them,

Only now struggling to keep the pace.

While they made excuses,

And called him their lost-case.

He was the ugly-duckling,

And not the black sheep.

A mere late bloomer,

If they’d bothered to look deep.

He wasn’t a ‘born-loser’,

If not a perfect ace.

Like a simple sweet song,

Which lacked the loud bass.

Searching for love,

Slowly reaching his teens.

Trying to stand-up, to stand out,

To speak-up, through all his means.

But they laughed and smirked.

They told him, he lacked the grace.

And so began the doubt, the wish

That somehow, himself he could replace.

Why when he was sad,

There was no one to care.

Why when he was happy, if ever,

There was no one to share.

He was now tired,

Tired of questioning empty space.

He couldn’t go any further,

No more could he stand the disgrace.

Awaking one evening,

Drenched in his own sweat.

Squinting out the window,

Though the sun had set.

The people around him looked scared,

And strangely out of place.

As he lay, in a pool of his own blood

A smile lighting his face.

Speeding through scenes and colours,

As though running past dreams.

Oblivious to the people helping him,

And the sobs and screams.

They were finally there,

With their world at his feet.

But they couldn’t keep-up,

With his slow heart-beat.

He at-last felt loved

As he felt death’s embrace.

No-one could catch-up,

As loser won the race.

Passionate Promise

2011-07-15T07:02:00.000-07:00

Like their leaves swaying in the breeze,
So she danced, like the trees.

Her delicate body soft and fair,
her feet tredding naught but air.

Her hair let-down wet and wild,
Prancing in the woods like a child.

As I approached, she turned and turned red,
Her hair hiding her face as she lowered her head.

I reached out and tucked them behind her ear,
She started to tremble in that expectant fear.

A hand through her hair, a hand on her hips,
Planting a kiss on her quivering wet lips.

As my hands snaked around her curvy waist,
Time it seemed forgot all haste.

There will be times for pain and sorrow,
But these moments we knew, may not be tomorrow.

Roses bloomed in wild-bushes therein…
As two souls succumbed to the most beautiful sin.

Tossing and turning in an embrace,
The wildness having a heavenly grace.

Drinking rain-drops off my love,
Favoring envy of the God's above.

Wandering hands holding on tight,
Becoming one under a starry night.

Nothing could render the passion tame,
Nor could quench the burning flame.

Bodies dissolving in that divine fire
Spirits ecstatic, high on desire.

On the grass we whispered and moaned,
Right from dusk, till the new day dawned.

And then it was time, time to part,
As though from one body two souls depart.

With a hug and one last kiss,
She walked away with another passionate promise…….

Freak

2011-07-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

Sitting alone
in company of myself
looking out the window
at total strangers
a scared innocent freak
in an alien world
feeling so numb
find comfort in pain
a proof that i’m alive
merely raving insane
clutching my hair
plucking at my eyes
What the fuck is wrong?
nothing at all…..
the root of madness
is life itself
staring at the walls
or looking at the sky
searching for answers
of questions unknown.
sitting,laying,standing
does anything change?
weeping,sleeping,dieing
will it make a difference?
searching blankness now…….
existing without emotion.
in perfect harmony now,
me and my isolation.

The Wishlist

2011-07-15T06:50:00.000-07:00

If angel's were real

And wishes could come true,

I would look at a shooting star

And ask for something too.

I would want to not think,

Before I spent every dime.

I would want to not feel guilty,

After I've committed the crime.

If there were wishing wells

And a quarter with me to spare,

I would want to dream for once,

Instead of this nightmare.

I would want a hope,

That its gonna be al-right.

I would be happy to see at the end of this tunnel,

The ghost of a light.

If faeries were real,

And wands could do magic,

I would want a new life,

One a little less tragic.

I would want my dad back,

Into the world of the real.

I would want my family,

To share one happy meal.

If genies could give,

Whatever you may desire,

I would want salvation,

for my heart that's on fire.

I would want my sisters ,

To look up to me.

I would want my parents proud,

And not ashamed when they see.

If clovers brought good-luck,

The ones with an extra leaf.

I would want to put an end,

to my never ending grief.

I wouldn't want to wake-up,

When I sleep at night.

I would want my family,

To quit their fight.

If the devil came for my soul,

And he proposed a deal.

I would want to go numb,

Instead of this pain which I feel.

For once I would want to do,

As my heart may crave,

And not let life or a living,

Or responsibilities make me their slave.

But angels aren't real,

And faeries are a myth.

There are no magic wands,

To do miracles with.

Genies stay in their lamps,

And no grants from a well.

A clover is pretty-much useless,

And the devil, he seems happy in hell.

Play With Fury

2011-07-15T06:31:00.000-07:00

Age beyond the dare of hope
Twinkling bright, light eyes
An aeon past, lost in ethereal shadows
Ghost of a boy in nostalgia

A putrid soul, burning coal
Worldly winds fanning the fury
Gay smiles to bitter laughter
Blue moods, which remain after

From the bliss of a simpleton
To the curse of noesis
From harmless gestures
To paranoia’s lies

Ambitions to anger
The superhuman, addictive strength of a blaze
The scared little man-child
Hiding behind the flames

Devoid of all hope, confused
Losing control or gaining it
The purest feeling my friend
When I , play with fury……

The Host

2011-07-15T06:26:00.000-07:00

Listen to the silence,
the winds breathe.
At the earth's core,
rests a fiery heart.
Molten and hot with passion.
The skies speak,
roar and cry.
This entity's consciousness,
Lies at the horizon.
We who dwell within
Are the offspring.
Nay, we are parasites.

ANGEL

2011-07-15T05:38:00.000-07:00

(Though the poem is about cigarette and it's addiction, I in no way encourage smoking)

The devil in disguise

Or maybe Godsend

But, she is what I have

My new best friend

She weakens my shell

She helps me to cry

She burns herself

But never asks me why?

As I draw her closer

My worries seem to cease

I close my eyes and relax

As she flows through me

I kiss her soft lips

I feel her warmth

The fire in body

Cools me down

Her kiss burns my lips

Her breath hurts my soul

But she does for a moment

Block the gaping hole

White like an angel

Heart, dark and dry

She helps me control

She gives me a high

But like all those

Who dare to come close

She exhausts herself

And burns to ashes

Like all my friends

She regrets being there,

and realises later….

That the flame on the wrong end of my cigarette

Is far greater….

I’m Not A Poet

2011-07-05T00:35:00.000-07:00

My hand starts moving.

On the paper the quill screams

Out flow the emotions

The regrets and the dreams

It seems to be poetry,

And there it is written.

But, I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen.

The lines themselves

Are my tears, are my smile

With my quill and my paper

I sketch myself once a while

Recording my life, or

Trying to tell someone,

as it did once happen.

I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen.

Maybe it’s a plea

Maybe it’s an accusation

Maybe I just want to be heard

But it’s my only consolation

Maybe I’m just hoping

That someone-somewhere, will listen.

I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen

The words are my pain

My love, my anger, my sorrow

The ink is my own blood

My bones, my pen which are hollow

I only try

To relieve the pain,

To re-live the joy

Of times forgotten….

I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen.

The world starts to blur

Scenes flash in front of my eyes

I stare at them transfixed

I remember the truths and lies

Leaving some mark on the sands of time

Eternalizing a memory now and then

I’m not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen

Crying out every word

Smiling out every line

Like ém or hate ém

At least they are mine

In lands of dreams and rhymes

I lose myself quite often.

But I’m still not a poet

It’s not verses that I pen.