Poetry

Landmines

I walk on landmines,
That I lay in-front of me.
The deaths of dreams I see,
Have become common to me.

Why is it that darkness seems,
So soothing and not bleak?
As I imagine the demons,
Come to rip apart at me.

The lifeless desires I conjure,
Become almost a daily life routine.
Why must I live like this?
A prisoner within a shell of me.

Maybe death is what I desire.
A forsaken life is what I live.
Running away from the demons I create,
Always escaping reality to see ahead.

What is it I desire?
Why can’t I accept my fate?
I just want this to end.
This brokenness to let itself mend.

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A crippling weight I carry,
Along with me, wherever you see.
I don’t know how it came to me.
But now I can’t let it go,
And I can’t see.

Where do I go,
Where do I stay?
Why must this feeling of dread,
Eat at me everyday?

Why can’t someone see me?
Standing here, suffering.
Surrounded by a crowd but all eyes off me
Because suffering isn’t noticed,
Until the end of it’s story.

I’m standing here,
Ready to walk on landmines,
That I lay down in-front of me.
The deaths I see have become me.

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Erratic Scribbles

Late November Rains

It’s been a while since it rained and the cold wind brushed against my skin. I want to enjoy the feeling, but an overwhelming feeling of fear and dread looms above me.

Life has been anything but dull and fearful however. Full of opportunities and people ready to help.

And yet here I am.

Loitering in a limbo of my own making, unable to escape, unable to push forward… Because I can’t even tell which way is forward anymore. Glimpses of the light at the end of the cave flash in the mind now and then, but that’s about it. I’ve never really come to fully realize them. I don’t know if I ever will.

I still don’t know what I fight for. In this abyss where only I belong. The life I have should be cherished and taken advantage of. To do something in the world that would benefit everyone. And yet here I lie, dreading tomorrow. Surrounding in a darkness that only engulfs me. And even the light of the sun seems bleak, and has little power to remove it. It’s the same story with the minds around me. They are but specs of dust in my void of nothingness.

I wish I knew how to deal with this. How to wake up early. How to work and concentrate. How to not disappoint myself, and others who rely on me. How to escape this weight I carry on my back and grow stronger.

This frustration won’t leave me and it doesn’t help. I’m always worrying instead of working to deal with my problems. I’m always lost looking for a way to deal with the monsters I face every night.

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I woke up to these November rain with a nightmare that made my stomach turn. An unpleasant beginning to a beautiful day. Something that I should be accustomed to at this point.

I don’t know why I write. Maybe it’s a cry for help. Maybe someone will read it one day and perhaps understand what I’m going through.

I wish I knew what to do with this darkness I carry in me. It drags me down with it to a place I don’t want to call home, and yet that’s where I spend most of my days today. Looking everyday for a way to escape and then crumbling back to where I stand, and giving up.

The lights go dimmer everyday. And my will diminishes every night. The darkness comes to feed in me and I comply. For what will I do that will fend it off? It just comes back for me in different faces, in different forms.

Maybe I’m not meant to be saved. And that there’s a point to all this that I am unaware of.

I wish I knew if that was the case. I could at least stop trying.

Poetry

Home

Please spare me,
From what eats me.
I can bearly lift a finger,
Against what comes after me

In the shadows,
In the night,
At dusk,
After the noise settles, it comes

Creeping in,
A crawl, and then a step.
Not knowing what approaches;
A figment of imagination stretched

It twists and turns,
Into what it wants,
Into what I fear it wants,
Into what it wants.

What is it that haunts me,
What is it that creeps in?
Of life, but full of death,
Anger subsides in memories.

I’m left as a husk,
Devoid of life,
Devoid of strife,
All because, I’ve a haunting pet beside.

Acceptance of cries,
Acceptance of sighs,
What has become of my life,
With this haunting nightmare at my side.

Give me hope,
Give me life,
I yearn for more,
And yet I lie here in demise.

I want to see more,
I want to hear,
And yet I am here;
Incapable of putting up a fight.

Help me brace myself,
Against this shadow.
Against it’s brother death.
Help me, against my own breath.

I don’t know what to do
I don’t know where to see
All I see are dark horizons
Across the sea

The memories that haunt me
They live in me.
The life that taunts me,
Has long gone past by me.

And yet the vivid memories of sea
Still stay beside me
Of the winds that blew
Of the smells I rue

The sea turns black
The sky turns grey
As I relive my memory
Every other day.

Please help me.
Please spare my soul.
Of this disease I carry,
Of wanting to go home.

Poetry

Chasing Dreams

Over the cold winter winds,
Beyond the dawn of summer’s light.
Lay a person of immense life,
Of memories long past, but well defined.

As the daily sun rose from dawn,
Only for it to settle at dusk,
She knew no bounds would keep her,
From being what she was.

Life was frail, but not her.
She knew the saying,
“We owe it to ourselves;
To achieve the dreams we desire.”

Over time, she spun around the sun.
As she grew, so did she learn to run.
And she stumbled,
Stumbled hard.

Strife and hardship would fall on her,
Like they do on any soul ‘fore long.
But every dawn, she would remember,
To wade through to her goal,
Towards the ones she aspired.

For it is only on us,
To chase the dreams we desire.
For us to break the shackles,
To run after the dreams we aspire.


 

PS: 

This is a small poetry I wrote for someone. I don’t know how much it matters now but I think it’s a good message for anyone to have. 🙂

Poetry

Mind’s Solace

Perhaps in the edges of darkness,
A light exists that shines beyond,
But I’m here standing on the shore,
With the shadows of an unseen giant dawned.

I’m fireproof, but the cold within
Ate apart at my sanity,
Leaving behind a brittled reality.
And the shadows, they crawl up my skin.

For it seemed to be like eons,
Since the world around had life and colour.
A blank dust of grey, covers the surface.
With each passing day, the fervor within felt smaller.

Each stumble, pieces of me break and fall
And with every crumble, I crawl to my place.
But is it worth it to be in this race
Is it worth it, just for another rainfall?

The world keeps changing,
Uninterested of another’s plight.
People take lives for granted,
Unconsciously snuffing out their light.

Promises granted one after another
But how many do follow through
Maybe not a handful, but definitely only a few
And so we end up at the mercy of other

Maybe the pain will leave,
Maybe it will end up being smaller.
But the life I live, the reality my mind conceives,
Is but a disaster that fits like an iron collar.

Of the notions my mind creates,
It can’t help but ask, what have I done to deserve this fate.
O my whimsical impulses and desires,
Why have you brought me here, in front of closed gates.

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Featured Image Credits: Link

Erratic Scribbles

Silence

If you’ve influence, then you’ve power. We live in a world where anyone can change the things around them, even if a little, by just existing and contributing. A lot of us think of the future or the past, but few of us really care about what is happening as of right now. Not about our lives; but the life that surrounds us; and the power to change it. The buildings, insects, animals, fields of grass, everything that surrounds us. Chances are, if you’re reading this, you can change what surrounds you, even if a little bit, but you can do it. This ability to change things, is what is to an extent, is meant by the word ‘influence’, and yet, so few of us really use it to it’s fullest extent. Even I’m guilty of making the same mistake myself.

But what is it that we do with this power when we do use it? Their lies the bigger question. Life is uncanny and undistinguishable, but yet so familiar and something that feels normal. However, very few of us have reasons to believe that we can change our surroundings, as much as perhaps the richest person of the planet, yet that’s not entirely true. Yes, the rich hold more power; not because they’ve money, but because people listen to them. People also listen to the passionate, the musicians, the artists, the scientists, and the world. More than anything, people believe the world. What the world echos, is the norm and there’s no reason to think outside the norm, because…? I can’t find an answer to this question, because I’ve never come across one. I’ve always been told that somethings are “impossible” and yet the more I think about it, they’re not. Not entirely. Humanity has at many times showed nature creative solutions to the problems it poses us, yet individually, we are all broken, unbelieving in ourselves. And more importantly, unbelieving in our power. The power to change the world around us to whatever extent we can. And collectively, there has been no bigger power in the known universe.

I share a lot of things in the social media platforms I’m in. I’ve always had the thought that if I can change, even one person’s mind, with facts and evidence, then I’ve made the world a little better place. And in the same nature, I’ve always hounded for just the unknown, to know as many things as I can. It’s no wonder then that I grew a lust to change the world, even if by a little, but everyday none the less. Growing up, I never believed I could’ve achieved anything, regardless of how I hard I tried. Not because I didn’t try, I did give it my all whenever I could, but I couldn’t at most times; and I didn’t know why. I’ve always thought of myself as a little more aware of the world than most people, but there was this weight on my mind that somehow held me back; I blamed it on myself. I was just being lazy. In 2015, I got diagnosed with ADHD. Things made much more sense, but I was still lazy. The lazy part didn’t change.

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I believe I could’ve done a lot more when I was young, the problem wasn’t that I wasn’t aware of ADHD, it was that I blamed myself for who I was. And to an extent, that part of me never left. But in 2015, another thing happened. I pitied myself for the first time for having a mental illness. Just 5 mins later, I thought that was just fucking stupid. Was it the last straw that I had in life? Probably not. I’ve had too many incidents that I can remember that made me go through hell. This incident wasn’t anywhere close to the things I remember. But it was stupid enough to make me think about what is it that I had the power over, if not over myself, to do the things I love; and if not the world around me, then what?

I had always believed that one person was all it took to change the world, and I always wanted to be that person. We all do really. But so few of us realize that we can change the world, a little bit, with all our actions and decisions. I realized, what held me back was my definition of myself, rather than my characteristics.

So many of us in this place, could do good, but so few of us try thinking that our efforts aren’t worth it. From littering to just not bothering, and being silent; all of us are guilty of not trying in one way or another, even me. I live in a country where seeing a beggar is a common sight, seeing a sleeping kid with tattered clothes in a train station with a dog, is a common sight. It’s become common, to the point that I don’t care; not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t believe that I can change their life even a little bit. But so many have already proved us wrong on that part. Even people who perhaps, started with less power than what we have with us right now.

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Our decisions, to change the world around us, give us more power. But what comes with that power, is not responsibility, but whatever we define it to be. And however we define ourselves, gives us the power that is required of us to change ourselves. Some believe the power comes to them because they’re better than others, others believe power comes to those who are worthy of it, by perhaps birth or their status in society. But no one can come after you, not when you’ve power. Power recedes responsibility. It gives us the ability to jump over the fence. Yet, the strongest of us choose to stay and pick up the responsibilities of our choosing, not because we are required to, but because we believe we need to.

We all have the influence to change things around us really. And we all have power. Some have it more than others, but we all have it none the less. What we do with that power, again, lie upon ourselves. How we grow ourselves, with the decisions we make, and sculpt the world around us. It all rests on us. And all of us can do it, yet so few of us believe we can.

Perhaps the biggest bane of humanity is that it doesn’t believe in itself and it’s ability to change what surrounds it. What surrounds an individual.

We all have influence. And we all have the power to change the lives that surround us, along with the life that is inside us. It however, falls on us to realize that and work upon it. The journey we take in this world, and the things we influence while walking towards our death are perhaps the most profound stories of art that the universe can create. We should not let it go to waste. Not because people expect more from us, but because we should expect more of our own selves.

 

Poetry

Unrelenting

Perhaps the words I want to say,
Will never leave me in a way
As dust and fog cloud my world
You stand there standing, underestimating

A broken mess of a soul
Is what I’ve become
A foul soul livid with rage n sorrow
A fragile self with no yearn for tomorrow

For the cliched life in me
You were the world to me
Dreams that won’t be fulfilled
But grow inside, waiting, mocking, baiting

Perhaps the answers I seek,
Will never lend themselves to me
As rain and lightning breaks my self,
You stand there, not understanding

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A pleasure for the soul
Now breaks inch by inch
A pickaxe slowly cutting astray
Of self that I had hidden away

Hatred n sorrow is all I feel,
As an embodiment of lies fester and grow
Why have I not realized it yet
That perhaps I am that,
That perhaps I am sorrow.

What is it that takes to connect,
To another in ways that one can’t comprehend
Why is it that words are too less
To describe what my self had felt

I wish for nothing but the desires I have
It’s perhaps selfish but i know
And I stand here, still standing
As you walk away, leaving.

As I stare,
As I desire.
As I watch my dreams with leer.
As I still stand here, unrelenting.

Continue reading “Unrelenting”

Erratic Scribbles

The power of words.

Words have a way of having different meanings to different people. A peaceful sleep might mean something to a soldier and another thing entirely to someone who’s in a safe haven surrounded by family and friends, but is fighting a different battle altogether in his/her head. It falls on us to give meaning and power to the words we speak and the ones that are spoken to us. But when do words have more power than us, have the ability to shut us down; it’s not uncommon.

I’ve long heard the saying that life has a way of teaching us with failures. What are failures however, are up to us to decide. A thief’s career might not be his failure but would things change if he saw it as one?

What is a peaceful night’s sleep I wonder. Everyday comparisons aside; I still don’t have meaning to what my words mean. Good, bad, what do you call it when there’s no feeling attached to anything anymore.

Erratic Scribbles

Does it Matter?

For the longest time, I’ve never really appreciated the celebration of the day I was born. I still don’t. I say for the longest time because I remember a time when I did. When the years seem to go by fast, eagerly waiting for Birthday gifts and just the idea of Christmas. When it felt like it would snow any day in winter, it just needed to be slightly colder than it was the other day. And rain seemed like something of a wonder. The lightning strikes and the wind felt surreal in a world already so confusing to make sense, with it’s dawns and dusks.

Life seemed like worth celebrating. Perhaps that’s what I was doing in my birthdays back then. Perhaps I was just waiting for the gifts. The latter would probably seem more accurate. Today, I do not want gifts, and celebration of life seems a little meaningless every passing day. It’s not that I do not value life, quite the opposite really. But every year, it’s no more than a reminder of my own mortality and limitations to not be able to do the things I want to. To not be able to achieve what I really want. To not have the power to change my present.

Patience. That’s what I hear myself saying.

And yet, that’s exactly what takes away any reason to celebrate. Every solution seems to add more problems. Life, as it grows, seems to just get more complicated. All I know is that I know so little, that I’ve little to affect the world with.

Be Better.

Know more.

But what do I chase. Every passing year, it’s just a reminder of the hollowness of the dreams I create for myself. Every year, it’s a showcase to myself of the burdens I make myself carry.

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Tim Burton’s drawing seems apt in this piece. Source – https://www.pinterest.com/pin/186406872051158846/

Am I to give my own life meaning, or is it to come by itself. I do not run for a higher purpose, I do not need one. The world and the universe we live in, is fascinating on it’s own. But why is it that I can’t celebrate? Why does the world look bleak even in my brightest day, what is it that’s holding me back that I can’t break away from. Like a grey curtain over my eyes, it dims any light that comes in.

I’ve had my dance with death and I’ve left it standing, but life has done the same with me and I’m wondering who’ll be in the right by the end of this ordeal.  Standing here, everything looks so distant. Even time. Who knows how long it’s been now. I know when I came to be. But when did I become like this. And maybe… I’m scared of what I’ll end up becoming.

Poetry

Rebuilt With Fire

Why is it that I can’t move,
Nor can I stay in one place.
It’s like life has forgiven me,
And yet has strangled me.

The ambitions, dreams, motivations,
They matter little to me.
Unlike before;
They no longer drive me

Poetry feels like penance
For crimes never committed.
Unless unfulfilled dreams,
Were crimes for me to see.

It’s as if light has averted me;
Dwelling in darkness is all I see.
For little has perhaps changed,
Discounting the hope that has forgone me.

Like a broken glass vase,
Rebuilt with the ire of fire.
What has life become for me.
What has life become of me.