Intoxication prevails; Deep down, I know of lies, Mistakes breathing stealthily Inside the coffin of truth, Trying to break an illusion: There is consummation in incompletion.
Expectations are used to their own stabs, Love desires to indulge in this bloody act, More often than not. Insobriety intensifies; A delusion defying the yardstick of cost, Churns the body, Keeping the mind alive.
Hiding under a blanket of smoke, I see darkness embellished with fires Of those who are hailed as Monarchs of light at night. Living corpses walk with clouds Of tales fading into the sky; Barely do we notice what trickles down The corner of their eyes. Flowers bloom on the graves of unknown folks, The gray haunts as I walk past them, Longing not to meet these roads Again; they follow me. Carved on the barks of humongous trees, My fingers perceive grooves of promises, Names of star-crossed lovers. I wish them luck and pray for their bond, Long live their camaraderie, If not in this world, In another one, way beyond.
I am a broken vase, Not shattered by the wind. Thrown away by free will, That is my fate. The road is unclear, Smothered in dither. Yet, I choose my destination To wash away the cracks Of Destiny.
I am a broken vase, Trying to survive, To put my pieces together, Only for you. I know, beauty is long lost, My marks will stand out And humiliate me often. Yet, I will contain your flowers With utmost pride.
The face tells a beautiful story, A fantastical lie That reflections care to ignore. Fairytales decompose into cheap articles On trampled newspapers. Society screams, people shout, The mirror stands tall, Notices the unnoticeable, Predicts the unpredictable, Surmises hidden predicaments And chooses to put a check On reflections, Only for those Who are blinded by the sins Of their deed, The craving of their famished souls. Some choose to see The enthralling beauty And set aside the rasping truth. The rest become the mirror themselves With their faces made of glass And silver coating on their hearts, To make sure that The reflections never reach them.
The leaves rustled under the command Of a known stranger, The one who lashed the roads, And drove away a cloud of dust, Baring them to his harshness, And paid a tribute to the Night’s delineation Of an upheaval in tranquility.
The sores on the exterior vanished Before moisture could sympathize. The catastrophe building up inside, Far away from Sympathy, Sought help from Empathy, To which it’s access was denied. A storm broke out in no time, The dark Kohl lining agreed to succumb To the rush of brine.
Silence lost in the mystery of yesterday, Narrates a story; Surpassing the strict check of your armoured mind I whisper into your ears, Of dreamy mornings in the days of yore. I hope you never heard the sound of my stealthy steps. Not knowing who you were, I spent hours basking in the mirth of an unplanned misery. I hope you never felt the warmth of my palms, My touch lacked the capacity to stir emotions. My eyes never revealed anything without your permission, The shine talked about the mischief of dust. My lips never broke a promise Even when I was breaking into pieces, Dousing myself in the fire of agony, All by myself. I just hope that this is just a hope.
Hiding behind the kitchen wall, A chubby girl eats chocolates; She sings all day and plays with a Barbie doll, Her restless legs now refuse to crawl. Two shiny ponytails swing turn by turn As her head revolts against boredom And moves back and forth; She says annoyingly, “How long do I wait for March 24?”
The years, Unable to keep track of untold stories, Reflected on her face with utmost honesty. That smile now beguiled some of the shiniest stars in the sky, The teary eyes plagiarized twinkling happiness And died every moment in the fire of a new lie. Her restlessness has succumbed to contemplative rantings, Yet she has her childish ways of loving herself. A daring sweetheart with a heart of straw, She says, “I turn twenty four and I’m bold. Even by mistake, don’t call me old.”