Cold Beach

The waves hit the sand and my feet-
With what it’s familiar and with what it’s not;
Confused between old and new.

The waves tingle my feet
And a star fish latches onto my skin.
It hurts but it’s stuck
Like the lull of a blue Monday morning.

The sky is grey, the air is cold.
My teeth clatter
But I don’t cover
My masochist devil.

Carry me away, wind.
Sink me in, sea.
I don’t want to exist in this pale old world.
It’s too boring, too weary, too lonely.

Step, step, step;
Shells hurt my soles.
Step, step, step;
Into the water. Cold –
Foams hit my feet and sand.

My feet wrinkled,but not as much
Wonder if they’re already addicted
To the cold and stand still.

Advertisements

The Place Where I Come From

Where I come from
Is a place where many live
On dirty roads or even posh bungalows;
Pretty girls fall in love with men
Who like them prude and petty
Because dumb is and will always remain the new sexy. Continue reading The Place Where I Come From

A Hefty Melody

A hefty melody is the one
Mixed with memories
And decorated with heart breaks.
It is a cocktail too heavy to consume
And too acidic to gulp down.
It burns your insides
Creating this ringing sound
So strong and so loud
That you trip over your own feet
And land straight on the shattered glass
Of your cocktail which at some point
You had dropped because of the ringing,
Oh so painful ringing.
Later, that same cocktail of rainbow colours
– Red, green, yellow, blue
Becomes white wine
– Critical, analytical
And less colourful
Yet you go back to the bar
Again after some time
And order the fates to bring you
The same colourful, revolting cocktail
You sip it, you clutch your head and you fall
You do it again, and again some more.
Because face it,
You’re addicted.

~~~

Do you too sometimes feel emotions come rushing back to you as soon as you listen to a song. Do you too attach memories and feeling and emotions to songs. Do you too feel that agonising pleasure every time you hear a sad song? Tell me about it, I would love to hear from you!

Personal Poetry Therapy

My nightmares are filled with whispers and laughter
Of every human being I’ve known till now
They are branded everywhere on my skin,
Reminding me again and again of what a coward I am.
Sometimes they are white noises,
But sometimes they are loudest than ever before
Forcing me to kneel and beg for forgiveness
Apologise for the wrong I hadn’t done
Feel sorry for a mistake I hadn’t committed
Like how the base feels through your skin
And makes its presence be felt
Just in a very, very, very agonising way.
It collects in you
The burden of their ugly laughter keeps collecting on your back
The chest pain starts accelerating
Pressure stars building up behind your eyes,
Your throat become sore and dry
Your insides wrinkle onto whatever air is left within you
Your muscles break with the tension of keeping your body upright
When you are just curling around whatever you have left in you
To ground you and hold you but you’re losing it
It’s building and building up inside you
And you are too afraid to let go
And then it is too late because when you hear
“Are you fine?”
Your insides burst into a million pieces
And get scattered around your vulnerably bare soul
Like the stars in the wide, infinite universe.
Like the stars in the wide infinite universe.

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers – Reconstructed | NaPoWriMo

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches loosely onto the withered soul
And sings a melodious tune
Without the need of tough words
Nor meaning, this sweetest sound,
Seems endless like the curling of tides
With much rhythm but no reason
In the harsh gale is heard.
Sorely greedy must be the storm
That could dare to abash the little bird
That kept so very many undead corpses warm
And resurrected them anew.
So ruthlessly greedy must be the storm
That it took away the music which
I’ve heard in the chilliest land and
On the strangest sea
Which yet, never  in extremity
Asked a crumb of me.

emily dickenson

*~*~*~*

NaPoWriMo April 2015 Day 5 prompt:   Today’s exercise asks you to do something similar, but in the interests of creativity, rather than ill-conceived “correction.” Find an Emily Dickinson poem – preferably one you’ve never previously read – and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it!

The poem I chose is called ‘Hope’ is a thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson 

*~*~*~*

Did you like it? Did you not like it? Was it reconstructed enough or just copy pasted? Let me know what you think about it. Have a splendid day y’all!

Dear Companion | NaPoWriMo

I was a wanderer before I met you.
Oblivious to my loneliness,
I used to hop on trains and gaze at stars from my window
Running and jumping gave me thrill,
A thrill compared to nothing when you hold my hand and say those three words.
I used to go to places and watch them through a key hole,
A key hole of my lone experience
But with you, they’re like different planets to me
And every inch of the destination feels like a foreign rock i need to take home,
Not even as a souvenir but as a monument,
Signifying how special and fantastic I feel when I am with you.
You know what happiness and home have in common?
H and of course you.
In fact, you are my home now,
A home to this wanderer
A home, this wanderer can take with him,
A home with whom I can hop on trains and buses,
With whom I can chase uncountable sunsets.
A home that will welcome me no matter how flawed I am
And a home who is beautiful in every possible way.

*~*~*~*

NaPoWriMo April 2015 Day 4 prompt: Love poems are a staple of the poetry scene. It’s pretty hard to be a poet and not write a few – or a dozen – or maybe six books’ worth. But because so many love poems have been written, there are lots of clichés. Fill your poems with robins and hearts and flowers, and you’ll sound more like a greeting card than a bard. So today, I challenge you to write a “loveless” love poem. Don’t use the word love! And avoid the flowers and rainbows.

Okay. Okay. I know it’s cliched. I am sorry. Really. I couldn’t come up with anything else. Ugh.

And this poem was inspired by two characters of a British serial called Doctor Who – The Doctor and Rose Tyler – because both of them are such cuties that they make me cry every time I think about them. Poor things.

Also, just to clarify, yes, this is a spoken word poem… not exactly spoken out loud. I suck at it, so, no.

*~*~*~*

So, did you like it? Did you not like it? Was it awful? Was it too cliched? Do tell me! I would love to get feedbacks so that I can improve on this hobby that I have taken up.