In My Sorrows

Here I lie in my sorrow,
Where I dwell in an empty tomorrow,
The journey for truth seems so steep,
I feel I've lost the chance of relief.

I fight for my soul,
Through the valley of darkness,
Where demons prey on my goal,
Where once you tread you leave heartless.

Where are the people who once claimed to love?
Where are they who seemed to be high above?
Have the Angels failed to see,
What earth has become & what it will be?

Time is of the essence,
Forgiveness shall not be granted til,
Free will shall roam,
And selfishness has finally become nil.

For darkness dwells in those who seek,
Those power hungry humans with greed,
Those who have enslaved love, hope and truth from thee,
Shall be chained til they see the light, mercilessly.

Wake up fools blinded by greed,
Don't you see those innocent eyes in need?
Can you not hear their cry for help?
How long can you ignore precious innocent bloodshed?

For I was a victim of darkness led,
By deadly soldiers who were bred from hell,
For now they've left me with scars to heal,
But also with powerful strength growing within me.

What does not kill you,
Only makes you stronger they said,
They forgot to mention that feelings will be dead,

The urge for a fighter to survive is all that will be left.

For now I am a fighter,
Who breaks the wrath of filth,
At heart a writer,
Who writes about truth without any guilt.

No one can prey on my torn soul,
For it is blessed somehow by the hand of God,
Hence I once again feel whole,
Even though I'm forever flawed.

I fight for the weak and enslaved spirits in need,
Regardless of their race, religion or creed,
I am the fighter of the light,
Stay away darkness, beware of my might.

29042021 

Crumbs.

                           

I just stood there, restricting my person to a side for I did not want to make ripples in the flow. They swarm like bees around me, walking in their own chosen groups, sometimes even alone.

They all afford me only passing glances, some direct, some surreptitious… I’m nothing to them, just one more in the shifting crowd that rarely looks at a face a second time. To them I’m just another girl in an ordinary top and scuffed jeans with a lot of baggage, boredom clearly coloring my tired features as I wait for my ride. They pass me by from all directions; each lost in their own world, each with their own pressing worries, problems, needs and lives.

It amazes me, the sheer volume.

I spot patterns. 

The mother with the toddler who screams for a cheap balloon; she is helpless as her explanations about his father getting him a ‘better’ toy fall on deaf ears. The child does not comprehend the divide or the difference between himself and his scrawny, unkempt contemporary who forces me to buy safety pins so he can buy a balloon from the unrelenting seller who knows no charity.

Then I notice the young couple on the way home. How do I know they aren’t married? I can see dreams of a union in both their eyes, distant but shimmery and very real. A pang shoots through me as does a silent prayer to The Puppeteer to keep them happy. After he carefully puts the last marshmallow in her waiting mouth handing her his pristine white hanky while reaching for his wallet to pay the nonchalant vendor. Her implicit trust in him is palpable as is his iron belief in what they have together; he never once lets go of her hand in the crushing crowd. At least not until they flit out of my horizon along with a countless others. My mind wanders to another couple, I wonder how things are with them.

I see the groups of friends. They are almost always disjointed for one of them almost certainly has an unresolved tiff with another. And one of the girls has always fallen for the wrong guy. But they always skim over the surface and pretend the under currents don’t exist for they are at a place where independence rules their heads and responsibility rears its ugly head from the near future.

Then there are the families. The father tries really hard to control his women from running amok among the silks and stones that beckon them from the grandiose show windows. He shudders visibly at the thought of this bank balance depleting before he can say ‘card swipe’.

It’s like I can almost hear their voices…

“Damn, this is expensive… But I want this so bad!”
“My feet hurt like crazy but she doesn’t seem to want to stop…”
“I don’t remember if I switched off the gas, should I call Amy and ask her to check?”
“Ugh, drivers today have no ethics, why the hell did that ass overtake from the right!”
“This is half my savings! But maybe tonight she will….”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to make it stop. I want to end this existence”

Is it what I think it is?! Stunned, I spin around to see who that thought had emanated from. What I expected to see, I don’t know, but a sea of human bees buzz back at me… the voice I heard lost among their million voices. I take a few steps in the direction I think the thought came from – for what, I don't know. Maybe I can help alleviate the depression that surrounds her life with a few of my own sob stories… make her realize that other people have worse problems than whatever demons she faces. If nothing, I can tell her she isn’t alone. This was not the answer. But the voice, the thought, is already lost to me.

The signal changes and my ride chooses that precise moment to arrive. “Get on. Fast. The traffic police will give me an unnecessary ticket if I park here,” she says, urgently. I hesitate, still hoping I could spot The Voice. I reluctantly swing a foot over the seat, never once taking my eyes of the crowd; I had some weird notion that I will recognize her even though I had not seen her. As we blend in with the traffic, I keep scanning the faces all the way till the sidewalk ends and then some.

But sometimes, search as one might, you never find what you’re looking for, for some things in the Universe are to be left alone.

I really didn’t want her to be alone, though. I really hope she is okay.

Torment.

“how far have you walked for men who’ve never held your feet in their laps?

  how often have you bartered with bone, only to sell yourself short?

  why do you find the unavailable so alluring?

  where did it begin? what went wrong? and who made you feel so worthless?

  if they wanted you, wouldn’t they have chosen you?

  all this time, you were begging for love silently, thinking they couldn’t hear you,
  but they melt it on you, you must have known that they could taste the desperate on your skin? and     what about the others that would do anything for you,
  why did you make them love you until you could not stand it?

  how are you both of these women, both flighty and needful?

  where did you learn this, to want what does not want you?

  where did you learn this, to leave those that want to stay?”

 - Warsan Shire

This haunts me time to time.  The questions that are there in my subconscious makes its presence felt. 

When I look back to the relationships I have had, the equations I had shared with each person, the takeaway from each of them I am left with a sense of massive loss. Loss because I have loved and lost so much, even when I was the one walking away. I had this sense of disappointment from each of these people who never really valued me while I was still around, never really took me seriously until I decided to walk away. All these people, men or women, family, friends or a special someone; were wonderful, caring and genuinely wonderful human being but all lacked conviction when it came to me. Which brings me to the realization, that if all of them had a common flaw when it came to me must be something I did that made them all react the way they did. What else could prove their lack of conviction?

While some were intimidated by the woman I was slowly becoming, the others did not love me enough to keep me forever and one who had me forever did not want to do anything to keep there or make me his! What am I to make of this? Where did I go wrong? Did I not love enough or did I trample on their ego making them feel inadequate? 

Why do I have this nagging feeling that I am not meant for domesticity? Or the fact that I am a perfectionist will turn my loved ones away or that I may just end up with myself and really better by those who have let me down? Why is expecting someone to love you as much as you do so wrong? Isn't it strange that we are not supposed to talk about things that disappoint us, that let us down, that kill us from inside; lest it gives an ill impression of people who make us suffer, people with whom we are bound to. So like this we are destined to suffer.

Only solutions seems like to trudge along until life runs out. 

The Man From Nowhere

“See the nowhere crowd cry the nowhere tears of honour 
Like twisted vines that grow 
Hide and swallow mansions whole…”

– James Hetfield, The Memory Remains

He came from nowhere and he didn’t know where he was headed. He seemed lost, confused, a paper boat caught in a hurricane, with turmoil eroding the last traces of sanity and reason in his head. He was escaping, hopefully to a better tomorrow, but he didn’t know for sure. He wanted a fresh start, desperately. He didn’t know how he was going to achieve it – his bad luck seemed to have followed him here as well. Everything he tried seemed to fail, and fail miserably. He caught himself searching for straws to clutch at.

He vowed to find a muse, an inspiration, a candle in the whirlwind of his bad luck. He wanted to find the elusive abundance of good luck that had deserted him for so long. He yearned for the peace and tranquility that had been hiding from him. It was not a search in vain.

He met her on a hot, sunny afternoon and they regarded each other cautiously, unsure of just how much attention the other person warranted. She seemed harmless enough, but he was expecting his seemingly unlimited quota of bad luck to step in again.

“Been a while,” he said. Cautiously. Two tigers, one paranoid and the other indifferent, circling each other.

“Yes. How have you been?” she asked.

“Good,” he replied and they went on to talk about other things mundane.

Time flew by and a pact was etched in stone between them, unwritten yet indelible. It took time, obviously. It did not happen overnight. He began to experience her presence more and more in his life until it almost became an addiction. Over time, he started craving for her company. She became the beacon of light in the darkness that had clouded him. She forced him to embrace good luck again, though he never knew how she managed to do that.

He still had no destination in mind, but he knew that his journey wouldn’t be lonely anymore; the journey that he had started from nowhere and had seemed to head nowhere; the journey that she had spectacularly derailed and made more bearable. He had a lot of things to be thankful for. And for a million things more.

He had found his muse. He had found his share of good fortune. The man from nowhere was finally home.

Metaphorically Speaking

A secret could be a time when life hit you real hard, that it kills your stomach and head and heart, all at once. It could be a time when you screwed up, a situation in which you wouldn't want it to repeat anymore, or words you have said to someone, or words you have listened to. It could have been the worst time of your life. 

Or maybe, the harm was inflicted on you. You’re embarrassed you didn’t see the fist coming until it sucker-punched you right in the gut. It could have been a time in your life when you weren’t being the person you wanted to be.

But then it kills to keep the secret within , the pain bring an excruciating loneliness. And just when you decide to take all the strength and courage to share it, the human species makes you feel worst than anything else on mother earth. 

You thought excruciating loneliness was painful, but you learned the agonizing pain of having your secret against you by the very same person you've trusted them with, kills you. 

You stop dead in your tracks. Your cheeks blaze, and little pinpricks materialize on your skin.This feeling permeates your entire body down to your bones. Plain and simple, you feel ashamed.

You recall a saying about how sharing your secret halves the burden of carrying it alone, but most times, its better than having it happen twice. Keeping it inside is too painful. But sharing it does more damages. In the hopes of getting rid of the burden in your heart, you pass him the razor and the map, of where to cut deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul. 

When your secrets are used against you, you start to believe that the world is not made of love anymore, and relationships doesn't necessarily mean to completely trust.

We choose to believe that the excruciating pain of our secrets are lighter to bear than the agonizing pain of broken trusts. That is when people like you and me start to believe more in our novels, or pets. In the trees and lakes. In the pages of a diary, and the lyrics of a song. We choose the comfort of our pillows and dark rooms over people to tell a secret to. Because they will never say a word back. 

Ever.

 Not all psychos hurt. 
Some of them are sitting right next to you in class trying to figure out how to continue on without being noticed. 
They know your secrets and flaws and know how to use them against you. 
It takes so much to control. 
To hold back. 
And that’s why I can’t be with you. 
Because I don’t want to turn into the psychos who kill. 
The psychos who hurt.

White Roses with Black Shadows.

No one has really grown up till the day you are made to believe, trust and love no one but yourself. 

I've always thought that I've "grown up" enough, judging from the situations I've lived and came across. That was a big fat lie from life. Its definitely a 'NO'.  I think one has truly "grown up" when you finally go with the ' SCREW IT' attitude. The day you come to the "breaking point of life". The day you turn from someone who sees and prioritizes the beauty of others to someone who only doubts the trustworthiness of others. The day you learn no soul is as trustworthy as you alone are. Come to question about it, if you cannot keep a secret about yourself to yourself, why would any sane person keep a secret about you to themselves? Honestly? Loyalty? Beats the first reason thou. If you cannot choose to be loyal and honest to yourself, why would someone else do it to you?

 The day you blast things off at people, for breaking your patience. The day people hear the worst, unexpected words from you. The day you show people what they have never in their wildest dream, thought of you. No, all that was not growing up. That was just the ultimate 'breaking point'. The one that happens when you lose everything. You start wearing your heart at your sleeves. Works like the short circuit that happens in the electrical wires, which finally causes a really big "fire". Growing up is the post-situation. Or really, its just the "fire" to your "breaking point". When you draw back from the breaking point, and you start hating yourself for behaving hideously, for saying things that hurt, and most importantly, for letting people see, that dark park, the hidden devil, beneath the bright smiles, of the angel you're know for. But you surely know what the "breaking point" calls for. A call for self-love. A call for self-worth. 

There'll be a point in life, where I've put to believe, that no one is worth ones trust and love, except for yourself. You lose ties in every important aspects and elements of life. You encounter clashes of every possible relationship, blood or not. Its nothing like giving up. Its just, tired. 

The days spent smiling, the nights spent crying. The one that looks so damn strong, but is really weak. Its really sad how no one will know bout these things that makes you, you. But sometimes,  its best these things die together with the your soul. Maybe after all, that is not such a bad thing, than having people who you love and treasure, or who means the world to you, using it against you. When I think of everything I've done, or I've gone through, and how people may use it against me, if I were to tell anyone about, it, I think I'm better of burying everything together with my soul. 

The feeling of people using your secrets against you, has an indescribable feeling. You wake up feeling all bright after a gloomy night tearing away. For mere precious seconds, you forget everything that made you cry the night before, you forget the reasons you are unhappy, the reasons you are so broken. Then, it hits you again, the reasons repeat. It occurs again. Whatever it may be. A break up text, a clash of friendship.  It hits like a stab to the heart, making your stomach all sick, and you suddenly remember all the reasons you never wanted to wake up earlier that morning.

Sometimes, I believe its alright to be afraid to tell people how you feel because it will destroy them, so you bury it deep into yourself and it just destroys you over time. I truly believe this is what "growing up" has done to me. Been stabbed by those I needed the most, lied to by those I love, and been left alone when I couldn't afford to. Its weird. People you call closest friends have negative shit to say about you,  and you've been all nice and supportive throughout the entire friendship. Blood or not, you treat people like they put the fucking  galaxies in the sky, and they just stab you exactly where it would kill. Its an irony. When you truly love someone, and you lay your heart open to them, you give them a part of yourself, you let them inside a part of you, you hand them a razor with a map of where to cut the deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul. You begin to swallow on your regrets, choke on your past, and then swore to make history every damn day. 

Yes she is sad. She stares in the distance as if she is trying to separate herself from this world, trying to find a portal where sadness doesn't follow. She had a whole dark forest living inside of her. She is sunny one minute then she's pouring down rain. But she made broken look beautiful, and strong look invisible. She walked with the universe on her shoulder, and made it look like a pair of wings. 

That Moment

                                          

This wait is filling the void in her heart with a purpose, a direction. It is giving her the sustenance to battle it out in this hard clime. It provides her with the courage to face the demons of her past and present. In those shadowy hours, in each of those harsh moments, she keeps herself centered thinking only of that glorious moment- the happiest moment that she have had in days, or rather, in months. The darkest hours, when every minute of existence seems like unbridled torture to the extent that she can take no more of it, is upon her; but she  cling on in fervent hope dreaming of that moment which would come to pass in a few days. 

That wondrous moment, when she would see him again, when time as a whole would stop and he tread gingerly towards her while that beautiful smile playing on her  lips. There would be thunderous showers pouring all around, with the monsoon at its peak. Every drop of rain on her would sparkle like a diamond set in the radiance of a blazing flame, for him. The wind would be playing a symphony with her dark,lustrous hair, just for him. She would gracefully brush them away from her pretty face like the wind blows those dark clouds away from the face of the glowing moon in the night sky, for him. Her eyes, on seeing him would twinkle in recognition, like the stars greeting the moon, with renewed love and dainty shyness, after the heart-breaking parting which occur every dawn. As he tread those few remaining steps towards her, she would restrain the multitude of emotions running through her mind to savor the innate beauty of that single moment. She'd wana shut herself from every other feeling, every other emotion, so that she could gaze into those solemn, deep eyes and hold him close to her- never to let go, never to let go ever again.