Almost

Aren’t we all afraid 

that it’s all going to end

before we are ready

for the curtains to drop

and we will never find out

what happens next

but we almost did,

Aren’t  we all terrified  of missing,

Where we close our fists around it

but open them and find nothing ,

Almosts are hauntingly painful

I think she never loved me

is better than she almost did

I think she never was mine

is better than she almost was

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Mad Hatter

Of course loving her is hard

Writers are difficult to love 

and she is one of those mad hatter kind,

Pulls words out of her hat

Squeezing and wringing her heart,

Riddles and questions she doesnt know the answer to

You will never know what she is thinking 

For she sees the world

through the sad eyes of a poet,

Nightmares of rabbitholes 

Rainfall as tears

The angel of death, a lover

and people as monsters 

You will never know if you could ever love her enough

Because she never reveals her depth 

and with every line that she writes 

Her emotions and heartaches seem to resonate

from a much deeper abyss of her love

Its puzzling, isnt it?

To look at her staring at something far off,lost

and wonder if she wants to be there with you

Does the hint of darkness in her bother you? 

The way her presence itself seems to cloud over 

and mark her territory 

The last poem she wrote about a recreant lover,

Did it scare you?

Of course she is hard to love,

She gets in your head and on your nerves,

The mad hatter with her wand of insanity

If you pay heed to her scribbles 

If only you have the courage to stay 

May be you could solve her riddles

and help her write a fairytale 

where the evil queen gets a happy ending

Autumn must come soon

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Chaos are beautiful,
Terrifyingly wonderful like a tornado
I Want to be caught in the wind
Like a leaf in the fall
Carefree,aimless,oblivious of where I must go
I just want to break free,
Drift and dance,
Unaware that in that moment I am part of an art
I want to live the chaos,
Watch them unfold into cosmic revelations
Oh! How I miss the voices in my head
Humming through my solitude
How I plead,autumn must come soon
For every person we love
Is but shackles and chains cutting into tender skin
And I am bound to what would someday
Shake me off when I am dry
For something green

RUST

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Why must I do this to myself;
Stab myself with your dagger?
How does it gnaw at my skin
Even when it is powerless:
Vandalised at the hands of rust?

Why do I find myself at your doorstep
When I am not sure which road to take?
When I know the locks have changed?

Why do I lie to myself this often?
I am no saint
Yes,the reflection of someone else in your eyes,
The two of you smiling
Impales me
So why do I look in through the goddamned window
Even when the other side is not where I want to be.

Faceless

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Take away my face,
My name
And what am I?
Would you still recognise me?
Strip off my flesh and bones
And what am I but my soul?
Made of sands of time
And sculpted by heartbreaks and grief ,
Defined by choices and enriched by love
Never incomplete yet never whole
Time is a whirlwind,Unstoppable;
And so am I,
Everchanging
I am never the person I was
When you last flipped your hourglass
I have grown
Or perhaps scattered like those grains of sand
So you could wear my skin
And yet be no where close to being like me
So you could draw by memory every contour of my face
And yet fail to know me

The art of war

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I have always been distrustful,
Skeptical of people’s affections and intentions
Less because of the arrows along my spine
And more because of my rose-coloured eyes,
Discoloured now;
But I have learnt to trust
Not them,
Myself,that no betrayal would break me
My corporality is not built upon the mosaics of their being

I have always been territorial,
Ferociously protective of what is mine
And look how those demarcative thorns
Marred  the beauty
So I learnt to lower the weapons
But I havn’t forgotten the art of war
I will destroy you
If you cross the line

Sillage

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The heady scent of your breath
Tickles my memory
Leaving ripples of sleepless  nights
On my sheets,
I open my eyes to your deliquescing face,
Bracing for the familiar ache
But suddenly it does not hurt anymore,
Suddenly your absence is not a gaping hole
Grief fails to paralyse me
I think of how much I loved you
And memories resuscitate your presence,
The trail of your kisses
Whisper along my collarbone
And the hearse at long last
Disappears from view

Schizophrenia

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I am not afraid of love
I put it to sleep
in the chambers of my heart
and slit its throat

I am not scared of you
Your pretty face couldn’t be a nightmare
if it wanted to
You have no weapons
Just hearts and flowers
Those flowers will wilt
and the heart wont beat if I pull it out

I am saving myself
from the parasite inside me
and you think
I am running from you?

The Reason

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I wouldnt call myself a poet
I dont know if my words
have reached out to people yet
It hardly matters since I do not write for fame
Neither do I write for money
There is enough crisis
And people would rather pay for fun
And porn than catharsis
I wouldnt call myself a poet
My words dont always rhyme
Just like now
I write because I love to store memories in ink
As time goes by
Thoughts can be overwhelming at times
And at times run dry
I write to keep them fresh
As I watch the dense mist
Change colours with days
I write so I can always see
What I was and what I am going to be
I wouldnt call myself a poet today
But may be I can someday

Love,Whiskey and Madness

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Your anger,
Baby it burns like fire
You walk out and slam the door
But storms dont last forever
Your words,
Venom coated goodbye,
You are never coming back
Oh but you will!
I will make you
Your fury is as arousing
As my love is madness
I could hold you captive,
Lock us both in forever
And listen to you spit out words of hate
As the rich taste of dark poetry
Trickles down my throat like whiskey

A lyric of memories

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Words keep me awake at night
Yours and mine

They ring in my ears
Like whispered prayers
Or sensual moans of a lover
And I wrap my senses around them,
Caressing their texture
They sing to me in your voice,
A lyric of memories
In a pulsating cadence

The things I left unsaid
Like a choice never made,
Or the monster under my bed
I never could face
Haunt me when I close my eyes,
Remind me of my incompleteness,
The anomaly of my existence

An unwritten poetry
Waiting to be read.

A lyric of memories

image

Words keep me awake at night
Yours and mine

They ring in my ears
Like whispered prayers
Or sensual moans of a lover
And I wrap my senses around them,
Caressing their texture
They sing to me in your voice,
A lyric of memories
In a pulsating cadence

The things I left unsaid
Like a choice never made,
Or the monster under my bed
I never could face
Haunt me when I close my eyes,
Remind me of my incompleteness,
The anomaly of my existence

An unwritten poetry
Waiting to be read.