Think of me, sometimes

Think of me, sometimes,
in the far away Neverland of dreams.
Where the Sun shines eternally,
where the trees stand tall and bountiful;
the birds chirp songs of love,
and streams of pure sparkling water flow.

Say my name, sometimes,
to test how it feels on your tongue.
Don’t let the winter chill your heart,
or freeze your words, let them flow freely.
Let the spark grow, let it transform into a fire,
let it burn, combusting all thoughts,
leaving but memories of sweet happiness.

You Ask About My World At Your Own Risk

The world is a strange place:
Its men sick, its women desperate.
We came to this world to play a part
but who knew our act was so clichéd?
What is easy for them is difficult for us.
Why? Because, God made us
of the female flesh!

When nature’s balance is toppled over:
a woman taking a man’s position,
egos are hurt and tears are shed,
for both men and by all women.
Secrets are kept for better or for the worst,
in this strange grey building,
which has become our world.

A/N: In my country, sadly, engineering remains a male dominated field. So, in the famous grey building of the chemical engineering department of my university, the colourful presence of female students was a rare sight. It should have made no difference, however, unfortunately, it did. What conspired as a result is history and prediction combined! This was our world where things were said, done and insinuated where they should never have been!

Cauldron

Dribble, bubble, crackle, trouble,
dark, red, shiny, simmering away!
One drop, you’re mine. Double
it, you die. Treble, will never happen,
wish as you may! Come hither
my child, let us drown in this fire
that burns our cauldron away.

Disclaimer: The image, as usual, does not belong to me. It belongs to these people: http://gallery.yopriceville.com/Free-Clipart-Pictures/Halloween-PNG-Pictures/Halloween_Orange_Witch_Cauldron_Clipart#.UmJxbvmnruo =P

In my heart

The Spring came and went
But no flowers blossomed.
The Summer conquered Winter
But it forgot to remove the chill.
The warmth that was in your presence
Has left me.
But I am fine to think that you
Still live on in my heart.

So the flowers do flourish
But only in the backyard of my heart.
And the winter chill is replaced
By the Sun in my soul.
For there is where you live on
Even though you have left this world.

Blind

Never shall my soul
be acknowledged;
never shall my heart’s
beauty be realised:
For all the world sees
is the thin paper
shell of the never
ending depths of
brilliance.

A/N: Slightly cynical, I know, but I wrote it at time when I felt really lost. Everyone saw what they wanted to see in me. I found no true recognition in their words as they depicted a perception completely skewed away from my perception of myself. Alas, the time has past, leaving only a few words and a poem behind. Enjoy! 😀

Thoughts and Dreams vs Words and Reality

Words may overpower your message-
Incoherence yielding no wonder
Let the thoughts prevail
and let words falter
for there is no wonder in words
only false charm and dignity.

Dream, for dreams are meant to be dreamt;
broken by reality only if reality prevails-
let reality falter and dreams rise.
Moments of dreamt happiness shall suffice
to break lifetimes of real miseries.
Dream, for broken dreams make
the best of songs and the best of poetry.

Stay

Stay, my sweet adornment.
My last chance to drink you in-
stay a moment more.

Eyes seek you around,
sated not by mirages.
Halt your footsteps, stay.

Dreams with your glory,
destroy my soul, crunches heart,
breaks me like china.

Sounds that remind me
of your sweet jingle, throws me
out of world, this life.

So stay, a moment,
let me memorize details:
your profile, your voice.

Let me imprint you
on my mind, so when you leave
your echo guides me.

A Woman’s World

She is but a commodity,
forever was, forever will be.
Inherently flawed, born as a she,
her gender: her chains,
her gender: her fame.

It is a double world,
a duel tragedy.
She is but a thing,
pretty makes perfect,
smart has no gains.

Ambition: a disaster,
the ultimate destruction.
Life spent near a crib,
pampering and cooing,
perfect illusion of happiness.

Conformity, unacceptable,
the ultimate depression
Life spent on the edge,
soaring while defying,
perfect illusion of victory.

No winning for a woman
in this world:
a man’s world,
not a woman’s world,
never a woman’s world,
no matter how many
are born into it.

Disclaimer: The song belongs to the awesome Irish band, The Script! It is titled, ‘We cry’ and is perhaps one of my all time favorites! 😀 Enjoy! 😀

The Witch’s Cottage

The clock struck one
and the mouse came down
and went to the witch’s cottage.

Scurrying about, it
circled around two
lovers in the witch’s cottage.

Past two portraits
of wizards unknown
hung up in the witch’s cottage.

Up the stairs: crickety creak;
down some cracks: ticket-a-tee,
cluttering the witch’s cottage.

The clock struck twelve
and time moved back with
a cackle in the witch’s cottage.

The mouse stopped short
squeaking aloud, bleeding away
slowly in the witch’s cottage.

Two short screams.
Silence abound, broken with
a cackle in the witch’s cottage.

A green light shown,
smoke filled round,
engulfing the witch’s cottage.

Disclaimer: The image belongs to AngiWallace not me! 😀

What is Love?

What is love?
Nothing,
but a creative writing assignment.
We write odes and ballads
for those we pretend to love:
such long letters, big words
and promises infinite,
all but forgotten, and broken
after a momentary frenzy of
deep affection…

Love is but a whiff-
a whiff of expensive perfume:
meant to last for a moment,
bringing such fickle joy,
priced at a lifetime of longing,
and wanting and
deprivation…

Dilemma

Where are you? I want to know
where in the world are you.
I miss you,
even though I don’t know who you are.
Is it normal that I miss you,
even though we have never met?

Who are you? I want to know
who in the world are you.
I think of you,
even though I know nothing about you.
Is it normal that I think of you,
even though there is nothing to think of?

Madness

Such profound madness,
she lived in the midst of books.
Pages and pages of stories,
stack upon stacks of lives.
Her own unbearable, she delved
into the depths of others.

Her room filled with stick figures,
their pins protruding out.
Her heart filled with malice,
its magic spilling out.
Nothing to want, she believed
in the destruction of others.

She lived in her own mind,
chaos spitting fires.
With such calm dexterity,
her life she spent.
Smiling at all, she retreated
inwards to battles unknown.

They say: To everyone their own
skeletons infinite, worries unbound.
There is madness in every soul,
broken shards of every heart,
insurmountable pain in every brain.
There is madness everywhere.

The Banshee Lover

You, a woman of epic beauty:
long silver hair, shining under
the golden sunshine, brought
much devastation in my world.

A quiet soul, I was, living on my
own. You destroyed me.
They warned me of your
monstrosity. I shunned them.

I waited for the owl’s hoot
every midnight: my ritual.
My ears awaited your shrieks,
your wails. I prayed they’d
never recede, as someone’s
soul was delivered to hell.

Howling, moaning, screaming,
your voice imprinted on my
heart and soul. You owned me.
With every wail I heard,
a spark of dark, black flames
ignited. My soul turned to ash.

I prayed for you. I prayed to you.
My soul sold to the devil.
I screamed in my slumber.
No rest ever came hither.
I begged to catch one glimpse
of your deathly countenance,
and the sadistic heavens
nothing did, but listen.

They say beware of your heart’s
desires, but from the start,
it was already too late.
You came for me, my sweet.
You came for my soul’s heat.
Screaming and wailing at my gate,
you found nothing but a
cold hard stone heart.

I had nothing to give you,
you had nothing to take.
Ironic, isn’t it? You destroyed me
by failing to banish my soul-
so tainted by your love,
even hell rejected its darkness.
You were my life, I was your death.

Many a medals they gave me.
Brave, honorable they called me.
Little do they know, that I was
a devastation they should fear,
not honor: the banshee lover,
the banshee killer, the banshee
destroyer, the banshee’s betrayer.

Disclaimer: I do not own the artwork. It is “A Friendly Banshee; drawing by H.R. Heaton” retrieved from http://anna-marie-bowman.hubpages.com/hub/The-Banshee–An-Irish-Legend

Wicked Smiles

They smiled, looking askance,
a poisonous gleam shining
in those dark seductive eyes.
Conspiring, tempting, entrapping
all at once. There was menace
in those perfectly white teeth,
sharp as razors, a glint of pure evil.

There was laughter in their speech,
a devilish sound, so sweet, so perfect,
yet, so inexplicably wrong.
It was like honey, dark golden honey,
it was toxic, like a most
sinister poison. Our ears burnt
with the sweet miserable torture.

They summoned us to their dark dens.
We went with our hearts tempted.
They called us to do their bidding.
We slaved for hours knowing nothing.
Our souls were drawn, slashed and eaten,
yet, we smiled and nodded as if
in a trance, utterly destroyed.