Rainbow

Your sweet face to these blind eyes
is like a rainbow in the night.
Beautiful, is it? Really?
If no one sees it, no one feels it?

A/n: The image is from http://massively.joystiq.com/2009/01/16/one-shots-rainbows-at-night/

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He Didn’t Know

He played with words,
she merely recreated.
But he didn’t know that
she recreated perceptions of him.

He was an artist,
she merely painted images.
But he didn’t know that
she painted images of him.

He wanted to conquer the world,
she merely wanted to get him.
But he didn’t know that
she could fight the whole world to get him.

He wanted to travel the seven oceans,
she merely wanted to meet him.
But he didn’t know that
she could travel a million oceans to meet him.

He wanted to see the universe,
she merely wanted to meet his eyes, once.
But he didn’t know that
to meet his eyes, once,
she could travel to the farthest of stars
in the farthest of galaxies.

A/n: The image is of the Antennae Galaxies and was retrieved from wikipedia. 🙂

Lunar Eclipse

I

Travelling through a land of tales
I came across a lady pale.
White skin, white hair,
she shone so bright
like the lunar queen of the night.

Entranced I stared at her
wise wasted beauty.
With fluid gesture
she summoned me to her.
I, stuck, almost a fixture
was released to move closer.

“What does a lady wizened
do in a land so treacherous?”
I uttered, my voice low,
my head bent
and my heart drumming.
But she smiled
a sad lonely smile.

“What does a child, full of youth,
do inquiring on  a lady ancient?”
Chastised, I lowered my gaze,
face reddening, I sealed my lips.
Her glowing holy face saddened.
Her unseeing eyes lost in a haze.

“I once lived on the sad side of the moon,
I used to spin a wheel of yarn,
embedded with my imaginings.
A beautiful man, disguised as a boon,
came across me in all his glory.
Tall, dark and handsome,
he was like the hero of some story.

He promised me eternity,
he promised me glory,
he promised me endless beauty.
I was tempted by his tongue,
I was enamored by his grandiose.
I was blinded into trust
and I was fooled into misery.

He took me away from Selene,
where I used to dwell alone,
and married me to Gaia,
where I now reside, so lonely.”

aaaa

II

Her sad voice crippled me,
I murmured, “He should rot
for lying to a woman such as you.”

Magnanimous laughter
left her throat.
A guttural sound,
so ominous,
made my soul shiver.

“Oh child, blame him not
for my misdoings.
A lie, he never told,
a promise, he never broke.
It was I, who was tempted,
it was I, who was fooled.
I ate the apple,
whence, he only offered.

He sucked my soul,
because I let him.
He made love to my desires,
because I asked him.
He took me away from craters
and brought me unto rivers;
showed me peeks, so high,
and valleys, so low;
made me kiss the green grass,
and listen to the Quail’s song.

I was in love with the idea of him;
I lusted after a life on Earth.
Many years alone I’d spent,
waiting for an angel like him,
to rescue me from the Lunar Queen,
and bring me to this Blue Rock.

III

I, in my haze of love and lust,
forgot about poor Selene.
Abandoned, she cried,
but no tears she shed.
Rage rippled through her soul,
but no fires were burnt.
She had nothing to give,
she had no power, to take.
Her borrowed light grew intense,
as she drew closer searching for me.

Storms frequented-
waters disturbed, winds blew,
lives disrupted.
Earthlings cried,
losing hope, abandoning sense.
“The wrath of Poseidon is upon us!”
They took my love from me,
sacrificing him on a cross,
claiming his dead soul
would sate Poseidon.

O! But what knew, they?
Naught of loyalty or love,
treachery or hate.
They knew only of survival,
of myth and hearsay.
Selene’s anger was for me,
she cared not for my love.
She entrapped me in her storms,
and lightening upon lightening
hit my heart, every bolt crippling me.
Nothing was fair, everything was,
even poor Zeus was bent and powerless
to the demands of a broken Selene.

IV

I was deprived of beauty’s sight,
of love and lust, of feeling at all.
My beauty was ripped apart,
sickened, diseased.
And this spinning wheel
was thrown right through
the eye of the storm.
I sit here and spin all day,
as I used to on the moon,
and Selene, the Queen,
stays sated for now.

I raise my eyes to the sky,
imagining a star shining bright,
hoping for their wrath
to rip me of eternity,
and deliver me to the land beyond:
where I can look upon him again,
the reason for all good and evil
in my existence till now.
They promise never to leave you
but that isn’t a promise to be made,
for no angel is greater
than the angel of death,
and no power greater
than the wrath of abandonment.”

She grew quiet,
perhaps, forgetting me.
I wiped tears from mine eyes,
and with a shattered voice uttered,
“But there is no power grander
than the power of love.”
She shook her head and laughed,
“And there is no illusion stronger
than the thought of dreams coming true.”

I shivered as the cold breeze hit me,
“You better be off, child.
Go find a dream worth dreaming,
and fool yourself too.
For this life is meant for the foolish.
Only the foolhardy live,
others just exist.”

Something in her words shook me
and I felt the urge to run.
Never looking back again,
I only heard a voice sing,
“Living is for the foolhardy,
existing is for the sane.
Life is just a sad party,
existence is but a pain.”

A/n: I hope you enjoyed my story, do let me know what you thought! 🙂
As always credit for the images need to be given: the beautiful images were taken from the following pages. 
http://www.fotolog.com/evanesciente2005/13848524/
http://morenoburattini.blogspot.com/2011/11/la-luna-di-traverso.html
http://kaialtair.blogspot.com/2011/12/long-dark-nights.html

Happy holidays in advance to everyone out there. Stay blessed! 😀

Why do I always fall for the impossible?

He sat on the edge of her bed. Even though there were a million flowery scents in the air, the room still reeked of death. There was nothing there for anyone to find except a torn page out of her diary, brutally ripped in anger or anguish. It was written in a flourish or a frenzy of emotion, but it was old. Not truly a suicide note, not anything else.

It was just a excerpt out of her life. It was just a glimpse into the depths of her soul. It was benign text born out of some turmoil. It was a treasure of words won after a bloody battle. It was a useless piece of death. It was nothing. It was everything. It was the only thing.

He had visited her room ten times before for a clue to any foul play. He found none. Every single visit just revealed more misery, deprivation and insanity. He had put his cap and badge on the table,where they shone with authority. He felt none of that. Looking down at the torn page, he felt helpless. He felt empty.

I wish I could concentrate on things other than you, but for some inexplicable reason, all I think about, all I dream about, all I live through is you. It is not a normal thing. It is not acceptable, it is almost sickening, but I cannot shun you or your thoughts. I cannot forget you. I cannot let go of your thoughts. I cannot let go of you. You are the one constant in my life that I want so desperately to vary. You are my undoing, my destruction, my loss, my everything.

I prayed that either you would be thrown in my life, or thrown out of my head. Neither happened. I am losing faith in myself. No one knows of the future. All I know is that it should be deprived of you, because you are going to be the death of me.

He did not wonder who or what she was referring to. He only wondered one thing. He only asked one question:

Why do I always fall for the impossible? 

A/n: The image does not belong to me at all. It was retrieved from this amazing blog
—> http://halfwaybetweenthegutter.wordpress.com/2012/05/21/depression-why-opening-the-curtains-can-cause-more-suffering-and-other-advice/

What Is To Write – Guest Post By Anum Safique

I had the great opportunity and honor to be invited as a guest author at newauthoronline.com by my fellow author Kevin Morris. Check out my post and do pay a visit to Kevin’s lovely blog! 🙂 🙂

newauthoronline

Many thanks to Anum Safique for her excellent guest post. Anum’s blog contains a wealth of poetry and other writings many of which have a dark and/or a mysterious theme. You can visit Anum’s blog here, https://atopsyturvyworld.wordpress.com/

 

 

What is to write?
Writing is not so different from reading. It is only a stronger dose of catharsis. Picking up a beautiful book to read that makes you cry and laugh at the same time, that brings out pent up emotion can be wonderfully relieving. However, it can never match the experience of bleeding out your feelings through the pen.

As a young girl, I used to read fantastical stories about fairies and witches, magic and dragons. I used to love reading about parallel worlds and imaginary creatures. I remember there was a time that I used to live my life through the eyes of Harry Potter, wishing for…

View original post 635 more words

Who are they?

images (1)

The genius in love with you,
the jock you had a thing for?
The vanilla scented drama queen,
the quiet, lonely, plain girl?
The bully of the neighborhood,
the kind-hearted philanthropist?

The leader, a great orator;
his short-sighted martyr?
The dictator, the king,
the slaves of the world?
The good, the evil,
the real in between?

‘Who are they?’
I ask.
‘Who were they?’
I implored.

‘Beating hearts,
lungs contracting,
living,
breathing,
bleeding,
dying,
laughing,
crying,
screaming,
shouting,
whispering
people.
Just people.’

A/n: The image is of a painting titled “Netherlandish Proverbs” by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. It was created in 1559. This painting is also known as ‘The Topsy Turvy World’, 😉 and in many ways fits perfectly with some of the concepts behind my humble little blog.

Also, I would just like to thank you all for reading my silly little poems and leaving behind such lovely comments. You guys are awesome! 🙂 Thank you so much! 🙂

The Quantum Blizzard

This is a queer existential dimension:
Who were mere boys a second past,
have transformed into men,
and who were but little girls,
into grown women.

Time, eternal and everlasting,
stays static, stuck on the same,
yet moving, always moving on.
‘What is’ becomes ‘what was’
quicker than you can say ‘It is.’

Infancy blossoms into youth,
and youth wilts into wisdom.
But wisdom is outdated,
so it is shunned for what
shall be ‘what is’ for a millisecond.

Life falls into death,
and death into nonexistence.
But one wonders, sometimes,
if anything ever really existed at all?

As dawn turns to dusk,
and young men to dust,
who knew, if ever, anything
really was, ‘what is’.

Perhaps, we are all shadows
of a fickle, intangible present.
Perhaps, nothing exists,
perhaps, everything just existed.

A/n: The image was retrieved from: http://coolinterestingstuff.com/is-time-travel-possible-documentary