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Waves crash, seagulls cawing,
All silent, universe aloud,
The Sun bidding farewell
to all those caring to look.
Distantly a ring, a bell
first signs of the existence of Man
came with schoolboys rushing
and a mast arising as a smudge
on the perfect horizon painted above.
x equals two
then four
then ten
then fifty
then one hundred million
whatever… who cares?
x should equal two
then zero
and stop at one.
These diverging equations
are breaking me apart,
my pieces are flying off
and never returning.
These iterations never
tend towards convergence,
if only there was a way
to truly find out:
the answer, the purpose.
Your mountains and your hills,
Your sunrise, your sunset,
Your waters, your rivers,
I wish I could have put them
all in a suitcase and stolen away.
There was a sweet smell
in your atmosphere;
the beautiful sounds of
your beautiful people.
I brought some of it with me.
I left some of me with you.
There was a white dream surrounded by black blotches.
The death of dreams is painful but nothing encompasses,
the bleeding heart that wails at a lost hope
that was hopeless since the beginning of a sad kaleidoscope:
this life with no color but black and white shards
of broken dreams that were never explored.
You stand near me from afar in a window;
the hope that surrounds the empty tears on my pillow,
resonate your hopeless aura in that silhouette framed
in a picturesque darkness of desires inflamed.
The white dreams turn into a dark red nightmare;
blood flowing out our hearts without care,
and we die a little, no screams heard,
just a passing wind, carrying broken wings, but no birds.
And I hope with a heaving heart for a lost cause,
and you move on into a new window with a new vase
that caught your eye, and I stand here deprived,
of a dream that was never meant to be strived
for or against in this world of blackness
that has no light and melts only into a pool of sad demented darkness.
A/n: Inspired by a beautiful painting I saw by Shen Wei today! Hope you enjoy!
گلِ بہاراں، چمکتا چہرا تیرا
ہنسی تیری، مسکراتا چہرا تیرا۔
کدموں کی چاپ، بھاگنا دوڑنا تیرا
شور و غل تیرا، ڈانٹ دینا میرا۔
کہاں گیا وہ زمانہ میرا؟
دنیا خالی خالی سی ہے تیرے بنا
ننھا سا فرشتہ کہاں رب سے جا ملا۔
جیسا بھی تھا دیس میرا
مٹی کی خشبو میں ماں تو تھی
کہتے تھے سب پردیس اچھا
کمی تھی تو کیا، اپنی تو تھی
وہاں کچھ نہ تھا، پر ماں تو تھی
یہاں سب کچھ بھی ہو تو کچھ نہیں
جب نہ یہ در اپنا، نہ زمیں اپنی
گویا کھو گۓ سے ہیں، نہ خبر اپنی
Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, for us,
too good to be true, oh no,
too much to be hope, for long.
Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, as us,
locked in a world, our own,
too far gone, to really know,
what was inside and what not.
Did you ever think, my dove,
there was such a thing, as love,
glee captured inside, outside,
too much to be thought, as fun.
Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, as too much,
sweet on the inside, outside,
middle, up, every which where,
chocolate suffocating us.
A/n: Too much of a good thing can never be really a good thing. This one was inspired by a long forgotten conversation. Have a great week you all! 🙂
Let us smile at the thought of smiling.
If for but one day?
Yes.
It hurts for me to see you bleed.
But you must bleed.
Oh you must bleed.
It aches deep
when I hear you scream.
But you must bleed.
Oh you must scream.
It kills me to break your dreams.
But love, you must bleed
and rot midst broken dreams.
It hurts for me to see you bleed.
But you must bleed.
Oh you must bleed.
And yet you still dream,
such strange wild dreams,
and say I must dream,
oh, I must dream.
Aren’t all my rights close to all your wrongs?
Aren’t all my words near your silence of long?
We never talk, yet we have the same say.
We never see the other, yet we look the same way.
The winter chill that creeps around me,
whispers songs of love to your cold heart that noone sees.
The summer bloom in your garden glorious
meets my warm blood on walks clandestinely amorous.
But, all your wrongs are all my rights
and all my silences are your words’ delight.
There were no words,
no verses, no songs.
Just a barren space
in that lonely heart,
wounded by despair-
foreign yet of-blood.
No poems were written,
no stories were told.
Songs were left unsung,
All words. Yet, unread.
Only a dark black cloud
shrouded the small sweet soul.
Then lightening struck,
a beating thunder heard,
words showered down,
from the dark black cloud
on the small sad soul,
engulfing every cell,
every wound, every thought.
Despair forgotten
words were written,
songs were sung,
stories undone.
As the cloud cleared,
the sun shone
on the once barren land.
Words were everywhere,
blooming, flourishing
in the garden of HOPE.
Before you, there was Doubt.
Apart from a momentary bout
of cursory resistance,
there was no promise of existence.
After you, there was Hope.
My soul did elope
with ideas dangerously close
to Trust’s ballad, “La Danse de Morose.”
I
A knight on the road to Avalon
travelling on a stallion bold.
His armor shone bright,
unending valor printed in gold.
Swords raised up high,
many followed him a blind,
but he hath no sword to carry nigh.
His weapon was not of the hand,
his arms were his tongue-
an orator with a power so grand,
many a people he did move.
Faeries plenty, trolls abound,
Ogars so ugly, mermaids tempting,
little green goblins with their magical sparks,
even demonic princes followed him around.
His mind was clear, a direction known,
his wisdom plenty to win hearts so cold.
Fearless he was in his ventures many,
daring enough to take the dreaded plunge.
II
But those times were dark,
bad magic in the air suffocated his people,
so the King of Avalon called upon the knight.
But as all knights have a rise,
they also have a fall.
The King-a humble faery knew not
the power of the mice.
The mice with their nibbling
hath deprived many a faery, crippling
their flight into oblivion.
“A grounded faery is a dead faery!”
The knight proclaimed in agony,
the faeries lamented.
“But a dead faery can’t be hunted,
a dead faery can’t be killed!”
The knight cried,
the faeries cheered!
But the mice are funny creatures.
They heard not the noise of any but the piper.
They sniffed and scurried to the ‘dead’ faeries dens.
They ate their food and squeaked them into madness.
The mice were smart too.
They knew who to thwart to win the war.
They broke the spirits of the faeries,
they broke the knight of the faeries.
At midnight, they squeaked and scurried
under the knight’s slumber bed.
They danced there in unison with
the mice in nightmares of the faeries.
They danced and danced and squeaked aloud.
They scurried about sniffing out the dream mice
from the slumber sand in the eyes of the faeries,
and sprinkled them in the eyes of the knight.
III
The knight saw nothing but mice.
Mice under his bed,
scurrying over his dinner,
sniffing through his kitchen,
but mostly he saw them in his head.
They were the sins in his mind’s sinner,
they were the pain in his heart- bitten.
The knight traveled in his dreams,
he lost sleep and gained nightmares.
His mind spoke in screams
as he lost all hope in faeries
and the faeries lost all hope in him.
The mice scurried through the mind of a broken man,
victorious in their sly cunning plans.
There it was, life:
rose petals showered
on a bed,
so beautifully red.
Red, red, red,
and under, unhindered
was a knife.
Thoughts are endless.
I thought I would leave it.
But you evaded perception.
Surprises are surprising.
And you surprised the unsurprising.
I thought you would know.
I dreaded you would find out.
I wanted you to not to.
But you did.
Thoughts are endless.
I thought you would stay.
But you elude me now.
You leave before I leave.
The good die young.
The best leave early.
And you were the best of worst of the best.
You thought I wouldn’t know.
I dreaded to know.
I wanted not to.
But I did.
Thoughts are endless.
I thought they would diminish.
I thought these paths shall be cleared.
But thoughts are thoughts.
They are flimsy.
They are airy.
They can’t be caught.
They can’t always be brought to life.
We were defeated.
Our sword thrown down endless chasms of hopeless conjectures.
Our hope was crushed.
Our souls were beaten.
Tears were shed.
You never dreamed to see mine.
I always dreaded to see yours.
But dreams and dreads are all flimsy too.
Because we want tears not to be shed.
But they are.
I never knew rhyme,
but you were my rhythm.
And now, my sweet,
I am losing you-
I am losing my rhythm.
Some dreams are meant to be crushed.
An ax to the heart-veins cut, arteries gushing.
Some thoughts are meant to be shushed.
A clamp to the tongue, invisible in the head.
Some dreams are meant to be crushed.
A club to the mind that yearns to be undone.
A/n: This week’s theme is for my “Thoughts” or statuses: “Three words say” 🙂
Boiling in a pool
of blood lay the queen of dreams,
killed by her own hand.
People are people,
nothing more; nothing lesser.
But some are special.
Obsession is found
with oblivion; existing
harmoniously.
Who are we if not
lost creatures of God on earth,
wondering adrift?
A/n: So “Haiku” week begins here on atopsyturvyworld.wordpress.com! 🙂
Childhood days-
breezy memories.
Our parents’ youth,
many moments merry.
Let’s forget not,
in this life- a mere reverie.
A/n: That’s it, the last post under the week’s theme. I had a lot of fun with it and judging by the support I got I am hoping you did too! Do let me know what you thought. 🙂 If anyone has any suggestion regarding future themes, feel free to share.
Starting from tomorrow, the theme of the week will be “Haiku“. So enjoy! 🙂
That gentle waft
of a nightshade’s
perfume-
dark, ethereal,
beautiful-
kisses my senses
and disappears
into memory.
Sometimes, all it takes is a gentle nudge,
to topple over to the other side of sanity.
Tomorrow’s lies,
today’s errs.
Tomorrow’s pain,
today’s lies,
yesterday’s strain.
A year from now,
all but forgotten.
Their restless
rumba of
faithless
conjectures
did nothing
to dissuade her.
But his one
move changed
the very
meaning of
faith.
A/n: Small little reminder. This week is all about the HeartSoup hashtag from twitter. Enjoy and if you wanna share something you have written, you are welcome. Just leave a link in the comments below! 🙂
Saline pearls,
coursing
down smooth
skin,
culminating
into the
naked taste
of grief
on his tongue.
My words
leave invisible
stains
of blood
gushing
out of a
broken heart.
A/n: This week is all about twitter’s #heartsoup.
If you are a micropoetry fan on twitter, you’d know that everyday there is a prompt under the tag. Hope you enjoy!
A reckoning it was,
that we were mismatched.
Swore not to go there,
swore to move on,
promised myself to
let you go.
But…
But…
I couldn’t hold back,
checked once again.
And there it was
the most beautiful things
written for the world to
see and perceive.
But…
But…
I couldn’t keep hoping,
I couldn’t keep waiting.
‘Impossible,’ my mind
persuaded the heart.
‘Let go. Let go.’
The heart chanted.
But…
But…
‘One more peek and
that is it.’
The heart pleaded;
the mind conceded.
There it was,
a surprise for both.
But…
But…
‘I thought I knew you.
I thought I had you figured,’
poor mind thought.
But…
But…
‘I felt you weren’t so.
I felt you were different,’
poor heart felt.
‘I don’t want to fall
harder than before!’
They both exclaimed.
A/n: ‘Poe inspires Poetry’ is the theme my friends. If you want to share something related to the theme of the week, leave a link in the comments below and I promise to read and leave a comment. Also, to encourage sharing, I promise to reblog the best poem shared under the week’s theme.
Today’s poem was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s poem, “A dream within a dream.” I hope you can spot the connection. 🙂
A Topsy Turvy World 