Even as the tears threaten to trickle down the eyes,
The stubborn smile refuses to leave the face,
The stubborn hope refuses to leave the heart.
Tag: Poem
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Celestial Ballad
Photo by Vicentiu Solomon An unlikely friendship, theirs;
The Sun’s and the Moon’s.
It was the talk of the universe,
This strange celestial bond.
When stars wondered why
The Sun chose to light up
The Moon, unlit by herself.
The Earth wondered why
The Moon glowed brighter
In response to the Sun.
Was it an unequal bond,
The Moon wondered sometimes.
For the Sun was always constant,
His light never subject to time
Whereas the Moon changed in cycles,
Now waning, now growing.
“Allow me to light you”, said Sun,
“At all the times”.
“I’m afraid of favoring light”, said she,
“The dark finds its way”.
And so it did when once,
The Moon in her earthly duties,
Allowed distance so long between
That Earth came in the way,
And obscured all Moon’s light.
And when she came at last
Leaving the Earth right behind,
Moon cast a shadow so big,
The fiery radiance dimmed
And eclipsed, this time, the Sun.
The cycle swept her again,
And Moon started waning.
At last she was down to nothing,
No light of her own to guide her;
The Sun, a distant friend.
Would Sun now keep her light-less,
And shower his rays on others?
Would darkness be all she had,
Her only friend in regret,
For causing mayhem of eclipses?
She willed herself to burn
Like other stars, Sun’s equals.
She willed herself to cast light
And perhaps a higher power heard her,
For she saw her being illuminate.
Surprised, she found Sun’s rays reaching her.
Far though they may be,
They were enough to give her strength.
And Moon set about, now growing,
To find Sun across the caliginous sky.
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One Step Up
Photo by Gabriel Santiago There I was,
In the very depths;
I had hit, as they say,
Rock bottom.
It took so much time
To barely regain focus,
To prop myself up
On elbows, if not feet.
Miles below the surface,
I was surrounded by darkness.
The shadows hid horrors
Of past and future.
It took so much time
To slow down my breathing
And take a look around
Assessing my life.
I chose a jagged rock,
And took one step up.
The darkness was the same
Was a step really enough?
I curled up into myself
Losing all motivation.
It took so much time
To ignite a little fire.
With the flame of hope,
I took one step up.
Step after step I put.
Perhaps it was possible to reach out.
The flame burnt brighter
And then there was nothing.
For rocks had fallen suddenly
And I was back on the floor.
A rock had settled on my chest
The flame had flickered down to nothing.
It took so much time
To accept the fall again.
With the rock implanted in my heart
But the fire reignited,
I merged pain with hope
And took one step up, towards the sun.
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On Paper
It’s a relief to put everything on paper
And become a character in this tale.
So much easier than actual contemplating,
So less painful than looking in the mirror.
For when I’m on paper,
I can see the beauty in tragedy,
Literature in broken sentences,
A drama in the tear drops.
Perhaps it will help;
Becoming the character
And losing the self.
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What It Takes
Photo by Shane Colella Forever
It took me to forget
The knives that I threw;
Those double-edged words
Which hurt me and you.
And yet, here I am
After all this time,
Telling myself the same story
One more time.
“You remain as you were,
Making no changes.
You innocent fool!
Thinking you can rectify
The mistakes of your past.
Thinking that it’s the thought
That counts.
Thinking that your words,
New sentences
Will balm the wounds
You inflicted.
But words are not idempotent.
What you said once
May fade over time.
And what you said once
May negate all the rest.
And what you said once
May take hold of the heart…
Forever.”
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I Begin Again
Photo by Morgan Sessions With crushed hopes,
A wounded heart,
Depleted spirits,
I begin again.
With salty eyes,
A heavy mind,
Cynical thoughts,
I begin again.
There is but one desire;
To be better than today.
With a broken pen,
I begin again.
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There Was Nothing To Be Done
There was nothing to be done.
Nothing, except breaking it.
I took a deep breath;
It felt almost acidic.
Breathing hard, still,
I placed it in front of me.
Gathering all my strength,
I lifted that club.
You know the one;
It’s made of words.
The lethality of it is that
Each word is a weapon in itself.
Taking this club, then,
I moved towards it.
It was beating very fast,
Striving to survive.
Holding the club steadily
I inhaled one last time.
The astringent fumes
Nearly caused me to convulse.
But I squared myself
And brought the club down on it.
It broke into a million pieces
But strangely, contained life.
I looked at it in wonder.
The pieces were still moving.
The club slipped from my hands;
I could not do more.
But the acid had crept to my heart.
And there was really nothing to be done.
And there now lay two injured hearts,
One broken and one burnt.
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Black Hole
Photo via Google Images But when I see in the mirror,
All I see is a dark lake, stagnant,
Unchanging; where all paths end.
No new roads, no new adventures.
I see no glimpse of the ocean,
That you assured me you saw in me.
No vastness, no depth, no voyages.
You say you see sunshine in my eyes,
Lighting up everything around.
But when I see in the mirror,
All I see is a fire, harsh,
Burning, destroying everything in its way.
I see no evidence of Life,
That you claim is hidden in my soul.
All I see is a black hole,
Where the whole of you
Would cease to exist.
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The Empty Page
I wake up suddenly;
The remains of the nightmare
Form tiny beads of perspiration
On my forehead.
I shiver with cold
As I think of that page,
Sitting brightly on my desk
Smug in its blankness.
I tiptoe to the desk,
Not daring to turn on the light.
It glows in the dark though;
Its whiteness teases me.
I’ve had several such nights
Breathing heavily in front of it.
Willing myself to mar the white
And waiting in vain.
I burn with feverish passion
Now attacking it violently.
The pen slants across the page
For hours, I lash out at it.
The words pour out like blood
And then I slash them out,
Beginning anew,
Then turning old.
It is morning now,
My fervor has cooled down.
The paper bears the marks
Of my crimson ink.
The Writer's Nest 