Wednesday, December 14, 2011

I forsake ME


All the casualties I have left behind,
I hide them in the corners of my mind;
All the memories and all the pain,
I have learned a lot many things but the bitterness remains;
Don’t forsake me,
Why do you break me every time?
By judging and all the disarray,
You keep out trying me, but you are only pushing me away,
I don’t want to go, but I can’t have you here;
You are just another soul I am making disappear,
Don’t forsake me,
Before I forsake me.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

I have had enough


This time, when I get bruises,
I will not blow softly at my wound,
Nor try and distract myself,
I will let my pain grow;
I have had enough.
This time, when I feel it growing in me,
I will not hum a song to ease it,
I will let the it seep deep in my bones;
I have had enough.
This time, I won’t smear a balm,
Nor will I shut my eyes,
Nor will I turn my head,
At the sight of my naked wound;
I have had enough.
This time, when life comes tumbling down,
I will not have a superficial take on it,
I will let it become thorny and real;
I have had enough.
This time, I won’t sacrifice a single day at work,
Nor succumb to the comfort of my cocoon,
I will not let life retire to ease and peace;
I have had enough.
This time, my wounds need to be delved into,
Carefully,
With much patience,
Determination and decision,
I had to end it somewhere;
This time, I have resolved.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Journeying

I have come quite far, from where I was not before,
To have seen the things looking at me,
Through the all-open door…
And have walked at night all by myself.
To see moonlight as it seem as monstrous trees,
And shapes more fearful because,
I feared what I did not know…
To be continued….

Thursday, March 3, 2011

My visiting card reads… Copywriter


Every morning I indulge in an infinitely complicated and pointless ritual.
Where the note book is taken out with caution, so is the pen; the keyboard fingered, the pencil caressed, carefully lined up in the stand. Coffee is drunk, or not drunk. The window blind opened, closed or adjusted. The chair is raised, lowered, moved in, moved out or even replaced. The new funny looking spots on the neck is carefully inspected in the bathroom mirror; the scantily clad girl in the desktop of the colleague seated next is speculatively regarded.
Time moves on, and so does the pointless ritual, until the last moment can no longer be postponed. It’s time to start writing…