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Archive for the ‘Rhythms’ Category

Beginning of the End

While you spread butter on your bread Early morning

he lies almost dead on his bed

Silently as you bite into the thick crispy creamy loaf

dropping little crumbles On the cold floor

of the hospital, strange feet walk in and Walk out

on your own blood, how could You

further sink into your seat, closing your eyes

memories of your childhood  Flashes

the monitor  screen with his heartbeats

He inhales sharply into the mask,

causing harsh shivers in motionless body

heart pinches with a sudden ache

A tear drop falls on the blue sheet

that dies instantly leaving A small circle

forms when you pick up your tea cup

from the marbled counter

You walk past the French Windows  where

Sun rays are falling into the cold,

gloomy room filled with lifeless people

present there not by choice but by The only option

you gave him was your Beginning

of his End

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All in my Mind

His arms are wide open

He smiles

Calling me to him

 

And it has been long

Since we last embraced

 

I smile back

I’m reaching out

I stop, dazed

 

This happens

For the countless time

 

It never stops, this mind

Playing wicked game

Behind the screen

He is still the same

 

His smile

It never fades

His eyes

They still shine

 

We still love and laugh

Still hold each other to sleep

It’s true, it’s magic

And it’s all in my mind

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Don’t look at me and

Wake the desires

Don’t search and don’t fumble

Over the thought which

If born,

is unlawful

Don’t come near, don’t touch, don’t feel

Any emotion that dwells in your heart

It’s a mere tool of pain

Seemingly how cautious you may get

It will finally hurt you, hurt your existence

No one escapes the whirlpool of fate

You are no exception

Don’t take a flight that

Separates you permanently

from your ground

I give no light

I am tainted

Helpless and afar

Anguish is

Weaved into my fate

Who knows

Let’s keep this distance

As the night grows
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I am no Different

I am different

I give up easily

I am lazy

I don’t stick on plans

I don’t have a plan

I like listening

I will learn

I don’t like changes

I am adaptable

I break hearts

I hurt often

I am strong

I am weak

I like laughs

I try harder

I fail

I succeed

I am trustworthy

I lie sometimes

I have a dream

I will fly

I will reach the sky

I am no different
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Love, Lost, Love

Love

Lost

A series of dots…

Pain

Endless

Question marks on a test

Passed or surpassed

Is not the quest

Pick your leftovers

And leave the rest

The rest

That remains

Is it the heart?

Or the soul?

Torn into million holes

Salty eyes

Aching for rain

Suffocate

Die

No gain

Endless

Pain

A series of dots

Lost

Love

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Empty cheap beer cans lined up like gangsters on the kitchen table while dirty dishes are piled up like side heroes supporting them for a good cause. Cigarette butts are scattered all over the place. Dust of ashes shining proudly on them. Some unlucky ones got squashed harshly on the table. Who cares where the bin is anyway!

What’s ironic is poor Lincoln’s old war poster on the wall calling out “I WANT YOU TO PUT OUT THAT CIGARETTE”.

Kitchen sink is a plateau of more dirty bowls and plates hoping to attract attention from their beloved owners but only succeed in getting it from the flies. Cold showers for at least a week and if you live in Block E, please check the drainage pipe for a leak.

One lonely breakfast morning I stared blankly at the walls and wondered what a dread living in halls is, away from your blood, locked in a small room, caged with your demons. Just as I begin to shift my gaze, a few strands of spaghetti stuck on the top right corner of the kitchen wall smiled meekly at me and whispered “don’t forget about us, we too have been here for a month and a half”. We shared similar thoughts I guess. I proceeded with my morning and passed Matt’s door which has a giant green colour tie stuck on it with thumb pins. In the middle of the tie, there is written in bold red “Kiss me, I am Irish”.

My mum always says that I should start my day with positive thoughts and I just remembered that there is another poster on the kitchen wall that has “WELCOME” printed on it in 50 different languages.

Drink now, puke later!

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Mordacity

Conscience has hit somewhere

Somewhere in the heart’s deepest corner

Its prickling has caused a crevasse

From where red vibrant penitence is flowing out

A lake has formed

Pearls of memories

Are scattering in this lake

Their movement has formed

A blurred reflection

That reflection is yours

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