You're here and breathing,
without explicit consent
but effortlessly
centered in chaos
and an inferiority complex
that triggers your neuroses
So you go around
pulling everything down,
because the four walls surrounding you did not feel like a home,
a home you wanted to build

But,

It is an echo chamber
for your fears
and the trauma you so lovingly carry within you
because you do not recognise your own body and your self without the pain
so you cut and you put it together
and you cut it down again

Things happen but you barely pay attention.
Sometimes you wake up
Seeing the colour fade
and do not recognise it,
the blue of the sky mocks you,
and they look at you and laugh,

but on your brain
get me a vacuum cleaner,
you think, and suck out all the
noise that clouds your head,

But pain to you is a succubus
Or at least shaped like one
and you do not want to let it go,
So you walk around pulling things down

and rearranging them, over and over again, scrubbing everything clean
But you're an echo chamber
and loneliness rings the loudest within you,
and the pain and hope it keeps you whole,

So you hold onto the inferiority
or at least some version of whole.

-

I have always loved it inside these four walls
Where I have build my halls.

One to sleep and one to work Another for light and then for dark.

The specks of dust on the door smiling at the evening rays
Remind me of something that forgotten for a very long time;
How I loved to show my drawings to
mom and get complimented.

The dancing motes in the
morning rays through the window
Are my flying dreams.

I have a major concern;
why this fan seems to be rotating clockwise and anti-clockwise at the same time?
Like that Of my ironical tangled thoughts.

My mirror has three names written, Of those who owned this room once.

At the top right corner of the roof, there is a Spider telling her break-up and Sing stories:
She Is my only company here.

We make a happy home below this roof.

-

I might talk in puzzles.
I might write in riddles.
It's because I fret..
Fret of being understood easily.
Fret of being known completely.
U must atleast try halfway down. to get to know me.

It isn't that Im self obsessed.
It isn't that Im complicated.
It's just that I want to know.
Know how far would you travel down my curvy roads?
How far would you try.. to read between my cliche lines?

And if you did so.
Only then would I drop down on my knees..
would whisper. in your ear.
About the real "me.

-

The monstrosity of monotony haunts me,
awake or asleep.

The mirror doesn't lie;
the reflection I see is a grotesque mask
over the pain of untold truth,
of the roles of both victim and villain.

Scars of time begin to show up,
Both inside and out,

The ink is drying up, the pages are blank;
In the silence of the surrounding
is a cacophony of voices.

Solitude brings back the images,
hazy, from the tides of time that have passed.

The deep hours spent in silence remembering your voice,
so full of desires and soul,
are now a testimony to the bonfire of love,
to the sadness without you.

I am awake with echoes,
with the illusions of your presence,

There is a simmering sadness inside me ,
Is it just a phase ? Or,
I'm in a totle mess !!

-

The concrete doesn't beckon to me
Neither does them alleys, no longer dark,
They hide the old monsters no more;
The call of the crickets,
The song of the birds,
The singing baul
In the cacophony of mechanical monsters
and soot covered colours,
somewhere in the tall and among the lights,
The magic is lost:

I'm lost.

Colours no longer feed my soul
The smell of shiulis are now a distant memory,
Will I live on as flesh, blood and bones,
or will I be concrete with them?

Will my soul be a replica of the gray?

There are too many lights down here,
Too many for my eyes,
Too many to stop you
From looking up at the moon and stars at night;

there is no darkness out here,
It is all inside.

-

Razor sharp rhetoric go slicing around
birthing a dichotomy,
There is now a us, there is now a them,
and burnt bridges now stand between
both:
No one sees the waters raging beneath,
calling us down into its whirlpools
that will take us away

Stop, listen and see,
they are us, and we are them...

-

Perhaps hell too is an illusion
drawn on to keep the masses in check,
to minimize the hurt we lay around.

Or what comprises hell is right here,
flowing across from one soul to the next
a gaping hole of desperation,
unending sagas of wounds
and scars.
Why do we do what we do,
cogs in the machine
hankering about, stumbling,
cutting, shedding skin,
renewing the lease every morning
stuck in a loop.
Bodies are tattered by bullets at one end,
souls are battered at another,
Battles are renewed, wars are fought,
little boys and girls float away on distant waters,

Cages now hold people on the run,
prodded and belittled, without agency.
Hell is here, right here,
within me, within you, within them:
All layers of it,
As Dante wrote;
What level are you on?

"The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't
exist...

-

Empty, stoic eyes stare back
questioning the truth hidden inside
the foolishly risen high stakes,
the starry skies it beheld once.
Lips pursed together,
Holding back on the kisses they once tasted:
Tea, nicotine and
lipstick...
An inherent hope
Ironic to the cynicism inside,
clings on to see through these eyes,
questioning the soul left alone,
in this deceitful world.

They called me a failure,
my art was burned at the
stake;
Flawed they said it was, just like me
just like they.

-

A blank paper stares back at me, and
I stare back at it,
helpless, wordless,
and soulless.

The ink pot is turned upside down,
my eyes follow the pattern of the fall:
reminds me of the Rorschach,
and all the things I don't understand.

Far off, a voice calls out my name,
demulcing the pain of the silent screaming,
I hear.
Stumbling feet approach the shut door,
banging fists beg me to open it:
reminds me of the love of my life,
and all the things I begged for ...

Wordless emotions, emotionless words
they seem different and ,
yet the same.

The banging has stopped, the shuffling feet are gone,
I'm left alone,
but for the blank page,
the inkless pot
and my wordless existence,

-

CIGARETTE

I don't know what my relation is to you ,
I find you as a light of hope in extreme
darkness ...
Probably because,
You were always there for me
In my cheerful days ,
In my Worse days ,
I used to take miles of striven walk ..
Just to feel you on my lips ,
You made me believe
I have the power
I have the courage
You hold the power to assemble all my wisdom ,
Spontaneous thoughts flow perennially....

But you "LIED"..,
you weren't giving me any powers
But taking it ...
You weren't rescuing me from problems
But dipping me ...
You were holding me back ...
You created worlds of illusions ..,
You promised my problem will fade away
as you fade in the ashes ...
But now the time has come for us to part ways ...
Live the Life that I always meant to
Fight and conquer my problems alone
It's time to resurrect and Prosper ...

-