Search

I'm slightly hedonistic and writing makes me happy

Category

poetry

Lost in the woods

Three witches in the forest of my mind,
Cornered me and in my ear they whispered,
“This concoction, my boy, is the one you need.
Don’t question us, nor are we in want of your
answer, your future is to where this will lead.”

Swish and swirl went the pungent contents
Of their cauldron, bright green and then red.
With sealed lips I did what they told me to;
The events cast no shadow, am I to blame
For the damage and despair that followed?

My comeuppance arrived in the form of
Dark bruises on her arms and her mind.
I’m not unwilling to share the burdens,
For it was my crime and she got the punishment.

Both of us can only hope for a revaluation
Of what we truly deserved, maybe it’s time
I question the alchemy of my potions,
Created by those who fly into the moon;
And cut down the trees that are harbingers of doom.

Blindly

Staying Afloat

Only pretence can benefit me now;

the denial of my menacing future

allows my chest to rise and fall.

Without this charade, my mind

would be trapped in the web

of perilous thoughts that won’t

permit me to function unerring.

But it’s the malfunctions that

brought me here, to this reality;

playing pretend won’t debug

the code that I executed and

poetry won’t change the fact

that I am my own programmer

that failed to render commands.

And there I go again, blinded

by my past follies, consumed by

want of restart or rewind buttons

that I forget the futility of it all.

Refusal to acknowledge most

of this unsightly machination,

helps me stay autonomous

and mobile, it hinders me

from drowning in the lake

of my own culpability and

destroying my motherboard.

 

This is me if I can’t be

BLUE

take a well suited canvas of a choice not yours,
squeeze out a blob of the sky from a tube;
feel the familiarity of your mother’s kind eyes.

Take more and more out till you tremble
with the cold that it leaves behind quietly.
Listen! They teach you how to hold the brush,
and they might tell you what to draw too.

You think carelessly, ‘let me learn and do
as they say and do as they do.’ Biggest
mistake you ever made, you lament years later
when the acrylic has dried and there it lies,
your art, gathering dust above your firm sofa.

You don’t know how to draw without references
or scales and erasers, you wish you could.
Somehow it hurts so much more because
few others rebelled and coloured beyond
the borders and made a beautiful mess.
While you stay inside this cage of conformity.

Now they expect you to do great things, now,
they’ve let go of your hands but your mind
is tied and no one ever taught you how to undo
the knot. All you can do is play the blame game
and wonder why you didn’t throw a tantrum;
why your parents didn’t try to tame you.
Constant, like a drumbeat, these thoughts.

RED

Let’s try something new, it’s time for change.
Pour in a touch of red on the palette, it’s so
warm and inviting! You can feel it melt away
little by little the glacial thoughts in your mind.
Dip your brush in water, mix and mix till
the water turns blue and gets out of your hair.
Your mind is clear, you smear the red around.

For once, you try to make wayward patterns.
You have nothing left to lose, so go to town
with the swirls of red that whisper your name.
They’re passionate and refreshing and
beautiful and aggressively so; they glow like
the moon, the size you were meant to grow.

So you take and take and then some more,
till your canvas is the crime scene it always
felt like, except now it looks it too. You’re
learning to bleed and it hurts much less so,
Than when you were breaking bones, moulding. 

You’re finally doing everything wrong but it’s
all right. They wanted this from you but never
do they preach what they mean. Nothing ever
means what it reads. But now, you know better.

One more enthusiastic stroke, and suddenly
there’s no longer only red. A darker colour
of bitterness and regret has stained your hands.

PURPLE

Madness, madness is what that was, later
you come to realise, when you see the
array of ruined clothes and canvases.

You had scared the others yet again,
but this time for novel reasons that you
still don’t completely understand.

All your mistakes and merits are on display
but no one seems to notice either, turns out.
Everything is as blank as the day you joined,

That fateful class, surrounded by strangers
who grew to be more, but you never did;
White lies, they give you balance, lavender.

You can’t keep staring at the ruins forever,
no one will bother even if you do stop but,
stopping was never an option, was it?

Clear the room, make it as empty as you,
start over, but don’t forget, never forget.
Pick up your paints, and your brushes.

And don’t you ever put them down. Now,
you will use more colours than do exist,
and you will do more than just breathe.

void heart

my heart is void of it’s quadrants, there is just a gaping hole. nothing touches the endocardium, my heart should collapse. but here i am stuffing things into it and hoping i feel complete. it’s like a jigsaw puzzle. and everyday i find a new piece. but what i talk about here is where my heart fits in. it lives in the tiny spaces between reality and pain and guilt. where it can stay safe. and illusioned. temporarily.

tiny loopholes lay

where my heart can be content

just for a jiffy

me, writing a haiku after rejoicing that those RT for luck, ignore for years of bad luck, your family dies and your dog eats their corpses and dies too and the world implodes and you fail have a loophole. If you are made anxious by them, you can RT / share and then immediately delete them. Or well. Acknowledge them. Hence, you’re not ignoring them. There. Problem solved. Or, don’t be an asshole or don’t share them and put others in a place of anxiety and paranoia if you can help it.

happy belated poetry day
talk to me on twitter (@anushwah)

Wait

Stop measuring
the circumference of
thighs and using the
same measuring tape
recreationally as a noose
around the neck that
creases, holding up
that massive weight;
no more than the world
rests on those broad
shoulders that don’t fit
beneath any dainty dress.

And the ones that do,
fail to impress whilst
a pile lies untouched,
nibbled on by moths
in closed closet corners.
Take your fingers out,
use them to create!
You must, even though
every thing big and
small that fails to be
a part of the present,
every goal, every dream
begins with a “when”.

Maybe it’s time you
stop making your
dreams contingent.
Maybe you’re too
focused on the wrong
numbers. The clock
is ticking, and all you
do is stare at the scale
in utter dismay. Your
eyes barely stray away,
you’re missing out on
so much. Maybe it is
time to force your head
to look around and find
the beauty you fail to see
within yourself.

 

Happy new year!

I’ve been dreading the thought of the zero’s lining up on the 24 hour clock because I realised that there was much about me that I need to change this year. Because, well, new year is just a thinly veiled excuse to make those amends we should’ve made ages ago, but didn’t. The idea that we can change ourselves regardless of the planet’s movement is brilliant but too overpowering for me. So I guess I’ll stick with the whole overrated ‘New Year, new me!’ shite for now.

So let’s see what I need myself to be this year –

  • better achievements in the future near
  • learn from the slate, not wiped clear
  • don’t avoid the dark, don’t you fear!
  • you can afford to be a bit more queer..
  • be considerate to those who are to you dear.
  • sometimes, when you have to, do sneer.
  • don’t let anyone at you leer.
  • to your instinct, please do hear!
  • don’t lie to yourself, dissolve the veneer.
  • please, no more self destructive behaviour
  • and maybe for now, say no to the beer
  • stop doubting yourself, you’ll have a career
  • (at some point surely)

other irrelevant things I should change include – less whining and dining lmao, no crying, no comparing, no dying and all that good stuff ya?

Lost Magician

[11/11 12:59 am] And finally, for my last trick
[11/11 1:00 am] I will turn into ashes
[11/11 1:00 am] Become one with the earth
[11/11 1:01 am] Watered by the tears on their eye lashes
[11/11 1:02 am] At the end of the final act
[11/11 1:03 am] The curtain falls down but they wait for me to come back
[11/11 1:06 am] Grumble something about plant rebirth and leave, does the audience
[11/11 1:07 am] But never was I there to begin with, you can’t wait for the return of what ‘I’ did lack
[11/11 1:09 am] I’ll continue to stay away, persistently hitting a wall of brick.
[11/11 1:10 am] Don’t miss me too much or they’ll declare you too sick.

Missed Connections

Testing one,

“Can you hear me?” You nod your head.

Not lies, no. Maybe you can, but won’t listen.

I wonder, would you jerk at the sound of me,

crying and screaming in frustration;

Or to the sardonic laughter that erupts

from my throat at these thoughts?


Testing one, two,

I don’t think you want to talk at all,

is that it? Why else would you stall

and pretend to be around, not?

There’s a piece missing. 2 hands long,

used to lie between us; that has

decided to go play hide and seek,

like we used to.


Testing one, two, three,

Everything was such a blur, or was that

an excuse? Even if it was, no worries!

My heart lies with you. I cannot antagonise

the image of your self even if I wanted to.

The line between understanding and self

destructing is thin, but it will have to do.


Testing one, two, three, four,

how many more? I’ve given you so much,

almost too much, one should exclaim!

But I will continue to do so and with impunity

you will be awarded for all you had given back.

The self preservation is kicking in,

yet I never, ever know when to stop.

I will make you talk.


Testing one, two, three, four, five,

finally you open your mouth! But

no sound seems to escape from within.

A half hearted groan seems to be it.

For a moment I mistake you for a git, and

perhaps the miss was when I decided

that you were an angel of some sort.


Testing one, two, three, four, five, six.

This is it, I know better than to try now,

for if something is to happen? It will,

after the trials. But futility, of any future

endeavours will be in your hands and of

the past? In the snapped red string

sutured around our necks. 

not sure but this might’ve been a response to this prompt lol

Closer

Dear heart, don’t let yourself be lost.

The scientists say we have a chance,

stay where you are, time is the only cost.

Wait it out, enjoy it now, this time sans us.


Thoughts of you were my only indulgence,

bold, but bordering on blushing, I was spent.

I had my treat, now I await my comeuppance.

Those walls around me? You did more than dent.


The constant shaking, waiting, taking, loving;

wash, rinse, repeat, it was all too good to be true.

Prerequisite to me, surprisingly unheard of to you.

Lifted me up, dusted me and convinced me, in lieu.


Drifting closer and closer were we, au contraire?

Spent: my days with an eye out for the northern lights.

I looked away at all the right times, yet you felt my stare.

Eyes: red as the blood pumping in my heart tonight.


Everything ended as fast as it had commenced,

because I fell too fast, too hard, and you didn’t too.

My eyes burn again, but due to different intents.

No northern lights or music to remind me of “Who?”


But you did as I said, you enjoyed it well! Too well

perhaps, but maybe to you this was but a test, so

don’t worry about me, only time will heal and tell;

the tunes and colours will put another to rest.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑