The Blues

Not a word to say.Nothing to unravel this grief.

Unfathomable reasons for this bed of thorns.  

Piled up detriments and prejudices.

Heart can bare no more scars. 

Heavy with dubiety, faith and hope.

Solitude is all that is known. 
Kith and kin around,

yet lonesome dawns upon.

Maw’s become numb, 

tired asking for help

and asking to lend ears. 

Not one to trust. 

Not one to heed the wounds. 
No, it is not an itch to scratch 

or a burn to iatric.

A dark cloud shrouding,

a soul to heal, 

nights to cry 

and days to muse. 

Living in disguise.

Eccedentesiast, that’s what you call. 
Hollowness and blemishes under the eyes

Colours faded to grey. 

Monster haunting within. 

Hands cut and dog-tired.

Notice any of it? 

Hear it doing the talking? 

No? Then don’t bother calling it dim witted. 
To those in agony;

Every dark cloud has a silver lining,

Every caterpillar was stuck for better.

Fate is bad? That’s just a cliche. 

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Dismay.

Trust me. 

said the vibes,

making pseudo aura.

left me with awry tenor.

Trust me.

said the beautiful meadows of daffodils,

looking embarrassed, it shrivelled

as autumn came.

Trust me.

said the stars,

they set off at dawn.

trust me.

said my psyche,

“NO” screamed my guts.

It held back from leaving the world. 

Trust me.

said hope.

been hoping ever since.

“hope kills” is what some say,

“just hope” is what others say.

Trust me.

said people.

this time not being a glaikit,

I said, trust me. 

I’m tired and hopeless, 

a shrivelled flower, 

a faded star and

losing myself.

here I am, chaotic.

For once,

trust me,

leave me alone.

Bitter Memories.

She was like a baby kangaroo wanting to have a mother’s pouch to cramp in when he came but had to compromise to cramp under the blanket pretending to sleep. Dark nights and dark days too. Who knew she was a traumatised kid with her parents horrifying her with screams and blood? Scared to tell him she is hurt because he would pulverise her. Never were they there for their child. Question her for being quiet? Blame her for being silly? Question her for being an introvert? Question her for not being able to render emotions? Don’t. Blame her wellsprings. They Killed her. Vanished her. Today, she is feeble. Not one to not call her silly, not one to fathom and not one to love her. Memories are bitter too.