Once upon a nightmare, Under the oak tree, Gazing the October sky, Painted darker than black, I flumped onto the blood-red ground beneath me, Oozing melancholy of my gifted wounds, Asalia tears betraying my iris-coloured iris, And falling down on my lonely scintilla. The cold breeze ruffling through my grey furs, The rust lining my spine, The blackened sharp nails with bits of flesh, My intangible ugly halo shining bright. The darkness of this light hurts me, What am I? The screaming pain in my bones, Every full moon, Splitting my soul, one by two, And every time, The tinted truth in the glow of this darkness, Petrifies me, haunts me, The slices of life, smeared with death around me, The instant burning rage, When I switch into this animal, Failing to realise, The shrieking mistakes, The apologies lodged in my throat, The wailing human soul of mine, Through crevices in my heart, Can I still be forgiven? This isn’t my choice, It’s the nature’s imprisonment to me, The waning hues each time. The lone wolf in me is still breathing, Weary and frazzled, Curled up in her furs, My human side struggling to take over now, Waiting for the Night’s final veil, Perhaps, it’s over for tonight, As I see the sun rising, I notice my white skin coming back, I’m human now, Till the next full moon, Once upon another nightmare, A werewolf and her hopeless despair.
Few but all things will change, after this night of nightmares ends, the way we looked at the world and now we do, the death that seems new normal will haunt; the path we mustn’t have taken, the dread of death must have been stopped.
The boundary-wall of blood weaving its height and never looks down, the sprawling hands of death catching the light: an eagle who scavenge in town, Nothing to spare but to kill and drink, the blood of smiles, and flesh of hopes.
This darkness in lights and everything seems bright, so bright to see them tomorrow and day after, the passing days and unbearable tides.
The crushed tomorrow and cursed today, the night of deaths and moaning days, a death as dust and a thought embedded: nothing ever last is and it shall go, but imprinted on hearts will never fade away.
The divine ride of my bicycle through hazy humanity, innocent replica of tomorrow how dim witted!! slow-thicken and twisted, lullaby of lies we heard, melody of myths, each passing day subsides. the goodness, the beauty and the morale of life. ashes, ashes, all fell down.
Then ticked on the Life’s clock, adult reality, Full moon brings the darkest night agitated, for people are bats who sleeps upside down, they chant of modesty and truth fabricated, Deadly roses, delicate and sublime, The moment you see it, the moment you die. Ashes, Ashes, all fell down.
Truth is the rotten dung in the dumpster, Honesty is cowardice, love is miserable-lore, For I know the truth of the selfish bones, I lie. Assumptions, Beliefs and a relentless dream, of an ethical, modest and fascinating us, for you and I, we’re not the priest, Ashes, Ashes, all fell down.
Premise The possibilities of the livings drives them forward. With all the heart wrenching predicaments of life, they still breath, they still live it to the fullest…
Only in the glimmer of hopes…..the sparkles of probabilities….the happy ones, the fulfilling ones…All the hardships seems dwarf when the canvas of life projects beautiful prospects of future…
Especially to the ones which struggle to get mouthful of food….the shattered huts and the smelling arenas tell their stories of wrenched life….Still the poor lives…the eyes search for just one flicker of hope….flames of possibilities..
Here’s a piece to magnify this feeling….
Perhaps the armour of the poor is just a myth… Endless sufferings And Deep scratches on the soul, Yes indeed, it’s a rippling lie… The flashy cards flared up and the hollow promises, The deprived eyes and the questioning faces, The sunken cheeks which not blushes pink, The chapped lips, Far from being scarlet. The lost smiles and the tarnished thoughts, No cloudy dreams, In vicious cycle, they’re caught.. Necessities turned into needs Chirpings into wails, Knowledge means nothing And Oh! The ship that never sails.. Perhaps… Or indeed, if I say, The dreams of newborn, In these shattered walls, would end up in dismay… Perhaps..
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast, Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone, Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, and lang’rous waist! Faded the flower and all its budded charms, Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes, Faded the shape of beauty from my arms, Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise – Vanish’d unseasonably at shut of eve, When the dusk holiday – or holinight Of fragrant-curtain’d love begins to weave The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight, But, as I’ve read love’s missal through to-day, He’ll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.