Madness

This madness in my veins; just rushes around without aim,

causing my heart to shudder and gallop.

This singularity called ‘Love’,

slowly creeps in,

and turns my world upside down.

I’m me…but not so much,

maybe another who seems,

elated and blue at the same time.

Can anyone else see you with my eyes,

when your lips curl briefly before a smile,

the corners of your sad eyes crease,

like they’re too far to feel the joy?

Your eyes avoid my camera as if

a bit of you will be lost forever in the image.

My mind is bound

by self-imposed diktats.

But my heart is another matter;

it chooses to mock, defy and question my resolve.

My moral compass has gone askew,

ever since the day I met you;

it’s a radical and compelling swing.

But I don’t want to change a thing.

Your body is a map for my sensory exploration.

I hold the thoughts of you, close, like some precious gem.

Each moment so vivid; as if you’re right here.

The rush powers me up all day.

Wrong, right, blah blah, hold back or give in?

When I see those eyes, your heart reflected,

I lose the fight, the barricades fall down.

I’m in a dream- like state and then nothing matters,

just you and I.

Hellbound

The evening shadows are growing,

the chirping of the birds all but gone.

The sun has lost its intensity like

my cell phone batteries that are worn.

 

My heart beat keeps speeding up

in my excitement for the one to come.

And though I know it’ll soon be over,

fear hasn’t made me numb.

 

The deal was struck and what followed,

was everything I bargained for.

Each killing, each blow and hurt,

was carefully planned before.

 

Unmindful to their cries, I stand,

watching my foes drop one by one.

The ones I loved and lost forever,

stand avenged, their work now done.

 

So why am I still unsettled,

why can’t I find that peace?

What am I still searching for,

knowing it wasn’t mine to keep?

 

Out of all the faces that float

in my head,

among the names of those

now dead,

your face stands out sure and stark,

your eyes pinning me in the unceasing dark.

 

Why, you had screamed, why,

and I simply chose to tell a lie.

It was easier, I convinced myself,

if I knew, I was beyond all help.

 

I was merely bidding my time,

getting closer to the finishing line.

You were a casualty, just a pawn.

I had killed my love before the guns were drawn.

 

But I shut my eyes as they took that shot,

Pretending I was ill and overwrought.

I heard the gasp as you fell to the dirt,

hardening my heart as the wound began to spurt.

 

As I witnessed your blood seep to the ground

I knew that my soul was damned and hell bound.

It was only a matter of a time and place,

Nothing could reverse this fall from grace.

 

I had no regrets, no grief for my sin.

My soul was willingly traded in.

The shadow start to grow and crawl near me,

causing a dread, as I see life pass transiently.

 

When did I step over that line,

that made the difference between payback and crime?

Why did I disregard my inner voice;

condemn the love and made the choice?

Whispers around me laugh, it’s too late.

Your own actions have sealed your fate!

 

A face emerges close to my own,

looking at the eyes, I’m chilled to the bone.

Skeletal features of the one I had adored,

has come to sever my thread with his sword.

 

Waiting

They all have left,

one by one.

Now you’re all alone,

cold and shivering;

Why do you keep stumbling

in the ruins of your heart?

Times passes by,

as do people.

Nothing has changed on the outside and

you remain frozen and mute.

Maybe the ones outside

can’t touch the heart

through the vacuum you build.

Your footprints disappear as if they never were.

Children of pain, we all remain.

You can’t run from the hurt;

we all carry a piece of it inside,

from the first breath

to the last we exhale.

But the day breaks and life surges on.

I hover close by; your shadow.

Waiting for the moment when you’ll crumble;

there to gather, pieces of your broken heart.

The Mask

He was a curious boy;

it felt natural.

No one had told him otherwise.

A lonely boy who lived,

in the trashy part of town.

With no thrills or fun,

just drudgery.

And then,

the ‘Circus’ came to town!

Painted clowns,

trapeze acts,

popcorn,

banners that showcased magic,

animals, pretty girls,

colorful costumes and

enough candy

to fulfill childish dreams.

Whose head wouldn’t turn?

He went once, then twice,

not stopping to think, only feel.

The ones that got to him

were the clowns;

funny, with sad faces that smiled,

but the eyes wept

without spilling

a single drop.

The smaller ones looked like him;

only funnier.

He had never laughed;

it was an unknown emotion.

The boy hung around the dingy rooms,

filled with make-up and masks,

feathers and fur.

He was home.

The youngest one,

presented him with a mask.

It smelt of popcorn and lemonade.

The orange hair waved in his hands.

The boy felt the lure of magic.

He held out his palms,

and the mask lay in it.

It seemed to wink at him,

saying we’re friends now,

aren’t we?

The dwarf smiled,

and his eyes did too.

You’re one of us,

he said gravely.

Come away with us,

and travel.

We carry our world,

and it’s bigger than it looks.

At night, the boy felt the mask;

it was warm to touch.

Bright and colorful

was his mask,

with the orange hair

that reminded him of fall;

mixed reds and yellows,

with just a hint of chill.

The boy slept

with the thing

under his pillow,

over his face even;

it kept all those monsters

away, truly as the clown said.

Day after day, he cheered up,

and even wore it to feel safe.

No one noticed, no one cared,

when

the boy

became the mask.

He woke up one day,

to see his orange hair,

a smile that felt tight

as did his face without practice.

But his eyes shined!

He could smell the popcorn, hear the animals roar;

the colors around him sharper and vibrant.

His heart thudded in his thin chest

as he saw the clown

emerge from the shadows.

He held out a hand

that the boy grasped tight.

They vanished that night,

leaving behind

bewildered folks,

who only found,

a small rubber mask,

of their child’s face –

the mask was as warm as the boy.

Easy

 

How easy was ‘us’, for you to forget?

That our paths had once crossed and our hearts joined and wept.

Did you look back and feel something strong?

Or you decided that we were all wrong.

Now that path to you is gathering dust.

My ego laughs at the breach of trust.

The thoughts you bared, the lines that you said,

are forever tarnished with the lies in my head.

I fell for everything, I warned my friends about.

Your indifference to my pain is silent and loud.

A user, abuser, that’s what you were called.

I clung stubbornly giving you my all.

Praying that somehow you would see,

beyond the scars, the blemishes, the real me.

You showed me then, your shallow self.

The pretty facade that had begun to melt.

As days crawl by and I close my eyes,

waking up and process all those lies.

Entombed in a pain of my own making, I fade;

little by little, till only my shell remains.

Beginning of outpourings:

Hi,

‘Beginning of outpourings’, is a bit of myself through the years and a lot from what I’ve enjoyed with my love for reading. Books have seen me in my highs and lows and I’ve wanted to give back something in return to whoever is out there feeling the same; regarding books and life in general.

I’ve been writing for so many years now; some of them quite immature, others crappy and then a few, that made me glad that I continued writing. Fear of rejection, ridicule and playing to am empty stage kept me from publishing my works for a long time. Till I said to myself, what was the worst that would happen? They’d hate me, cut me down or maybe my words wouldn’t touch their hearts. I had to take a chance and I did. I’m still floundering like a person swimming for the first time. But if I  can get one like, have one person say that they understood that pain or enjoyed the dark side of my poems, I’ll die happy!

I am always touched by poetry from the Elizabethan era. One of my favorite poets is Christina Rossetti and her poem ‘Remember’. But what I identify with is John Clare’s ‘I am’;

‘I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,

My friends forsake me like a memory lost;

I am the self- consumer of my woes,

They rise and vanish in oblivious host,

Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;

And yet I am, and live with shadows tost’

So here I am, doing what I can’t stop, penning my thoughts,feelings.

I’m still in awe of how  many on this site who have  written effortless, heart warming lines; something I hope to accomplish one day.

Other than books, I love cats and taking their pictures, watching rainfall, old movies and 80’s music. I devour books (the smell, and feel of pages crisp and worn), comics and horror flicks. Watching animated movies like those of Studio Ghibli and Anime is something that fascinates me.

Really looking forward to a lot of reactions from you folks…

Swa