Gods are dying in my country.

Centuries ago, during the
course of evolution, humans
brought the whole species
together, on the base of
One belief system; Religion.
We thrived. They say nothing lasts
forever; humans have this obsession
with change,
To know more, To be more.

And now ( fast forward to ‘I’ )
As ‘act of God’
I see my country moulding
beliefs of generations.
God has now become a tool
To control masses; we are given a
Reason to be scared of the sacred.
I see them locked in fancy buildings
like you and me, having 
‘no right to speech’, worse,
they can’t even speak because
no one is actually asking them.

/I used to think/
I’m an atheist/
but lately/ I have started to
believe otherwise/ like y’all/
I too have a holy book/

My God is as panicky and breathless
as yours. I watch TV
till my heart starts aching,
I clutch the Constitution
close to my flesh, with hopes
of lending some air to it;
I hear him suffocating.
Then I sleep to the weeping
sound of my God (Constitution);
who cries with all the other Gods
because Gods are dying in my country.

Prompt by Samyak

I’m dying poetry

In his Letters to Milena, Kafka wrote,
‘You are the knife I turn inside myself;
that is love. That, my dear, is love.’

And I can’t help but wonder
number of times I ate my own skin
to feel your touch on my lips.
And number of times I died,
trying to reason with unknown.
In search of words I travel
through my spine; your garden
in my lungs is dead. Butterflies
have turned into fireflies,
illuminating me while burning
my senses, I am alive you see.

There is a reason why I hate September,
we all have reasons, to reason with
unknown is a silent revolution, a war
with possessiveness. Like a failed
theory my eyes look for you
in patterns, for hints, so that
I can reason with my tied hands;
there are songs of lost touch in my heart.

All I am left with are questions.
I can’t come up with an explanation
for my fear of something that already
passed. Like the evening sky
there are too many colours, too many
shades of verses leaving my finger tips;
I paint my nails red when I miss you the most.

My skin sweat in how, why and where?
You ask me why no happy poems?
These, my dear, are barely poems.

Let them be

This constant pressure someone feeling that they are entitled to talk to you daily can be draining ( and can break the bonds too). When going through things, the most creative people can also run out of words and the answer to every question can be nothing more than “okay”.

We keep checking on people , which is a good thing, indeed. But too much care can be toxic too. If everybody starts with “How are you today?” then what else can someone say other than ” I’m fine”.

On some days the best thing we can do for others is to just listen or just be there in silence or just give them the space. Because sometimes, the best thing we can do for others is not to do anything.

~ Let them be.

Apocalypse

Silence knocks on my window everytime it snows; I have an ache every time I hear your name. This time, spring came with the bittersweet memories, my kitchen smells like your favourite street food and the aroma runs through my veins, urging me to run away .

We are oceans apart yet its heavy on my heart. This sweet scent is telling me
to run
and
find the way
back
to
you.

//They say time will heal the heart
but it hurts everywhere//

Like the apocalypse your memory is playing in my head, vivid imaginations peep into my soul. Convictions constantly trying to reason with the cause. Metaphors climb, chisel and breaking my vision, as I curl into my fears.

Ephialtes

I often find myself with the ghosts after the whole world goes to sleep,
The world say those creatures are horrifying
but to my wonder I saw them weep.

It always seems like their darkness is my comfort even though they suck out my light,
My world sometimes seems dull and shallow do they have it bright?

They know the colour of my nightmares and all the words that drag me below,
How the world starts slipping out of my body
whenever I hold on and try to swallow.

Breath by breath I try to walk, not sure about the horizon or meadow,
I was told not to go too far as hell has nothing to offer, now I know.

~🧜‍♀

Hailstorm

Wolves are hollowing at the peak,
Birds going total freak.
Is this reality or a dream?
I can sense some subtle screams.

Intense, destructive and cold breeze,
Is this city on the verge to freeze?
I may sound off, i may sound mad,
But this clime is, really bad.

In a blink of eye,
Earth started to cry,
Increasing it’s load,
Sky started to explode.

I am forced to run as the rain begun,
Hail stones are no more fun.
Its hard to breathe under such intense shower,
Nature never fails to prove its power!

Whole place is covered in white pebbles,
Weather really is, on another level.
I never wanted to witness hailstorm,
Maybe its safe inside the dorm.

Death’s poem

You shall see me,

Where these horizons meet.

Stay here, quite,

Please, have a seat.

To end your sufferings,

I have come a long way.

I promise to take your pain

Sorrows and all desires away.

You have served the sphere,

During these days.

You still are unaware,

Of world’s greatest ways.

Don’t strain, come,

Accept these vacations.

Oh, mortal!

I, indeed, am the final destination.

_ Death.

Roads

I looked at him
while crying,
I knew
there was no use of trying.
You left and moved
towards the wood,
And I stood there,
like you said I should.
Every path I take is black,
I wonder if you ever
going to come back?
Whenever these roads
try to threaten me,
I wish upon him,
but never came he.
I know you closed every door
which led you my way,
Damn!
I still keep my hopes high
for another day.