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.

A letter to Death.

Not a trigger alert, it’s more sort of a love letter. Makes sense?

I am actually writing this letter to narrator of ‘The Book Thief‘ by Markus Zusak.

(For writing this book, Markus Zusak have a part of my heart)

It’s obvious to fall in love with characters, but here, I’m in love with narrator instead.

I will try my best to not to ruin the book for you.

___________________________________________

Dear death,

You said you notice colours before people and you had me there. I want you to know, you are my favourite narrator in the history of forever and I have written a poem on you too.(Click here).You showed me your world, suffering and dilemmas, you showed me the pure heart of death. I had a strong feeling of resentment towards you, but you made me know, you are not the faulty one here. You are alone, but not worse.

Sometimes you were so melancholic, I wanted to rip open the words and enter your world, to hold you, to embrace you for a while, I wanted to comfort you so bad. I wanted to stay with you in between my breath. You are the one for whom I would write words without space, because I know how much those blank spaces hurt you and you know how much they scare me.

I’m not sure about people, but I don’t hate you or envy/pity you. I treasure you, for who you are. I believe in everything you said, cried with you at times and lived through your words.

I appreciate you, I really do.
And I’m haunted by humans, just like you.

Yours,
Mermaid.

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.