Category: Poems

The Phantom Pain

Prickling sensation in parts I cut off,
I sense- I sense pain where I should feel numbness,
I perceive fire when I should feel coldness,
I hear the thumping of my blood,
In parts I killed,
In body parts I amputated.
I breathe in life,
In parts, I should have felt death.

How could I feel pain,
If there is none left to perceive?
How could I feel movement,
If there is none left to flail?
How could I feel ache,
If there is none left to ache?
How could I bleed,
If there is none left to squeeze blood?

A pain cruises the parts I cut off.
Life springs in the dead layers.
I thought it was over,
When I killed it all.
I thought it was enough,
I thought dying once was all I needed,
To quit the hide and seek,
To stop the denial and the facade.

But then,
Even when there is none to feel the pain,
There is the illusion to perceive the ache.
Even when all is lost,
There is always some left,
For the phantom pain. 

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I wanted to know what to do,
Before the music halt,
Before the rhythm fades,
I wanted to know what’s next.
Because when the music ends,
When the song ran out of lyrics,
That’s when the pain strikes.
That’s when I start to lose,
Not just the battle,
But the whole war!
Before the music stops,
While my heart is beating,
My limbs moving,
My head rocking,
My eyes blinking,
I strike!
But- after the music stops,
The darkness sets in,
The cadence of suffering begins,
When the music cease,
Quietude reigns,
And pain wins!

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Deprave me the spotlight,
If you want me to shine,
If you want me to live,
Avoid the attention you could ever give,
For I grow in dim light,
In the darkest hours,
I bloom like Night-Blooming Cereus,
In the elusive nights,
In a wondrous oddity,
With spellbinding aroma,
I’m like the Queen of the night,
Only to fluorescence,
Once in the full moon,
Of the magnificent summer nights.

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The Greatest Euphemism

Isn’t living the euphemism for dying?
Aren’t we dying when we say we are living?
Aren’t we living for the celebration-
The commemoration of our lives,
On our death day?
Isn’t death the coronation of life?
Isn’t life a souvenir for death?
For the sake of remembrance when we depart?
Isn’t life the irony of death?
We think we are living,
When we are actually dying!

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My Golden Shimmering Mirage

I ran away!
Whenever you get close,
Whenever I hear your whispers,
I suddenly realize,
That you are way too close,
Way too near,
I ran far, far away!

Whenever my senses are to implode,
To awaken me enough from my denial,
To once again surge me into the real world,
I ran away!
Faster than the speed of light,
At a speed I could ever muster,
I ran in despair.

I, the coward, little thing-
Ran for my life,
For my golden shimmering mirage,
Which I cannot grasp or contend,
But watch- obliviously,
As a third, uninvolved person,
Apart from it,
Far away I stand.
And whenever I or you get close,
I ran far, far away!

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The Meticulous Disarray

Life is spontaneous,
Incalculable and unplanned, they say.
And yet,
They shower me with order and pattern,
For the constant confusion I endure.
For the chaotic mess I can’t even reckon.
Why pattern, if spontaneous?
Why conscientious, if it is destined for mess?
Why meticulous, if it’s a disarray?

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I did not know my pain ailed you…

I did not know my pain ailed you,
Have I known better,
I would not have bled infront of you.
Have I realized the depth of my wounds,
I would not have portrayed all at once.
Have I ever known to be a better friend,
I would have protected you from my own venom.

But-
I did not know my pain ailed you.
I did not know my mere existence,
Would have priced yours.
Have I known my obliviousness would cause all this harm,
I would not have turn to your accord,
Let alone to embrace your company.

But-
I did not know my pain ailed you.
I did not think my ache had super powers,
I disregarded it as if it was nothing,
When it was more than something.
I would not dare to leave you exposed,
For any consequence that would follow
Because of my pain.
My long, dreary ache.
Which I wish to hide, now-
Which I wish to swallow,
Before causing any malady,
Any irreparable damage,
To those of which I love,
Or not, perhaps.
I wish not to see anyone-
Ailed by my sting,
Whether I think high,
Or low of them.
No one is to be on the receiver end,
For the next punch of my pain.
I, only I-
Would be acquainted,
And battle against it,
No matter what.
For my pain,
Would not cause you another pain,
Whatsoever,
Not anymore.

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Do not wipe out my tears,
Or do not tell me it is okay.
Do not console me for my loss,
Or tire me away.
For I do not feel right,
Whenever sympathized.
I prefer to be left for my own bereft,
With no acquaintance in my regard.

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Dispassionate Observer

Indifferent,
Dispassionate,
Uninvolved,
Unnerved,
Innocent, at times.
A good observant, though.
Being an outsider,
A third person,
Or perspective.
An abridged version.
With no extras and cues.
Just on point.
Not more or less.
Pertinent in my universe.
A dispassionate observer,
With no fervor!

I go out and look,
But do not intrude.
I move,
And yet uninterested.
I run,
Only to my own destitute.
I am here,
And yet, I disappear-
To the world I encounter.
I see,
I scoff, roll my eyes and sigh.
I taste and feel,
Yet not to my permanent record.
Just for the experience,
For the sake of mere existence.
Yes, I exist.
In complete dispassion,
In a sense of utter lose,
With all the sights I can press,
In all the might I acquiesce.

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Fabricate me a dream,
So then I can dream.
Why, you ask,
For you I forsake,
For you I quit,
The dreams I dreamt.
I no longer sleep,
Let alone dream.
So, concoct a dream for me,
If that may make it up,
If not as a courtesy,
You stole my dream,
Here is my inequity,
Instead of locking you up,
Or smashing you at once,
I give you the chance,
To prove yourself worthy.
I may forgive your collective rule,
If not accept the collective memory.
I will make a peace with what comes next,
Rather than resent and disobey it.
Or I may go on rebelling forever,
For I am a human,
To rebel is my nature.
But, maybe, just maybe
I will abide by the rules.
I will love society,
With all the blemish I despise.

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The Moment I Stopped Waiting for YOU!

I waited-
I waited for YOU.
I waited for so long-
I stopped counting the time.
I waited in agony,
In pain, yet as a mime.
I couldn’t shout it.
Nor hold on to it.
Who knew to hold onto pain, anyway?
Who knew pain need the strongholds of arms?
Who knew agony is ever loud?
Who knew its piercing sound?
But then,
I still waited.
I waited for you to see the pain!
Not to alleviate me from it.
But to see me through it.
To hear me when I cannot be heard.
To give me the arms I needed to hold onto.
I never wanted YOU to take it away.
By then, it was my only companion.
Not the ideal company I wished to have,
But it was better not to starve,
Starve of any company.

The irony, though-
Waiting was not the cure.
It was the pain itself, rather.

The moment I stopped waiting,
The moment I stopped hoping,
The moment I given in,
There, I saw part of the pain took off.
I saw the agonizing loud voice alleviating.
The moment I stopped waiting for YOU,
That was the very moment I stopped hearing the pain.
I feel the ache and affliction,
But not a peep.
Not anymore.
And now I weep in silence.
None to hear me.
And yet, none to baffle me.
I shout, I cry, I feel-
Every bit of the pain I endure.
But I do not wait whatsoever!

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The Moment I Stopped Hiding in ‘Something’

Living in the constant need of distraction,
To keep my feet on the run.
To see life beyond the horizon,
To not be bound, but freed.
To move on,
To keep going,
I kept hiding.
Hiding on the things I could hold on to,
Tangible or abstract,
Vivid or indistinct,
It never matters.
As long as it distracts.

Because,
The moment I stopped hiding in ‘something’,
That’s very moment I start to lose control.
The moment I face the world as it is,
That’s when reality bites.
The moment I came out of my shield,
That’s when I became crippled.
If moving on is the secrecy of life,
Then I should keep distracting myself.
For now, it’s better to live,
Beneath the shadow of my own!

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Mend me for I’m broken,
Hold on to me for I’m fading away,
Find me for I’m at loss,
Hide me from my own misery!
Cleanse me for I’ve sinned,
Rule over me for I’m yours,
Tend me for I’m broken,
Bid me for I will obey!

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Rarity

A jewel in my pocket,
Designed in my own forte.
Carried it along everywhere.
Like it was the only thing to matter.
When my finger touches the tip of it,
Feel it in my hands,
Then I breath.
Sometimes I shiver,
In delight, real happiness!
The joy compensates,
For all the times I don’t feel it.
For the moments I’m in despair.
It makes me wish,
It makes me wonder,
How do I keep it with me?
How can I be certain in life?
Can it be achieved?
To have the abstract such as life,
At the tip of your fingers?
Isn’t that a rarity indeed?
Isn’t life itself an oddity?
Who lives like the other?
Doesn’t our definition vary?
If for one, life is an abstract-
It’s tangible for other!
But surety in life,
Is rare- almost always!

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In pain, we thrive.
Believing everything is transient.
It is just now.
Not tomorrow.
Or constant.

In love,
We are to be found.
Know more about selves.
Find our soft spots.
Discover our vulnerability.
We acquiesce to be lost,
Only in love itself.

In waves,
Life always happens in waves.
Once, in the highest peaks.
Then, in to the peril of storm.
But again, it picks up.
Flows upwards against the odds.
And it goes on and on!

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