Visitor Board

Dec 20, 2011


This coating of soot on the dusty floor?
These are ashes, my daughter. Of hopes and dreams.
They gleefully burnt my fragile wings when I was young--
Plucked my feathers and viciously tore my voice-box.
It was the last song ever sung.
That song - the one of freedom.

Look - here on my finger, this soot I will show you.
Can you smell it? This is the smell of hopelessness
And emotional fragility, where they raped my passion.
Can you see how opaque it is, how black?
It is dark, much like their rotting hearts.
Much like the godly entity that let this calamity transcend on me.

These soot lines on my cheeks are not a sign of surrender.
It is a battle mark, a medallion, a red flag--
Dignity is my queen. And I am its defender.
I am not this vicious fire that eats away hope,
I am not these flames that burn away dreams,
I am not this smoke that inhibits your vision

They numbed my senses
And suffocated me with sarin.
But I will never let you touch this soot.
Your dreams will never be devoured
By cruelty and fire.
You will never wither away
Wither away like I did.
There is a fire that destroys human progression,
And there is a fire in you, your mechanical propeller.

Dec 6, 2011


These eyes are seeing white.
Where once a smile would evoke
The visions of red colours, dancing brilliantly,
They now appear flat. Dull.
The world that was once artistically painted
With an impressionist’s scattering of
Cerulean blues and blinding, buttery yellows
and grassy greens and vivid, rose-like pinks
their edges blurred and merging, a beautiful sight---
Everything is now grey.
As if I am colour blind.

This beating entity inside my chest
Feels detached and pointless---
Just a composition of cells and vessels
A rhythmic reminder.
Someone must have sneaked to my bed at night
Artfully slit my chest open,
Delicately extracted this heart
And boiled it in scalding water.
Nerves no more tingling with sensation,
Skin no more sensing the feathery touch of friendship,
Eyes no more seeing the colours of life.

I feel sterile,
So clean. An enchantment on my own.
Everything is numb, it’s morphine, it’s white---
There are only greys. There is no emotion.
A zombie walks through these shadowed streets at night,
Wearing my clothes,
My hair upon its head,
My voice (lifeless) emanating from its larynx,
My shoes on its feet,
My possessions in its cupboard.
Such pristine serenity
In a whirlpool of numb nothingness;

I am just a body;
A withered corpse sucked dry of blood,
An earthen pot smashed on the floor,
A soulless creature,
A sponge squeezed dry of water,
A lifeless, limp flag of independence.

Life is where love is, where freedom is,
Where trust is.
Where home is.

But I have no home.


Template by:
Free Blog Templates