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3 years ago
Aug 31, 2010
Pools of pity,
Thoughts clandestine,
An ache lights up the sky,
Watch a shooting star fly by,
Forgot to make a wish.
A glimpse of the green leafy trees,
Heard the sound of the birds and the bees,
A picture the colour of the sky at midnight.
Wondering what grass feels like,
Craving the first touch of the scales of a pike,
Just a sliver of summer air,
And the taste of a stale autumn pear.
Dancing children, just the sounds of their laughter
Laughing carelessly about a happy ever after,
It strains my eyes but I manage to see
The flapping wings of a bird set free-
Retreating to The Den,
Longing sets my heart on fire,
There was never another site
That I would admire
More than the sight of the freedom that awaits me,
Glimpsed through a fracture in the wall,
Caging me.
Aug 20, 2010
It doesn't feel like the world anymore
The sun's gone and my eyes are sore,
I had nobody but you,
I only ever had you.
Though I know you're still there
Across the desert somewhere,
I don't know you,
I don't remember you-
If I can't hear your voice again,
Or see the expression on your face again,
There's a pregnant pause,
I can't shatter it with applause.
All this while I've been seeing the rainbow,
Without knowing that there'll never be a pot of gold,
Seeing but never believing,
To myself the lies I sold.
Now there's just holes,
My deluded paroles,
I try to fill them in,
But the effort feels like sin,
You know I can't ever move on, so why
Do I even try?
Jun 8, 2010
Where there is light,
There is hope,
There is a will and there is a way.
When time is infinity
There is patience
There is finality, there is a last day.
Though grains of sand take time to fall,
Though the wind takes time to blow,
There is always an end
For which you pray.
The fruits of patience and labour are the sweetest,
The oceans of time spent waiting are the deepest
And there is always an end in sight,
The light at the end of the tunnel is bright.
For months, I've been waiting, patient,
Longing to taste the glucose of success
But fate has toyed with my sanity
It has poured on me hopelessness in excess;
Waiting doesn't seem so bad
When there is a life to live, lessons to learn,
But when the saccharine saturation point is felt,
There is every pen to throw, every book to burn.
Freedom is close-
So tangible, I can taste it,
So velvety, I can feel it,
So prominent that it runs through my veins;
If I reach out, I can touch its wispy tendrils
And entwine them around my fingers.
There is still hope for me,
Where a silent warrior lingers.
Jun 4, 2010
12) Defining Poetry
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 3:44 AM
Bulging eyes, a wheezing chest
Eyes twitching without much rest,
"You don't like poetry?" I said to you
You nodded tersely, you claimed it true.
"Poetry's lame" I heard her say
It was her mantra for each new day
"Impossible" I countered her thoughts
Like giving value to a bunch of naughts.
"I'll tell you what poetry is" and I opened my arms
She asked me what I was showing her: the sky? the farms?
Nodding, I pointed to the pole star, the sheep, the stream
I pointed towards the land that lies before us like a dream.
The innocent bubbles of water, gurgling like children
The babble of it as it crosses over rocks and by the playpen.
The darkening shades of the electric sky
And the flutter of wings of brids as on the town they spy.
I run my finger across the coarse grains of sand
The thick blades of grass, the contrast of parched, cracked land.
I gesture at the smallness of fleshy dewdrops of the morning
The hues of ochre oranges and sun yellows as night is dawning.
She looks confused, swept by beauty for sure
But to her, the message behind this land does not lure.
She doesn't see the sadness in a dog's slanted, hazel eyes,
Nor the hurt swimming in the tears the dark sky cries.
The swaying happiness of long stalks of wheat
The horrid chunk of many knives slicing through meat
The ebb and flow of the tide, a message, a symphony
The masquerade of life, the spectrum, raisn of melancholy.
Don't you see it? Don't you feel the rush of wind?
The cool breath of it in your hair, your gasps are pinned;
Don't you envy the listlessness of leaves?
Or how night darkens the jutting eaves?
She shakes her head. Now I feel angered by her.
She doesn't know the beauty of the smoothness of fur,
The uneasy trickles of time, ticking slowly by,
The rust on the rails as trains pass,
The movement of the planet and its many entities,
The constant sound of noise, the feel of life, the taste of wetness
The sight of energy and the smell of roses.
The sight of energy and the smell of roses.
I am sad that you don't see through these masks
I am sad you don't see life pass on by
I am sad that you don't realize the world moves constantly
As if it is keeping itself from saying goodbye.
Jun 3, 2010
12) Happy Birthday Dad
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 7:49 PM
There was never a moment you let go of my finger,
Never a time when you let my childish troubles linger,
It feels so right to be here
It feels so right to be here
In the safe haven you’ve created.
With every step taken, more insatiate,
I’ve become unwilling to wait,
But it feels so right to be here
Without the comfort of a hunger sated.
Would I imagine a form adorning me
With all the colours in the spectrum of sunlight
A figure, a guardian angel, a confessor
The saviour would be you, in the night.
There aren’t ‘thanks’ enough and ‘sorry’s plenty
Neither are there sufficient hugs or returns of favour
To gift you all the love in the world
For being who you are, as you are, by our side.
Jun 1, 2010
11) Let You Go
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 9:49 PM
I've been standing underneath these heavenly showers
Even though the clouds have long since parted away.
Rain drops are prominent on the lids of my eyes
I cannot seem to handle the pain today.
Crippling, slowly, down on my knees
Music in my heart makes me weak
I open my mouth to say something
But beauty has robbed my chance to speak
To you.
Harmonies of pianos in my head, serenading the love I feel-
Rose petals scattered on my bed, as if nothing feels real-
My lips cannot sing goodbye for you
I can't let you go, let you go, let you go.
I pledge to myself: I won't cry for you
A friend, I won't let you go, let you go, let you go.
Smiling even though it hurts to be happy
For your sake I'll let you go, let you go, let you go.
And when I hug you for the last time, farewell,
I know I'll have to let you go, let you go, let you go.
May 31, 2010
10) Misunderstood
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 11:37 PM
Is rain really rain
If not the personification of pain?
Is the breeze truly breeze,
If not the happiest sneeze?
Is a heart a heart
If it's song is no such art?
Is a soul just a soul
If it has never ever been whole?
In the ways of the world
That you never cared to learn,
To rebuke me
You must know who I am.
Under the leaves of the trees
That you fail to see twice,
To make me,
You must know who I am.
Words, falling, meaninglessly from your mouth
Not as soft as whispers, but louder than a shout,
Endlessly tumbling into a void I don't reach
You forget all the lesson I fight to preach.
Your curses are a veil that hide my tears
Your speculation of my future is patched by so many fears-
If you learn to leave the past and
Walk the golden paths of the present,
Maybe you'll learn who I am.
Maybe you can talk to me for once,
Knowing who I am.
And maybe I can forgive you for your mistakes
But if only you'd understand.
May 30, 2010
I hear yells in the distance
Past these closed doors
Ringing in the house, the screaming
Reverberating off the floors,
There's no where to hide from it
Will I be able to run for it
When the time comes
Am I strong enough to let them go?
Don't cry my darling,
Everything will be alright-
This is just a seasonal brawl
I'll ask them to cease this fight.
They took the vows
And it's too late to look back,
But she doesn't understand
And he doesn't understand.
Just the two of us
My little milk-and-honey darling,
What will we be without a mother?
Or without a father calling?
The yells in this house are a routine,
The fights behind these walls are too tangible to be seen
Each day afresh, a battle we're caught between
Singes to black the grass we worked far too hard to keep green.
If this time it's too late
For forgiveness for each of them
I'll stand in the way and I'll plague them with guilt.
If this time, love is conquered by hate
Of each other
Then I'll drown myself in the power of silt,
I'll be the pillar they need
The uniting factor
Because I don't want a wrecked up home
And for that I'll be the benefactor.
I will hurt them if I need to
For them to wake up from their slumber
They say children are immature
But these two people stand at a worse number.
World War 4 will be fought with sticks and stones
Or so they say,
World War 3 will be the end of love and marriage
Or so I believe, each passing day.
A lot can change in 4 years,
I hope they understand that
Even if it takes me, myself and I
To change all that.
May 24, 2010
Poet's/Author's Note
2 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 7:03 AMI am currently writing two books side by side and I would like to offiliate them so a) I can keep writing them and b) they idea doesn't get busted. I have two stories to juggle because I have continual writer's block, and I get inspiration for one or the other on occasion, so I write whichever one is more appealing to me on a particular day.
I have two novels running: a fantasy one and a modern-day one that I like to classify as philosophy.
Realm of Dead is the working title of my fantasy one. Brief summary: The Labyrinth is the Eden of earth - a network of underground tunnels and chambers imbibed with immortality that prevents it's refugees from aging under it's protection. Gwen of the Duchovnys, born under an Eclipse, is daughter of the new king, who, along with ten royal Welsh families, fled to the Labyrinth post the death of the former King. The godliness of the Labyrinth is marred only by the presence of the Dark Angel, a death-like statue in the middle- the Messenger from Hell. Suspicious occurences shroud the presence of the Dark Angel and each passing day, this Eden turns slowly to something darker, threatening to betray the secret of these families, preserved since before the Plantagenets, to the modern world. Gwen and Emrys of the Silas', her best, most intimate friend, find themselves far too entangled in these matters and attempt to handle their reputation, their far-too-intimate friendship and Gwen's suspicious connection to Death while keeping themselves a secret from the modern era.
Stepmom is the working title for my psychological-philosophical realistic book, though it was originally "Far Too Precious". Brief summary: Panacea Suvari, widowed, is a substitute teacher who finds herself attracted to the Jared Sullivan, divorced father of one of her students. When they decide to get married, she finds a maze of problems in her life, like Chastity, his daughter, a suicidal girl who disapproves of the marriage and shows it but self-mutilation. A battle ensues between Panacea and Chastity, where Panacea tries to assist Chastity get over her suicidal tendencies but the closer she gets, the bloodier Chastity becomes. She loves Jared and won't separate, but she wants to save Chastity, and when an atheist Panacea discovers the peace of a church, she finds a new insight on Saving her stepdaughter. A nouveau tale of rebellion, faith and finding the honesty of one's emotions.
Copyright © Aishwarya Nagar
I'm interested in writing them and finishing them, then contacting a publishing company on publishing them and I HOPE people will like the books. I'll put up a chapter apiece on here if you ask for it really nicely =)
Ash xx
8) Wasting Time..
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 6:09 AM
To dream a dream so near
And yet so delusional,
To move towards it year by year
And feel it an illusion, oh;
Towards the crown you want to run,
But in your eye shines the light of the sun-
The moment's in your grasp
But the feeling's gone, the feeling's gone
The year and years you spent
Have faded away like a song.
And though you know so well
That the opportunity's in your hand
Your mind isn't quite there
And you let it fly away like sand.
It's too late to return
And clock back to when you had the time
Like life grows on charred remains
Oh hope, you lost what was sublime
And now you must realize
That this was the moment for which you've been waiting
I mustn't let it turn to regret in the future
And I know that you'll be hating
When I bid you farewell
When I bid you farewell
It's only or a while
But I still need to run a mile.
;;
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