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Dec 29, 2010
Buried alive,
Under the embodiments of my life
Scattered onto haphazard paper
A sheet cuts into me, as sharp as a knife;
Stemming the flow of ruby-red blood
With a cruel glance at the thin gash
Profanities arrange themselves on my lips
As I search for the sheet, amongst the stack.
Buried alive,
With edges that glint with sadistic happiness
Is the artwork of a past much forgotten,
A photograph, the reason for my curt snappiness;
But pain momentarily forgotten,
Running time-beaten fingers over the colours
That paint the youth of a pleasurable past,
A past full of summers, perusing bestsellers.
Buried alive,
Is irony. For under the plethora of age,
Is a time machine imprinted on paper
A photograph, a Past that paper does en-cage.
And as a flood of memories take me back
To when our minds were innocent, when love was pure,
The blood oozes vehemently from the papercut
Oh and I felt something peculiar, of that I'm sure.
For a moment, it's as if the cut is punishment
A punishment well deserved,
A mockery of the strange, shapeless mass life becomes
As age and life fuse to appear absurd.
If the surface of the photograph were magical,
What wouldn't I give to dive into it,
And appear, suddenly, in the world it depicts
And escape this existence that degrades bit by bit.
Buried alive are the memories
We wish we could personify.
Buried alive is a life
Full of mistakes we wish to rectify.
Dec 28, 2010
Stop, Pause, Rewind, Press Play.
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 6:01 AM
If with every sigh of faith, I could freeze
The world, this time, these words, the breeze,
If we could put on repeat this moment forever
And revisit these emotions wherever, whenever,
What we wouldn't give,
To stay as we are and live
A life centered around our Now
If only we knew how...
At the sharp rising of the sun,
Or at the blanket of night, at one,
When my mind lies alert and thoughtless
I think of our story; I'm an empty mess unless
I think of our first hug,
Our first banter,
Our first song,
Our first field trip,
Our first moment of truth
Our first admission,
Our first awkward moment;
And the first time I first looked into your eyes
And saw in the depths something beyond comprehension.
And in that moment, I knew, I realized
That life isn't all that bad, it's not a ticket of detention.
Because though many a times, we lose those we love,
Even though our hearts are laid on a poker table to be played,
For every One that is lost, One is gained
Someone special approaches to mend your heart so frayed-
And in that one moment,
With that look in the eyes,
With the tactile sense of deep connection,
That moment naked of all sorts of lies,
Your heart yearns to say "I love you"
And the best part is that you mean it too
Because in a few years,
We'll be but faded memories,
Devoid of somebody to call,
Someone's name to carve on trees,
A firm hand to break your fall,
It's justified to wish that you could freeze
The best time of your life,
The Firsts; if we could relive them, oh on bended knees,
I'd propose for those moments back.
As these moments slip away with time,
You wish you could pause this process of growing up.
Stay forever in a world of honest friendship, honest naivete,
And an innocent heart, believing love to be as sweet as syrup.
Dedicated to a Special Unnamed Friend for being a great influence in my life so far ♥
May 2, 2010
5) Time to Say Goodbye
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 1:47 AM
Smiling more than usual,
I've never seen you prettier before
With happiness in your eyes,
Soul as clear as the summer skies.
Sobbing into your knees
I've never seen you sadder before
With grief an oceanic puddle at your feet,
Salty drops darkening the ground peat.
But the glance of an eye nearby
Makes me crazy,
I remember every look you gave me
And though it's hard to forget the past,
I'd better forget it fast,
Before I become the dead of the day
And the soulless blackness of the night-
I should forget my past,
I should forget you fast,
But the sails that gleam from my mast
Sail to you....
Feb 7, 2010
17) I Know Pain Too
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 9:35 PM
Mirrored in a person's eyes,
These lips smile and these eyes twinkle
These tresses flick and ripple
These bubbles of ecstacy show
Just these, these, and nothing more.
Not shown are the purpling bruises
Hidden beneath sweaters and a shirt,
Not shown are the marks of tears
As soap counters their tracks of hurt
Nor the blood from internal pain
Borne by the sounds of metal on flesh
Neither the the sounds of sobs again
That with each moment emerge afresh.
Just that mask,
That hides so much and shows so little,
So that the world does not judge,
And the soul is not be belittled.
Where there is no option, no shelter
The only alternative is the open;
The solace of birds and seas:
Peace do they singly shapen.
No support, no help, no aid,
Asking for the hurt to quickly fade
Just a stoked poker face
Shows and blooms and well is made.
Lies coat this utopian world
That has been built out of nothing but dreams
And what there is to my sharp pain
Nothing, no one can dream to realize
Free to be hurt, controlled and defied
I may dream, sound true, but my words are lies,
Not a single essence of my masked pain is
Mirrored in a person's eyes.
16) Marionettes
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 8:45 PM
Everything I said,
Every view I gave on the world-
That you should never give up,
That the world will turn around
And at some point be
What you want it to be,
Is a lie. It's a world I'd live in
If I wasn't surrounded by sin
If I could decide what my life would be,
If people never stuck to destiny.
The day I was born there was a vow in my blood,
To raise me up as some kind of perfect girl
With the perfect face, perfect mind,
With the most perfect personality one could find.
That day was the day I could never love
Somebody I wanted to when I grew up
'Cause I was raised to wed the perfect guy
With the perfect face, perfect mind.
The world feels like the puppeteer,
And I the hopeless marionette,
The twitch of a string
I'd take command in my wing
Like my future's already set.
Cut the strings, and my soul sings,
The song of freedom everyday
To have you mistaken loons understand
Me isn't possible in any way.
I feel so manipulated, so controlled
Like my future's already set in stone
Where I thought cool water flowed with peace,
There are icy stones and cumbersome debris.
You say that being what this Age allows me to be
Is a terrible curse
And I should live in your past,
But that's even worse.
Let me decide how bad I feel,
For my heart's not yours,
It was never yours.
Labels: decisions, destiny, escapism, hiding emotions, loss, manipulation, past, slaughterhouse, view on life/humanity
Jan 6, 2010
Abattoir
Hang from the poplar trees
Like strings of spider web
Swaying in the steady breeze.
They are eroded graduallyBy the ebb and flow of time
And they fade into the air
Hiding both our loves and crime.
Abattoir of memories
My own pet slaughterhouse
Will remain permanent
As memories will escape like a mouse.
Lovely pain and happiness,
Gone with this abattoir,
Revel in emotionlessness
And a tired sight so noir.
Why but I can break it down
I can surely control Time & raze
Raze the ghosts of my past,
For it’s just too much time cannot erase.
Let the memories linger,
Let the pain stay,
Let it remind me of the past,
Pray that remain, it may.
;;
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