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3 years ago
Oct 30, 2011
Her head is seconds away from exploding.
There's a perilous pressure pushing persuasively
On her fragile cranium, eating up all the space inside
Flooding every unoccupied air bubble
With it's distastefully pressurizing presence;
There's a throbbing again her eye,
A pulsating, persistent push
That's threatened to prick her tear ducts
Until she cries.
And there's the truth, looming like a ghost
Over her shoulder, intimidating and irritable;
Her tears could draw away the pain
Like an ice pack relieves a fervent fever.
But if she cries, she knows
Her heart will collapse upon itself
Like a house with foundations that were never stable.
And so the eternal dilemma -
Pain for pain,
There is never relief.
There is a drought somewhere,
And frail bodies are walking helplessly under the sun,
Willpower and survival skills being their unfortunate saviour.
There is a girl who's trust in safety
Has been violated due to crimes inflicted upon her.
There is an innocent, wide eyed child
Struggling for breath under the rubble and heavy burden of an earthquake.
But when your own mind becomes a pressure cooker
Fed with the distasteful pressures of society,
And it is as if only a drill through the brain
Or a violent display of instability
Could relieve the throbbing ache.
Here is a pain more potent.
Oct 16, 2011
Double Standards
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 5:42 AM
Here is to all the glassy eyes
That shone like glass under ultraviolet light;
Reflecting back shocking blues of hope
And misguided lasers of ruby red romance
Because your face radiated moonlit paleness
That grasped at their innocence and naivete.
Excited breaths like fine tendrils singing of fragility;
You stared.
I stared.
Like they all had stared.
Their hearts must have been racehorses
Fuelled by the same concentration of adrenaline
That I remember coursing through my own veins.
Their smiles must have been just as lost
As mine were when our lips met.
They must have been just as easily fooled
As I was.
Here's to all the glassy eyes
That were dazzled by the mask of wood
Bearing handsome likeness;
Behind which lies an ugly, festering heart
Burnt raw.
Grotesquely malformed.
Oct 11, 2011
Like a tissue,
Lying used
Lost on your messy table,
Out of its dainty box
Now hidden under in the wastepaper bin.
Here I was
Thinking
That for the first time
Miracles were blossoming.
And yet,
Here you were
Revelling in the illusion
That hung like curtains from my eyes.
I watch you from the corners of tables,
From the tops of fans,
From behind the pillars like a lost soul-
I watch you use others
Like the poor tissue that resembles me.
Sep 26, 2011
The metal tinge of blood is in the air,
It's smell so strong, I can smell it in my hair.
The blood forms a crusty layer
Where those gashes run deep and permanent.
The bruises and bloody cuts surround my eyes
I see red. I see red. I see nothing but red,
The red shards of pain that cling to my mane,
And the brilliant red of those eyes.
Those eyes
That like a crayon-like dark night
Evoke a heart-hammering fear---
Maniacal eyes, pulled so wide
To imitate the width of that teeth-baring smile.
Menacing. Just like the sound of the whip
This crazed monster brandishes in its human hands.
With every act of butchering
It inflicts on my poor, innocent body
I recoil---
With every recoil, I recede---
Back into that cage.
And soon enough I am right where I started.
I never used to notice these entrapping steel bars
While my skin was unmarked with the signs of abuse.
But now, the blood leaves my coffin of a body at an alarming rate,
I am an artwork of gashes running with blood.
I am the Mecca of pain at this moment in time
And I have to bleed in this cage, unable to cry.
Those humans,
Whose voices aren't sliced by metal jars,
If only I were you.
Sep 18, 2011
Bittersweet Treat
2 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 9:21 AM
I pretend it's you--
This slowly sinking sugar cube
Drowning in the endless depth of steaming coffee,
Crying frantically for my help,
Disintegrating as it drowsily melts,
Overcome by the stormy heat.
I'll be neglecting you. Like you neglected me.
How unfair that I should be so cruel--
To something so inanimate
When the real culprit is you!
The grains of sugar have arranged themselves
To resemble your face; the signature smile
Is now a frown, because I have stabbed you with a spoon
And put a veil of foam where your eyes should be.
I stir; you're disappearing into a whirlpool of heat and bitterness
Never to emerge again. And I won't bid adieu.
You've sweetened my chasm of bitter despair,
You're the taste it needs to be deemed complete.
The Pits of Tartarus now seal themselves,
Having claimed their last bastard.
The collection is done.
Sadistic pleasure (or is it relief?)
Pulls back my lips in a teeth-baring grin,
All I need is laughter, as the remainder of you melts
And disappears. Never to be seen again.
So I drink heartily my bittersweet treat,
Swallowing down sweet memories
That have morphed into a noxious mass of gelatinous nothingness.
Time changes everything.
A friend of mine (SB) took the liberty to write a reply to this poem, by continuing the analogy, not exactly from the point of view of the persona this poem was addressing, but as an active bystander who empathized.
REPLY
Today. Just today.
I feel like that sinking sugar cube.
That slowly dissolves into the bitter coffee.
I do not call for help .just for acknowledgement.
The heavy liquid slowly pulls me down.
I never neglected you.
I just tried to add to the flavour and make,
What I call a perfect blend.
I cannot promise a rainbow,
But try to be the ray of hope.
To a monochromatic life.
I want to let you know that I am brown sugar.
Different from the rest.
My eyes do turn dark.
My smile slowly turns into a frown, not because of the pain
But because the stab is coming from you
Your oh so saturated brew was somehow incomplete.
I was just trying to fill in the gap.
And I drown.
Voluntarily.
Not wanting to fight the whirlpool.
I might never emerge again,
But my essence will always flavour the pleasantries.
Now that the deed is complete,
I succumb to the bitterness.
And let go into the Pits of Tartarus.
Being the last of the lot.
I needed the feeling of being felt.
Your grin. It’s devilish.
It tears through what’s left of me.
Your living is craziness personified.
As you sip down the coffee looking through the remnants of me,
Soon to be nothing: I somehow feel I am still there.
The memories being the last of me.
I knew.
I was no one.
After all I wasn’t the coffee bean.
Time changes everything. I wish it changes us.
Sep 16, 2011
To my mind,
I feel as if lately,
We haven't been in touch.
My heart whispers enticing words to me.
Words that I secretly want to hear,
But of course, you would know that.
Seductive whispers. You would oppose.
You would warn me against the temptation of succumbing to it.
But I have fallen into its alluring chasm,
And am unwilling to climb out. You must save me.
Mind,
I am overcome with emotions
That, like rivers nourished by the recent monsoons
Gush through my blood, saturated with love,
And with hate and with fear and with presumptuous pomposity.
Each emotion is the string of a marionette;
I pulls me in one direction, and then tugs me to the next.
Crooning with love. Simmering with anger. Drowning in hate.
You, who like a referee
Was supposed to monitor this change in entropy,
Have suddenly fled. The maps are blank and my GPS fails.
I searched in the bushes, under the bed, behind the curtains for you
Before these emotions could win their tug of war
And drag me to a corner to harass me senselessly.
If you don't return,
I will surely run mad. Maddened by the love I feel
When I imagine those wholesome faces,
Maddened by the stabbing needles of sorrow
That I wish could be a Chinese masseur skilled with acupuncture.
And crazed by the anger
That calls upon my blood to boil as if my organs were cooking.
Mind,
I need you to return.
I need you to scold my senseless heart with your logic,
And to preserve my identity before I lose it
To the separate entity that is attempting to beat itself out of my chest.
Sep 7, 2011
Through the curtain of the smiles
And the veil of unperturbed joy,
Bruises blossom. Blood leaks.
Like the look on the the face
Of a soldier who has fought valiantly,
Falling to the ground
As bullets make fissures in his skin.
A battle has been fought across our hearts
Across this place in time;
And only I can see the stains of it
Darkening the grass and the wild mushrooms.
Through it grow the crops of strength;
The kind that comes with loss.
A gauze reclines, relaxed, over the truth
Of wounds too deep to clot and scab.
No amount of alcohol will lure out the germs,
No amount of therapy will heal them anymore.
They fester. Reminders of an internal pain.
And at the irony prevails;
The door of a house may be innocent
Where a war is waged in its four walls.
I see you. My eyes are calm.
The irises are a gauze.
And the soul is a wound.
And it is festering.
And it's reason is you.
Sep 5, 2011
It's autumn all over again,
And as the orange leaves fall
As the wind tousles my hair
As it whips the buildings tall----
I find the change in who we are
The dying friendships I tried so hard
To keep alive with this
Constant burning of lard
To keep this fire burning,
To dissipate the air of mourning;
But it shrivels before my eyes,
The love that kept us both alive
And as it fades
Into a dark distance, into a hive;
These mistakes we made keep repeating again,
The times we changed keep playing over again
And the heartbreak hits the same way every time.
Though you tell yourself you'll be strong,
And it's painfully loud that something is wrong,
I guess people never change. Not even with time.
Mistakes,
They repeat over again.
Never cease until the end.
And the end's just so far away.
Aug 23, 2011
Happy House, in the Rain
1 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 5:10 PM
Through the falling leaves
A history comes alive at the sight of these tall walls
And with the gravel under my feet
I remember this is where my identity began to form;
Chivalry's endangered
But here is its sanctuary;
Love is mutilated,
But here is its tributary.
And now that I'm home
You can't chase this darkness out of my heart,
Like death on a winter rose
You can't go back to the start.
With every pang of heartache
I remember you
I remember the place
I remember the love;
The flower in the hair,
The insoles and the heels,
The Wingwoman's work,
The singular hoot I made,
Oh the silent dinners
We just looked at each other
Jumping on the bed
In happiness; I said
Things in so many secret chits
That I probably shouldn't have said
Ran through gravel in my heels
And now these feet won't give me rest,
Got to know a friend
Got make so many new friends,
Got to feel my heart beat like the drums at Lupercal
With the drumsticks controlled by other personnel;
I'm glad you all came
Into my life; and in my heart you'll stay,
These memories won't die
As long as you'll always be there.
Dedicated to all the Doscos, and my PWSians <3
Jul 5, 2011
If This Summer Was All I Had
2 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 8:40 AM
It doesn't bother me that I am
Confined to these four walls;
There's just a window, tall and bleak,
And I watch as raindrops fall.
This may be the last summer that I have
But I can't muster the strength
To make it worth the time and the fun
It deserves at such length.
And I see you all having the time of your life,
I see you all touring the world every week,
And I ask myself "Why have they left me behind?
Why is my own summer so bleak?"
But a prisoner can't beg for good food,
A caged bird can't demand to see the Alps,
A trapped miner can't ask for fresh air,
A cornered mouse can't plead with a please.
So I'll sit here and love my four walls,
I'll sit here and enjoy the view of the window
And I'll conjure the strength to pretend
That this solitary confinement isn't at all dull and low.
;;
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