I wasn't there. I wasn't there when I was battling numbers and despair. I wasn't there the night I fought the ceiling with stares. The nights, in love and war, all was fair. I wasn't where I thought I'd be but then again I never cared. The days, my heart trailed behind me, stapled and glued, yet still beyond repair. It wasn't me within my dreams. It wasn't me at the edge of my nightmares, scared. Was I there? Was I where? This kingdom of paper? The land of wear and tear? Where was I supposed to be, if not there? Me? A turtle in the nation of hares. I wasn't there. I wasn't in the videos I shared. The likes and comments. The tweets. Not even in the words that I bared. Or those nights when I have none left to spare. I wasn't there again today. I was never here. I was never where.
But You were there with me wherever I was never where. You are ever here. You are ever where.
In a box of thousand colours,
there lived a little red fiery crayon,
who was a favourite of the daughter,
who painted the sky an eternal dawn.
And coloured her heart a bloody red,
from tears and anger of her past,
and every word to soothe unmade,
and each advice a scar unjust.
The crimson tinted her oceans redder,
which left the silence scorched with dread,
and caused her tower of logic to stagger,
hanging on a thin red thread.
Her very reason to unbridled laughter,
is her very same curse to shed,
The little crayon is getting shorter,
with every little red she bled.
Her other colours left uncatered,
her world a thousand shades of red.
As beautiful as her dawn is free unfettered,
her dawns are made to fade instead.
Where should I begin? Or maybe it is not the matter of where but when rather. You see, for myself, I have not been, if I ever was myself in the past. Nor could I justify that I am in fact, myself, presently as I am, as I present myself to you. Ardent as I evidently am not, in my arduous adventure, I found the littlest of bounties to be the most cherished and of the value most highest among my humble possessions. These insignificant little seedlings of humility, utterly ignored by those who deemed themselves more masterful than life, more convincing than death, if ever death need any convincing, are the very diamonds that cuts through stone. Stone, being the marble crown of arrogance. Stone, being the obsidian mask of ignorance. Magic beans, they are, very much so alike those of Jack's. For with them, giants, he slew and with it, the witless peasant that I am, is transformed into a slayer of colossal egos. Much to the my own chagrin, for I have spared my own, the very consuming fiery wrath that laid waste to monolithic intellectual gibberish. For there are many types of fools among us, though none more self-deceiving, entertainingly so, and tastier to crush and grind beneath the weight of simple logic and a dash of sarcasm, than the intellectual fool. Well, here is one writing to you, cooking up a storm of words. And what a savoury dish it is! Half-baked "facts" fresh from the oven, peppered with puny panache and flavoured prejudices on the side. When fools have decided it is their right to be right, I can only wonder what's left for the wise. For wisdom is about putting the right things at the right place. We will be none the wiser, otherwise.
Hello you. It's been awhile hasn't it? I have been walking this path for awhile now that I never thought I'd meet you again. Ever. Here. Of all places. I trust that you've been well? I've missed you. I did. Once in the bluest of moons, I do, time and again, lay my eyes on your cruel fairness. Though I am cured of you, these scars are staunch reminders of our midnight strolls of madness. Do you still remember those nights? Nights where you cradled in my careless mind, nestled amongst the thorns of my past. You were the sky. Elegant in black with stars in your hair. The moon in your eyes. And I was a puddle. How did I ever hope to portray you? Each dip into the ink of my heart stirs your reflection. Despoils your splendor. Thus, I imprison my pen for the crime of composing grotesque misshapen words. My ink overflows and dries on crumpled papers.
"Maybe" she said, maybe too late,
Maybe less may be more,
Maybe its yes and i'm unafraid
What maybe may be for.
"I dunno" she said, I don't know what for,
I don't know what "I don't know" means,
I do know one thing, what my heart is for, and what my love really means.
If only "Yes" would grace your lips
or flicker in your sunset eyes,
If only I knew what I had missed
I would have rolled the dice
If only she knew what my morning longs for,
if only she knew where her heart lies,
If only she'd listen to it more and more,
One fine day, she'll realise.
That i'm an answer and not a question
to keep it running in her mind
which has no answer to her question
which only her heart can bear to find.
If only she knew what my night hungers,
if not only for her smile,
would she stay and continue to linger?
Forever is only awhile.
How I wish that June will stay
and we'll have July too,
and August, if only I stop drifting away
and come running back to you.
I have none other nor will there be another,
and none other i will have,
Will you ever be my half and much better
To love, to hold and to have?
She'll smile the only smile she could,
and yeah I know already,
Eventhough her eyes say " Definitely, yes!"
She'd say "Maybe. Just maybe."
I am winter's winter.
You are spring's spring.
I am with those that wither.
You are with those that sing.
I am the starving paper.
You are that drop of ink.
I am the clown of never.
You are the moon I drink.
I am in my heartstorm severed.
You are the butterfly's wings.
I am in the claws of rapture.
You are its poisonous sting.
I am an arrow of rancor.
You are the drawn bowstring.
I am the fallen chevalier.
You are the oath I bring.
I am your hurt's locker.
You are its key turning.
I am walking on daggers.
You are in tears smiling.
I am guilty as ever.
You are innocence's sin.
I am without laughter.
You are raining within.
You are the eve in forever.
You are the her in together.
You are with another.
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Sitting on a granite throne, I gaze at at the worlds strangers. Queenly peacocks parade while proud roosters march. Mother hens and duckling quacks and dawdle. Swift swallows take flight feet barely touching the ground, restlessly waiting. Other hawks perched atop their thrones with eyes that wanders but does not stray. A penguin scuffled down the cement carpet with her precious egg wrapped within her. And then, I realized how great it would be if I'm not a bat. A neither nor of either world. An in-betweener. A hypen among words. A non-existant pause in speech. A memory that is no longer there. A void in a sea of air. A blink in a lifetime of stares. If only I wasn't a bat, I would then be human.
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Her sigh lay across her lips, lifeless, singing to wayward silence's deaf ears. Serenades as her tears caresses his heart, irregardless. Every breath was her rain on his embers. Every heartbeat was muffled thunders biting its own tongue. Vagrant fingers sailed the consuming waves of her cascading twilight, lost in its euphoria, starless. They found solace in the vast opaline shores, gasping for her intoxicating violent quivers. She gives and gives in and he cruelly delivers. One- winged hearts found each other flightless in their primal thirst. Riding nightmares in a dreamless curse. Their carriage of lust, an obliging vengeful hearse. Never forever his and forever never hers.