Amaranthine; a blog of original poetry

 The waves flatten the sand So that we may leave our footprints. Then they flatten the sand again To remove them. It's painful That nothing stays forever. But some things just shouldn’t stay. I see you; A rose with more thorns than petals. But I'll pluck you by the stem And have a thorn stuck in my finger. I'll relieve you of that one thorn, If it's the one thing I can do for you. I'll grab you tight, And my palm will bleed. I'll grab you tight, And take out all the thorns I can. Because some things just shouldn’t stay.

 The wheat rustles, And milkweed breaks away. Clouds drift And the wrapper on the floor moves closer to the rubbish bin As if it wants to go in. I hear guitars And the same note of the piano being hit From the top of a tree. And water plays the xylophone over the water In the stream. My heart is happy; Just happy, And that's enough. It's not dancing. The drumbeat is dead. But it's fine. Now I can at least feel my heart's pulse. I know I have one And that it's alive.

We are Roman statues They buried long ago. Now they try to dig us up And expect us to still have our paint on. Poor things! All they get is a half face, A lump of stone, A figure with arms and legs blown off. All they get is an image Of what they'll be in the future. They place us in museums So their children can see How they tore us up, Broke us, Buried us. They place us in gardens So old people can spit on us. They place us in parks So the children can draw on us And spill ice cream. We have stayed tall for some time. We were worshipped for some time. But declare oneself god And you're not a god forever. You will become trash, Or worse, Placed on a podium for other people to stare at you; People who don’t care about your history, But show pretentious wonder at you To show they are geniuses.

 I am stuck Like an octopus on aquarium glass, Forever looking at what lies beyond. I am stuck Like rust on a nail, Unable to crawl onto the plank That is part of it. I fell asleep for a while And someone buried me in a brick wall With both arms out. I scream And manage to get my face out as well, So I can scream louder. But they don’t come. Old men on bikes stop by me To take photographs. School children stop by me To say how ugly I am. I'm screaming And they don’t hear it. I am stuck Like an octopus on aquarium glass, Forever looking at what lies beyond. I am stuck Like rust on a nail, Unable to crawl onto the plank That is part of it.

 I move to my bed after the loss Of a sock, a grade, a smell, a life; Unhappy and crying rivulets. After drinking away, After breaking up, After seeing The white, Black, Grey, I move to my bed To cry and cry more rivulets. The sadness fills up like water And I float on it on my wooden bed. The sadness fills up like water And knocks down everything like water And jumps out the window and creeps out the door Like water. I cry and cry rivulets But don’t come here to console me. My sadness is the blue mountain, A flower in the snow. My sadness is the sadness of a Christian  Crying and crying away at mass. I cry away happiness And become void To be satisfied. Either joyful or satisfied. I've never been both together.

 You're a score sheet And I'm a piano. I kept you on a stand and tried my best. I am a new student, And you’re a piece written by the devil himself. I am a new student, Yet I try desperately to study you. Please don’t fly off the stand. Give me time, Give me time. And I shall by-heart you. Then I shall forget you, And play you the way I want. Then I shall forget you and change you, Like any good musician would; And you'll not know a thing. I won't tell you. But if you come to know what I've done to you, You'll love me. I’ll throw you out; The score sheet. But you're safe in all my veins, In all the muscles in my fingers. And I shall remember you forever Without remembering you anymore. And we'll be one; One forever.

 Night, A hanging lamp, Rain, An umbrella And both of us under it Kissing, Rain drops rolling down to our shoulders. Rain drops rolling down to a puddle, Making the water jump up in the shape of a heart. Night, Rain, Umbrella, And both of us under it Kissing. The umbrella slips down And the both of us wet, Our eyes wild And lips craving for more, Our smiles wide And widening more. There is wind And the umbrella is nowhere to be seen. But you're here, I'm here, And the moon is there Shying away into dark clouds. We looking into each other's eyes And get lost in the wilderness With the many monsters that hunt us. Night, A hanging lamp, Rain, An umbrella And both of us under it Kissing.

 They try to shoot you And a rose pops out the gun Every time. They try to drown you But you rise like wood Before they keep you still To drown you with weights. They light a fire for you to dance around. You dance on the fire And put it out, And escape Before they light another. You are sad, Belonging to no tribe, Running from fire to fire. You are sad. But I want you to know It's because you're valorous. I want you to know It's because you're the only one speaking of the danger Of the fire burning the entire forest. I want you to know That you're sad For a good reason. Let this cheer you up.

 She sits there And the shadows of the netted fence crawl on her skin Like spiders. She sits there And her presence is enough. She doesn’t need spectacles, A cigar, Or be able to raise one eyebrow To attract. She just sits there And her presence is enough. The sun falls, The shadows shift, And the little make up she’d put on begins to fade. And she is Still, still enough. Yet everyone wants more, Everyone expects more, Everyone wants to see her ugly In powders and makeup. She tells me she hates it And I nod my head. She is a Rodin sculpture, And putting on makeup is like chipping away the biceps. I nod my head again.

 I'm trying to find a match in a haystack. But I could have tried earlier. Now, The entire barn is burning; Shrinking into itself  like a lit ball of paper. Now, I’m searching And burning myself in it, Turning myself into the fire, So I can burn the barn even more. Turning myself into the fire, So I can destroy the entire town Without any blame falling on me. They'll blame the fire, Because they know I’m not the one who started it. They'll blame the fire And say either really brave Or really stupid things about what I did. I'm free from their words. And I can destroy in peace.

 Rain, Loneliness, Chinese lamps hanging outside restaurants; The wind cools my face To remind me further of my tears, The cherry trees shake Gently. Rain, Loneliness; Only loneliness. Because she isn’t there today. The windows creak, And a new bottle of wine breaks on the stone floor, Slowly. The lamps swing And grey clouds converge. She's isn’t there And the nights have become like seat belts on aeroplanes, That help to locate the bodies After a crash. The nights have become Nothing more than the darkness it presents. Rain, Loneliness, Chinese lamps hanging outside restaurants; The wind cools my face To remind me further of my tears, The cherry trees shake Gently.

 The lion has lost A claw, Half of his mane, Much blood, His pride. And yet you see him roar From the edge of the Savannah With the tyranny of an earthquake. The crocodiles submerge And flamingos take off in the thousands On hearing his song; Like electronic music, Enjoyable yet repulsive, Lacking yet full. The lion has lost A claw, Half of his mane, Much blood, His pride. Yet one will think thrice before looking into those eyes That see through you To your skeleton And soul. The eyes that see through you Like a morning curtain, A leaf, A young deer being pounced upon And not heard from again.

 We are human beings, And we're ordered, Structured, rigid. We are human beings And we’ve built systems that repeat And repeat. We walk the same path everyday And do not notice as the grass dies to leave a path for us. We walk the same path everyday And do not realize there are many more We can take. Should we really walk over wild grass? Can’t we walk through football fields, Where the grass never dies After monotonous play? Can’t we walk over new terrain For once? But we take the same path And ignore the dry grass and dying flowers. We take the same path Because it's guaranteed to reach the place. But we'll have to take a different way for once. When that time comes, We'll freak out for sure.

 Many black hands on the walls; A struggle To push the walls over And explore. The caged bird wants to fly And the kite in the tree Wants the wind to carry it away. Many black hands on the walls; A struggle To see what is on the other side. We keep pushing Until the dirt sticks to the walls completely And our palms bleed, And the walls will drip with bloody palm prints, Until the blood drips so much That they no longer look like palms. They'll inspect And find not even a single palm print. And they'll say we never tried.

 The violinist plays Tchaikovsky And the ant walks on the string as quick as it can To escape its fate. The violinist plays Tchaikovsky And she bows, And everyone claps. The ant escapes and runs through the floor Like it's escaped inferno. The ant escapes And runs to the candy bar on the floor. Ants aren’t solitary. But this ant made sure he was alone; That he had the entire thing to himself. And yes, He had. And he ran to embrace it Like it was his fiance. He ran to embrace it And did not see the feet come down on him. His fate was sealed.

 The sun falls through the leaves like rain, And wakes me who'd fallen asleep on a root. The sun falls through the leaves Like a warm hand To tickle me out of my sleep, To remind me that the morning's beautiful And that I should see it. But it's only the morning. I'm worried that I've to walk back home, Into my boring life, Like all boring lives, Repeating day by day Like the gears in a clock, Like swirling steps, Like the windows of glass buildings That look all the same, Staring out lifelessly, Hiding the miserable lives Of those working behind them.

 I look at the blank wall And find a collage of eyes looking at me. I look at the blank wall And find it staring into my soul, As of it knows me better than any human could ever know. And well, It's true. These blank walls are with me Through thick and thin, Through lava and a hole in the ice. These walls were always there, And it is still there. They may be hurt; By ripped wallpaper, Old age, Sadness. They may be hurt, And they pretend they're not Just so they can console me; Just so I won’t do something stupid Just because I'm lonely.

 I know it rains outside But I don’t see children run around. I know it rains outside But I don’t see couples kiss in the rain. We've caged ourselves behind our windows And tried to convince ourselves That the cold that comes through it is enough. But we know it isn’t. We know There is a certain wildness we are missing. We know it. The mud calls for more feet And naughty little hands. The water is prepared to wash away our tears. But we stay shut Behind our windows, As if we're above it all, As if the rain should come to us.

 I hold an umbrella in the sun And enjoy the rain that comes from it. I hold an umbrella in the sun, And I am safe from it. But it comes at a cost. I see the rain always; The dark clouds, The entire world in black and white. I see A child laugh happily at a leaping dandelion And yet feel sad On not seeing the colour. I see a girl smile And draw a heart for me on the coffee at Starbucks. I smile back. But I'm still under the umbrella. And she looks sad Even when she's smiling. And I can’t see the redness on her blushing cheeks. Why did I choose this?

 Ravens no longer sit on graves. Because someone has placed a can of coke there. Ghosts don’t hunt graves either, Because lonely drunk men sleep on them. The world in literature is a lie. And I’m guilty of these lies too. More things occur in words Than anywhere. It's all fake Most of the time. The ravens don’t just sit on graves. They sometimes come to visit me In my house; Sitting on trees. The world has changed, But literature has been the same. The world has changed Or has it? Maybe the raven doesn’t seek the dead. Maybe the raven seeks those lacking life. And yes, I'm lacking life. So maybe The world hasn’t changed much. How boring!

 I sleep on the couch, Twisted in my headphones Like a child in the womb; All curled up in a blanket, The tea on the table going cold waiting. I sleep on the couch When it is raining outside; When the water rattles on the roof, And sings a lullaby for me. It feels like a warm sound, A mother's voice. Well, My mother says she used to sing to me When I was in the womb. I wonder what joy I would've felt. I wonder again and again Because I’ve forgotten it Like all the other good things in life.

 I see a shadow come from the dark room, Imposing itself on the only light there is. I see a shadow come from the dark room, Screaming, Afraid of being one with the darkness that keeps growing and growing. I hear the scream. But I too am a shadow myself, Unable to grab onto the real world. I too am a shadow myself, Stuck in a room, Afraid of the darkness. They say the blind can't help the blind; So the dying can’t help the dying. And no one can help each other out of the darkness, Out of the rooms. Everyone has built their walls, And everyone has chosen to stay within them for long enough; So long, That they've become a part of it Whether they wanted to or not.

 The pigeons can poop on snow And you wouldn’t know it. The pigeons can poop on snow. But do we really care? We step on so much dirt And it doesn’t bother us. We step on so much dirt And we’ll do nothing even if we realize it. We are ignorant of the world's problems, And our problems too Sometimes. But isn’t it okay to let go? Isn’t it okay to not care so much Sometimes? Isn’t it okay to not fight all the time And just take the bullshit of other people. Well, that's what a relationship is; Two people putting up with each other's bullshit.

 Someone left this glass of wine on the bench. Can I drink it? Who knows why it was left alone. Maybe Two lovers sat down and had a great time, And walked off. Or they might have argued and went their separate ways. Peace or hostility; It doesn’t matter. The glass of wine Is left alone anyway. Now, it's for the ants, The bugs And the ravens who couldn’t taste blood. Now, it's for all those who really deserve it. Now, It's free Truly. Now, Anyone can drink it. But no one will. Because what if The people return? What if they unite? That's bullshit. The beggar drinks it before the raven can.

 The rain drips from blinking neon. And watches the puddle that forms beneath. It can only watch Without knowing what the puddle will mean to anyone. It can only watch As kids throw mud on each other for play, For which they'll be whacked. It can only watch As the car splashes mud on the coat of a young man Going for an interview That could change his life. It can only watch, And its job is to only watch. All it does is create the puddle. It just lies there, Quietly. It is we who mess around with it.

 Two empty chairs sit on the beach, Shaded by the umbrella, Looking at the waves kiss the shore and shy away Like a little boy kissing the girl When the parent takes eyes off for a whim. Two empty chairs sit on the beach Enjoying wind to the face in the morning, Wind to the back at night Everyday, Yet not complaining Of the monotony; The same winds, The same waves, The same young turtles swarming to the ocean Before a beaked helicopter scoops them up; Some reaching it, Making it, Making more eggs And more food for the gulls. Two empty chairs sit on a beach And see life happen.

 Life is holding a baby's hand and watching it smile, Life is letting butterflies sit on one's finger, And letting flowers bloom. Life is short, Wild, Now. Life is a kid sneezing at irritating dandelions, Life is a tickled baby, Laughing, Rolling over, Laughing again in its sleep, Dreaming of being tickled. Life gives and life takes. Life is the wick that burns on, And the chandelier that crashes down. Life is the stone standing still, And the boulder rolling downhill. Life gives and life takes even more. But we all go through it; This thorn, This flame, This swamp of molten iron. We all go through this And come out disabled, But alive enough To gather our broken parts And fix ourselves for the better.

 The building smiles with its windows; Some spitting light and others void, Like it’s missing teeth. But actually, it's missing a lot more. There are people in these rooms Who can be themselves only in these rooms. The ones in lit rooms are not so lit; They might be Breaking mirrors, Pulling their hair out, Sliding a blade on their wrist; A streak splashing across their face. The ones in dark rooms Might be lying amid Unwashed clothes And bottles of beer and stronger things; Alone and afraid, Engulfed by their own darkness. This is the price they pay For putting on costumes. This is the price they pay For putting on smiling masks, And putting on fake laughter for silly jokes. This is what they get for being walking hoaxes. And they deserve every bit of it.

 I like to think I'd done so much. But it's all just footprints in the desert, Changing with the wind, Disappearing with the dunes. I like to think I'd done so much. But it's all ice in lemonade. But don’t feel sorry for me. Because the sands that made my footprints Are still in the desert, Blowing over it forever. The ice in the glass still exists as cold. Fire lights On posters, On newspapers, Tips of cigars. Fire lights And the ice is no longer ice. But it is not gone. It is only difficult to see. It is blind to those who look And unfolds to those who observe.

 They burn matchsticks on mountains And tells us to feel the heat. They paint like Picasso And say he's a clown anyone can imitate. They shout for the clouds to hear And cry for their tears to reach the sea. They shoot moving targets And end up shooting the people they love. They do these things. But it gets worse. They force everyone else to do these things. And I cannot believe they actually do them. And I cannot believe they are judges, Politicians, And professors. I cannot believe That they are learnt men fighting to enforce stupidity. I don’t know. Maybe I’m exaggerating. But it is better to be stupid.

 The lights shine on red curtains, And they call a name. The lights shine on red curtains Before they are pulled off To reveal nobody. The performer has not come. Well, the performer is me, And I’m always late. They wait, and wait; Melting like ice cream. They wait, and wait Like candles about to meet the marble beneath. They wait, and wait Like they're waiting for god or Godot. And I come And there will be no lights; The curtains down. The audience has left the building. But I still dance For my own pleasure. And I’m satisfied with it.

 Life runs away like a tanned horse gone wild, Kicking dust into my eyes. Life runs away and I'm left buried in the sand, Like a treasure chest barely sticking out. Life runs away And I'm unable to run with it. It goes on; The free horse galloping towards the setting sun, Disappearing like a black cut out Getting smaller, Smaller And smaller. But I'll show life one day. The people will come to place a tombstone where I'm buried, And they'll dig up instead, To plunder all the gold inside this treasure chest. Then they'll bury me empty, Devoid of any worth.

 Birds fly through clouds, But we only see them when they're outside. And the clouds can be white, red or grey; It doesn’t matter. And the clouds can be peaceful, or shooting lightning; It doesn’t matter. All of them hide the birds. The grey clouds hold tight over deserts  And rain down on floods. The white clouds don't bring anything And try to make everyone happy. The red clouds are pretty, But they appear when no one can see. Yet all of them can hide the same kind of birds. Birds fly through clouds, But we only see them when they're outside. And the clouds can be white, red or grey;

 As the cat crawls into itself, As the smell of rain grows stronger, As the headphones lie twisted on the bed, You know I'm at peace with myself. The mirrors reflect darkness and clocks tick away. I turn in my couch And the grey hat on the side slips down. I turn in my couch And roll over an unopened packet of potatoes chips. My eyes wink But I do not wake up. I eyes wink And I close them with great strain, And fall deeper into darkness. As the cat crawls into itself, As the smell of rain grows stronger, As the headphones lie twisted on the bed, You know I'm at peace with myself Because I’ll be asleep.

 I open my eyes and something's wrong. My palms are grey, The blanket is grey too. And mother walks in. She's grey too, And I can’t tell she’s getting old. I freak out and ask her. She tells me there’s nothing wrong with my eyes. She tells me The world has always been like this. And she kissed me on the forehead for realizing it so early. She looked proud. But I’m still scared. I'd rather live in my dreams. At least, They are colourful. At least, I wouldn’t really know if i die in it. There won’t be any pain. Why am I alive?

 I sleep like a baby in a cloth tied between trees, Swaying gently. I sleep like a baby; Which means I don’t sleep at all. While I sleep, I fall down mountains. While I sleep, I jump into coloured water. I break hourglasses and  Catch bullets that kill me anyway after passing through my palm. I go to hell and blame the devil for my misery. I go to heaven and blame god for my pleasure. I have too much of both. And in the end, I have nothing; No windows, No warm blanket, No sleep. I didn’t ask for this. Every human was created to endure this, Every human being was created to act like they are fine, And every human was created without their consent. Why?

 Dirty feet, A pillow to hug, Crumbled sheets, And lo-fi music in high volume; This is basically how I sleep; Calm Like an empty swing, A pendulum, A raccoon in a tree. Bears sleep for the winter, And the shorebirds with oily wings Just sleep forever, Dreaming about the unknown substance that killed them Forever. Dirty feet, A pillow to hug, Crumbled sheets, And lo-fi music in high volume; This is basically how I sleep; And I wake up To the sun peeing at my face. And I wake up To the jumping alarm clock. This is reality, And I don’t have a choice.

 I break down under the wall and cry; The frost thickens, Violins break. The roots reveal themselves And plants grow out my eyes. The roots reveal themselves And rip my gut to reveal more. The roots stay And the roots suck out my soul. The roots stay And I break down under the wall Crying and crying again. I hear something and hold my breath to listen. I hear something; Someone else crying On the other side of the wall, Louder and louder than me. I break down under the wall and cry; The frost thickens, Violins break On the other side too.

 I'm a plant with legs Walking around looking for rain. I'm a plant with no fruits, Roots Or vines. I move and I jump around And the other plants don’t like it. I move and I jump around For the freedom I have. They are jealous, Yet they've sent me to look for the grey clouds And bring them home. I try. But I don’t find any. There's just sunshine and happy white clouds. There's just sunshine And everything's dying from it; Too much joy. We need to be sad. If not, It’s better to conduct suicide. Where are the grey clouds?

 I see you And my heart flutters like the wings of a hummingbird. I see you And this hummingbird has found his flower. It's not a pretty flower, And it has a few petals missing. It's not a pretty flower, But it is sweet inside And I know it. It's not a pretty flower, But it is pretty when it smiles. And the smile is even better than what’s within. And the smile is smile enough. This bird sits on a twig to watch you, And it breaks. And you find me Blushing And fiddling my wings uncontrollably. And you find me And laugh. And I laugh too. Thank god.

 She talks and I don’t listen to the words. She talks and I hear only the voice; Soft, A warm blanket, A hug; A soothener, an anti-depressant. It's better than the greatest singers, And the stupid birds making noise. It's better than hugging a pillow To sleep. She's a marvel, A walking lullaby. She's soft, yet able to bend iron. She's short, yet able to dunk. She's light; A soft but strong presence. She's wind; Both calm and destructive. She talks and I don’t listen to the words. She talks and I hear only the voice; Soft, A warm blanket, A hug. But I'll need one from her now; A Real one.

 The bridge looks out through the mist and the morning sun. And there are lovers; Hugging, Kissing, Watching the water below like it's something new. And there are friends; Playing, Smacking, Pulling hair. And there is a lonely man and a lonely woman Sitting a bench apart, Throwing quick glances at each other. And there is a lonely man and a lonely woman Wanting company Yet not wanting it. They both stand up at the same time And it becomes awkward. They come close, Close, Closer. They come together And their eyes speak the language of the wind; Changing like fire Yet recognizable Only by each other. They stare and stare And see eyes and blood and heart and soul. And all these things unite and become one. And all these things pull them together for a kiss; Violins! Cymbals! The veil of the mist is lifted. Tables! Electric guitars! The pianist over-plays in joy. The sun puts down its spotlight through a cloud, And watches and watches more. The wind stops yelling And listens and liste...

 Man ate the fruit at Eden, And he forgot to chew it When he saw god. He swallowed it And it's still in him; Stuck At the end of the intestine Forever Like a finger to scratch the gut, And create problems. And sometimes The fruit ripens. And sometimes The fruit bursts; Fibres, seeds and all. And there is much pain Because the fruit has become man, And man, the fruit.

 I move to my bed after the loss Of a sock, a grade, a smell, a life; Unhappy and crying rivulets. After drinking away, After breaking up, After seeing The white, Black, Grey, I move to my bed To cry and cry more rivulets. The sadness fills up like water And I float on it on my wooden bed. The sadness fills up like water And knocks down everything like water And jumps out the window and creeps out the door Like water. I cry and cry rivulets But don’t come here to console me. My sadness is the blue mountain, A flower in the snow. My sadness is the sadness of a Christian  Crying and crying away at mass. I cry away happiness And become void To be satisfied. Either joyful or satisfied. I've never been both together.

 She's like a crystal ball which shows Only after it's covered with mist. She's the sunlight That knows no distinction Among the clouds. She's a dew on a fresh blade of grass, On a hill No goat will climb. You blush Like a doll with permanent pink cheeks. You're pretty and you're mysterious. You're cloud and I'm the water That comes from you. You're marvellous. I become you And you become me. We are the same thing.

 How often do you come near me? To pick up a pen or forgotten key And you find what you come for It is always me that you ignore   I want to stretch my chest And start again your knowledge quest. All my pages, they want some air And a gentle human touch and care.   How long ago, I cannot tell. But my yellow pages you used to smell. Now they collect dust and woe, Waiting for a gentle pat and blow   One day you will set me free When you feel empty without me But you’ll still be depressed and bored For many pages the bugs might’ve devoured (I was young when I wrote this and gave too much importance to the rhyming😅🙃)

 Petals on the earth, Pencil shavings on my desk. Rain outside, Weeping inside. We are not alone in anything. Nature has an equivalent. The flowers know your sadness, The mountains know your sadness. There are many flowers, But the butterfly sits on your sill. There are many windows, But the thrush sits at yours. They want you to be happy. But you don’t. Owls of sadness hoot from the branches of our heart. Snakes bite the soul. The soul cannot bleed or get hurt. But it does split For some time. Petals on the earth, Pencil shavings on my desk. Rain outside, Weeping inside Ever since I can remember.

 He always smiled like a thorn I don't know why. He hoped for a new dawn But the sun never came by Maybe it did come his way But there were no windows He shouted what he wanted to say When the walls were coming close No one saw the body Rotting by the day No one heard the bleeding soul That hid itself away. Eventually, his cry crossed the bay And God came Only to take him away After he'd cut a vein (Another piece from when I was younger!😁)

 We peel oranges the wrong way. We get juiced in the eye. We blame the oranges. We throw away  Oranges with worms. They make their way Into the soil To infect  Another orange plant, Another orange. We throw it away. We blame the oranges. The orange cannot Speak About its fate. But it can Show. Can't it? We say seeing is believing. But most of the time, We don't even see What we are shown.

 There is a storm And my umbrella turns inside out. There is a storm And people lose their hats, Coats, And will power. There is a storm. The dogs run away And the black cat hides. The brave run away And the cowards stay. There are no more billboards, Neon lights, Orderly tables at restaurants. There are no more rich people, Or poor people, Or street people. There is just Equality In the best way it can be. There is just Harmony The best way there can be. Sometimes, Too much order creates chaos And we need chaos to restore order.

 I want to tell her, But she might be seeing me as a friend. I want to tell her, But what if she doesn't like it. I've always been that dreamy kid Sitting in some corner, On some bench, Ignored, Marked as absent by the teacher. I've always been that dreamy kid Everyone gossips about. No one has come close. No one has the courage To look into my eyes and see the lava Popping bubbles in me. No one has the courage To look at these hanging spikes of ice, Waiting to fall on the young deer with broken legs. But she saw it. She doesn’t feel the heat, But she at least counts the popping bubbles. She doesn’t feel the heat, But she's the only one who wants to. She'll push me downhill And I’ll break a rib or two. But the spikes of ice won’t fall on me. I’ll break a rib or two. But she'll take this young deer home, Wrap him in a blanket And put him near the fireplace. I want to tell her. And I have to tell her, Because she's too smart  To understand what I feel. She too...

 The carpenter With too many splinters on his palms. Don’t ask him if it hurts. Because it doesn’t  Until you ask. My heart Has many wounds- Wounds ripping open faster than they could heal. They would heal if I take out the splinters. But I won’t. I don’t want them to see my heart bleed, My heart being drained. Because they will only see me draining it. They won’t remember That they were the ones Who put these splinters in me. But don’t worry. Just don’t ask me if it hurts. Because it won’t Until you ask.

 It's January I dream of green clouds Yellow ducks on ponds And pots with dying flowers once beautiful I dream of my brother smoking  Throwing out his cigarette wet in rain He isn’t there And I wake up to the curtains licking the heavy air The skies cry And ravens look down upon the world To find the dead and less alive to yell at It's January The fishes land from skies And birds come out of water covered in oil We don’t see it struggle because we only go to beaches From where we have chased them away There are caves with emeralds Guarded by bats hanging like they were hung Legally We have found these caves And these emeralds But we are still in those caves With the emeralds Where they are worth no more than any two rocks which could start a fire Getting there was tough enough With trees with roots sticking out just to trip the courageous And to trip courage itself But our blood has become part of the earth And we've reached But there are more than caves There are graves th...

 How can I escape This cage of thorns, This scream in me, This rain cloud that follows me? Why is this broken rose still hanging on its stem? I am swimming in an ocean And a ship goes by me, Claiming not to hear my cry. So I hope the ship breaks So that I can hold on to a plank of wood For some time. But there is no storm, Whale Or iceberg That can sink you. And I know it. I cry. My tears remove the makeup And I become me; The me I try so hard to like, But can't; The me that's going to get tired swimming And drown into the ocean, Never seen again.

 People hiding in bathrooms; Bathrooms with hair-clogged drains, Broken buckets, No showers. Crying Because it is the only place No one will see them cry; Sitting on the floor, Leaning on smelly toilets With brown spots on the cover. Crying Because it is the only place They can hear themselves cry Loudly Without people around To judge, To call names, To be kind for others To look at them. Crying Naked Because they found out It's better to be naked Alone Crying But no one hearing them cry But themselves.

 I talk to the wallpaper, Old and peeling away. I talk to the wallpaper And it talks back. We are friends. We have always been friends Through all troubles and joy and journeys Great or small. We have always been together. We often have differences in opinion. Whether I should brush my teeth or not, Whether I should love or not, Whether I should end my life or not. But we remain friends. Sometimes you can’t see the sun. But you know it's there when there is light. We will remain friends Until the wallpaper is torn down And I go to earth, heaven or hell.

 The angel has burned its wings And crashed into the earth. The angel has burned its wings And crashed into a cemetery. She sits up and cries. And then she laughs Looking at her statue placed there, Blowing a trumpet. The beings have sculpted her so accurately And they've never even seen her. The beings have sculpted her so accurately, They must be gods. There are no clouds, But there's mist. There is no God’s light, But there's the sun. This is a miniature heaven, And she doesn’t have to be an angel here. Her wings Her wings have burned away And she sees herself in the fountain; She giggles and the water giggles back. She looks like any other girl. Finally She's feel belonged and welcomed. It’s enough to be human.