The Girl You Once Let Go

Hey, remember when you said you wish to have someone

Who will always be there? Who would never leave?

That someone you could share the world with

And be an extension of yourself?

She was there, you saw her breathing, living beside you.

You once laughed at her jokes and sympathized at her demise.

She never left, not until now though. She was a pillar to your soul,

A subtle gentle zephyr to your grey stagnant skies.

Remember how you wished for a girl to stay?

She was there beside you, staying.

Until she ran away.

She got tired of trying, she let go of the pain.

And she truly did.

Remember when you said you wanted someone worthy of forever?

You made her walk away without realizing

That you saw her with eyes set to the other side.

That Loudest Silence

Inside is a rage directed at the own 

A spiteful gag of tokens of defeat.

The eyes fill inspite of herself.

Inside is a war meaningless and burnt

Ashes of memories alloyed with fears.

The present burns the past, the future failed at last.

And this disease is a civil war.

Sneaking into dark bloodstream lines

Clogged in Paxils, bled in vain.

And when the sun roared its light

It was too bright for the blinded eyes

For she cannot see, shrouded in loud murmurs of the heart

What has become is a moment stuck 

Suspended in the loudest isolated decibels of a sound unheard even across a silent winter dawn

That silence upon the loudest mind

Has brought the deafness against the world.

Unlyrical Opus

When I look at you at a distance

I remember that love song you used to play

And how it sweetly caresses a taciturn pain in me

You were the erratic turnouts in my years

A coming, a going yet a stand still.

And how wonderful it must have been

If I’ve longed you unequivocally

If I’ve equaled an emotion forgone.

Now I look at you at a distance.

And I remember that love song you used to play.

I smiled in the memory and the loss of it all.

Reaching out over this precipice of grey

I slowly whisper a wistful lyric of once and gone

Yet all I hear are laughters not mine

Laying far and beyond.

Dead Hearts

What does a heart fear

When it’s been dragged out from mud

What does a heart desire

When the outside is black and fraud

When words are seamless skies

And promises are tormented cries.

What does a heart believe

When it’s been thrown apart

Departed and desolated by the suns

And a dead haiku is but a lonely trance.

If she’s broken, she lost her spark

An when she’s whole, she’s at the wrong track.

When does a heart find truth

When it’s been hardened by tears

Overflowing and red, dissipated in dread.

What is even a heart?

When it’s been emptied tonight.

The Night She Decides To Walk Broken

There is a part of her that’s always broken
It’s something you cannot fix
Something she can’t glue together back
And yet she has decided
And it took her a long time
Banished, vile, stupid and fragile
She decided finally to walk
Bare and broken on this earth
And she pleads to be fine wearing
The scars as her skin and the judgments on her sleeves
Yet she knows full well of coming days
Where she’d be more broken and spiteful of herself
Returning to dust, crumbling stars
She would dare cry over such sadness
And she’ll stand again, over again
For her brokenness is her
This time it’s her evil and her angel
Upon her shoulders
That lighten the load while heavy as they are
Her wings are black and white
Her crown rose petals and thorns
And she walks, sometimes she flies
Knowing nothing but that each she sees
Is similarly broken yet patched soul.

I Raise a Glass to the Amputated Hands

I didn’t mind the beer or the gin or both

Its bitterness is sweet

It is happiness and bliss

a cocktail of euphoria drowned in sadness

a roundabout of stories and seconds

of life, philosophy and flamboyant tongues.

I don’t mind the cash and consequent credits

I don’t even mind whether I gulp alone or not

It’s fine, doing things by yourself, swallowing your bile,

Yet finer, counting empty bottles of beer with people

laughing of zombie memories and looking at the stars

or the polluted city lights and noise. We all feel

We all have felt that. Like grasping the cotton clouds

with a beggar’s hands, and the mist showing

the visions of your mind.

I do not mind getting drunk.

As long as I can still breathe and haven’t yet passed out.

It seems too unnatural to me.

That an empty bottle cannot match the empty soul.

Or the compulsion wouldn’t be satisfying

If this empty room couldn’t equal the empty space

of this table, and the filled ashtray it holds

It’s a shame for the eerie ashes to be disemboweled

without tribute to the fading spirit that I have.

I raise a glass to the pleasured emptiness

to the fullness of pasts in an empty coffin.

Tonight, I celebrate the paradox of my life.