Haiku: Autumn

Leafy corpses crunched,

Blooming wails on barren veins,

Autumn visited.

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Escape

There is poison in my eyes
Let me cry it out
Hate boils in my veins
Let me bleed it out
My soul, it suffocates
In this vessel you put it in
Let me set it free
Let me taste escape
Let me cry and bleed and die
For I no longer have the cure
The drugs, they don’t numb anymore
The brain is always throbbing
With a never ending pain
And then this itching desire
to claw at the veins
Why don’t you let me free the mind
The bliss that lies beyond the veil
Is calling out to me, my friend
The peace the grave must bring
Surpasses this sleep they put me in
And the heaven that runs through these tubes
No more tastes the same as you
So I lay in this bed, commatose
And I no longer have the cure
The brain wants to let go of the soul
And the veins want to let go of the blood
And the eyes, they never stop
Pouring memories of you in stone
And the heart, it keeps on beating
Singing rhythms of dellusions
Let me cry and bleed and die
Before the soul lets go of hope

Brave

Sarah had always been scared of almost everything. The dark, her closet, her teacher, Father, speeding cars, the back of her house, clowns, noisy parks, spiders, you name it. And every single person she had been fortunate enough to meet in her short 14 years of life, would make it a point to remind her of that.

And they would always laugh. Everyone would laugh. Everyone would mock. Everyone, especially Hassan.

Sarah had always been a wimpy little girl— but tonight she had been brave. Tonight, she was not afraid of anything. Not of the dark in Hassan’s room. Nor of Mother’s silver knife. Or of the blood mushing in her soft hands, or the intestines spilling from Hassan’s torn stomach. Or the metallic stench of blood running stale. Or the pool of red at her feet. Nothing scared her, not tonight.

Sarah had always been called names, but after her feat of bravery, nobody would. Nobody would mock. Nobody would laugh. Nobody, especially Hassan.

Hiccups

Remember how Mother would say every time we’d get hiccups, that somewhere somebody must be thinking of you, or missing you, or talking of you. And at the mention of their name, the hiccups will stop. She’d say the hiccups serve as a reminding-tool, making us keep our loved ones in our hearts forever, never letting us forget them.

Well, I sit here tonight in the cold of your abandoned room, my face buried in a pillow, wet with tears and blood. The soft muffling my sobs. Your rusting blade is in my hand, speckled with blood that’s been running stale now. It’s 3 am and I’ve been thinking of you. Fresh warm scarlet is trickling down my arms. Have those hiccups come yet? I miss you. Your memories are poisoning my present. Everyday they grow and consume my sanity inch by inch.

Have those hiccups come already? Have you taken my name yet?  They tell me to forget you. How can I? They tell me you’re in a better place. Is that true? Then why would you leave me in such misery? You haven’t forgotten your big sister have you? Why don’t those hiccups come? I’m going mad maybe, for expecting you to think of me. Yes, I must be going mad, expecting corpses to hiccup and speak.

 

Fall

I could see the others turning shades of brown and yellow. Their lush green gradually being replaced by a splendid crimson and chrome. It had arrived.

 Autumns cold brush had painted the entire garden into warm colors of death. Some trees were still speckled with green leaves, I noticed; but by tomorrow, every treetop will be ablaze in blinding flames of auburn.

Below me was a layer of dead leaves , carpeting the recently raked lawn. My siblings lay ominously far beneath me. I still had tiny dots of green, I noticed. A few hours maybe, and I’ll be amongst my lost friends. I too will fall.

The sadistic fall wind snaked through the tree branches. The same branches which once boasted lush leaves and flowers. Just a few months ago, they were the kaleidoscope of nature’s palette, now all that could be seen everywhere, was the coulour of blood when it has run stale.

She came for my tree next, blowing off any weak leaves that came in her way. It was my time now. Because everything that soars must fall.

The wind yanked at my stalk. I resisted instinctively. Death surrounded me. I held on tighter. Mother nature was determined. I want to live. Your time is up. Gravity sided up with them. My branch let go.

And so I returned to where I had risen from. My cradle now serving as my grave.