Imagine 

Imagine if I came to you
Fly across all oceans and skies and tear through the clouds and the stars
See the sun spit fire in all it’s rage 
And pass the moon as he weeps from lifelessness
What if I float through the dark forever, let it consume me and become me
Disintegrate my mind to tiny bits and pieces
Would I then be close to you my Maker?
This soul wants to leave and reach you
My dreams only show me a light that I must float to
I tried writing poems for you but my pen loses rhyme every time I think of you
My jaw quivers and my eyes get cloudy, the pen scribbles as if it has a life of its own
If I came to you my Maker, would you love me for hating you 
Would you forgive me and show me and remove the knot from my mind
Would you place a piece of your light where my heart should be
Smile at me like a teacher does at a struggling student
“Think deeply about the wonders and creation of the universe”, you had said
Drove me into madness, now cure me my Maker
You made me and the angels and the Devils and all evil
They say you will everything but you kill everything too
Am I insane or are they
They call you names and I have too but I want to not hate you 
I fall on omy knees in prostration every time do
I am insane just as you had willed it to be
And I want to come running to you
This flesh and this earth imprisons me, separates me from you
Will it that I may come floating to you
Tell the keepers of my soul that it’s time for my release
That it’s time for me to meet you
Will it my Maker and kill this prison of life 
So that I may reach the light of you
Leave the futility of earthly matters and see the absolute

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Her

Have you ever seen someone

Lose faith in front of you

Powereless, crying  clawing at the head

Kneeling, begging, sweating

Face red and contorted like the body

Like the mind in shambles

Have you ever seen their breath move

As it fills and leaves the lungs in vain

The hair in clumps flowing through fingers clutched

Have you ever seen someone in pain

As they crash in front of your eyes

Falling from a height divine

Their existence a burden their hearts can’t bear

Have you seen such a thing and lived 

Knowing you were the push off the brink

How does one live, knowing they killed a mind

And left it to rot in a flesh-clad machine

Tell me how I wash off the guilt

No soap can clean the grime off my skin

And no prayer can clean the filth off my soul

And my heart weighs me down like an anchor in my being

Have you ever seen someone lose sanity in front of you

Reach out to extinguish the glimmer of hope in an eye

Rub the wick between their fingers till the flame loses life

I see the mirror every night 

And see the other me as a dead girl with a smile 

A corpse trying hard to look alive

I have seen her stand defeated in front of me

And she doesn’t go away ever

Even when the mirror is broken and dead

She blooms in the shards like a ghost of past

Survival of the fittest?

The human mind: an intricately woven tapestry of logic, forever baffling the onlooker with such casual majesty. The more one tries to unravel its pathways, the deeper they find themselves trapped into this labyrinth. Just a few sparks running up and down invisible cells, in terms of physics. Just a few hormones holding together the fort of sanity, in terms of chemistry. Creation at its finest, in terms of religion.

Doesn’t it steal your sleep every night then, just thinking of what it is capable of? Everything we do–everything our brain commands our vulnerable bodies to do– is for the sole purpose of better survival. Struggle for existence is what we have evolved to master. Survival of the fittest is what nature has ensured, ever since the beginning of time.

Then how does a perfectly healthy person go into self-destruct mode? How do the same chemical messengers that keep you sane, turn their guns against the body they are supposed to be serving? How do the same electrical impulses convince the mind that the world would be a million times better without them in it? That the feeling of despair would leave once you start slitting your skin? That intoxication is the answer to all problems? That death cures all infliction?

The same brain producing the hand-jerk reflex, should your finger contact fire, is now telling you to jump over the cliff when you’re on a family trip to the mountains. The same brain that stops you from eating moulded food, should you get ill, is now reluctant to move from in front of a truck advancing towards you while you’re crossing the road. What snaps in the mind to think that the body it serves is not enough. Not fit to survive. What makes it refuse any struggle to exist?

 

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

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.

 

Those days

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There will be days when you will want to cry but tears won’t come.There will be days where everything would seem meaningless and emotions will be hollow. There will be days when even the funniest jokes would leave you broken on the bathroom floor later. There will be days when you will be surrounded by people—friends, but you’ll be lonelier than ever. And they will try to cheer you up, and you’ll fake a smile.

Then there will be days when all you’ll want to do is be alone. Just you and your penknife. Your skin as your canvas. Your clothes damp with blood that’s been running stale.
And let me tell you, it will be on days like these that reality will hit you. You’ll be able to filter your friends from acquaintances. You’ll finally be able to see what actually matters—who actually matters.
It will be after days like these, that you will find Him caressing your soul. The fog will clear as you free yourself from that black hole you used to call life. It will be peace from the on. Eternal peace.
For no one disturbs the dead.