Inspiration

lalal

Photo Credits – Global Indian Stories

I wove inspiration from scraped clothes,
Tattered pieces speak enough woe,
The heart mumbled words,
Which banged against my soul,
But never came up to my throat.

When novels run out of unturned pages,
When poems run out of mystical metaphors,
And when life is a series of unspoken words and spoken silences,
She emerges,
And soothes my soul,
Whispers and calms my insanity,
And gives me hope.

The Rhapsodic Empress is the queen of concave shadows,
Her eyes mirror forgotten mottos,
She’s the beacon, she’s the stories, the forgotten warrior,
The golden memories, my mother’s lap, she’s the words,
That you wanted to say the most but you didn’t,
The ones you typed all the way through and then eventually deleted.

She bellows a tune that enchants my senses,
She wraps me in the nostalgia of intricate notes,
She sews my scars and paints my wounds,
With colours I’d forgotten exist.

She sings
An explosion of inexpressible feelings
And invisible wounds,
A journey which streaks through your soul
And shows you how deep you have fallen,
Only to be caught again.

Oh how, when I was younger I thought the music was all that mattered,
My mind swooned in the bliss of the pulsating pitch of the strings,
And here I stand,
When the melody is just an expression of the emotions my heart pumps into my veins,
I hear only what the lyrics tell me.
Where every second is a reminder,
Of that somebody.

The Rhapsodic Empress sings to my soul in every way,
She has a song prepared for every day,
I reside in the Empress’ reign with absolute faith,
As I’m aware that she’ll give me the air I need to breathe,
When the suffocation has throttled my pumping lungs.
She’ll give me the escape I crave,
From this troubled reality.

Oh thou Empress,
You’re my only addiction,
You drug me and show me amber shades of strength,
You teach me that instead of falling in hope of being caught,
By the somebody who once left you in tattered pieces,
Fall freely along with a parachute, and be your own savior.

You show me the sunrise when the rays cease to exist,
You remind me it’s my scars and my failures which make me who I am,
Don’t give up on me,
Because you make me not give up on myself,
Stay with me,
I’ll have a companion in this battle.


Originally posted on Medium through ACorneredGurl

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Sunshine Blogger Award

Hello, fellow bloggers!

It gives me immense pleasure to tell you that I’ve been nominated for the ‘Sunshine Blogger Award’ by Riya Gupta through her website WorldOfMyThoughts on WordPress. I request you all to check out her amazing blog of her unique words. Thank you so much Riya, for this nomination. I am so grateful to you.

images

RULES

  • Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link back to their blog.
  • List the Rules and display an award logo on your blog post.
  • Answer the 11 Questions the Blogger has asked you.
  • Nominate 11 New Blogs to receive the award and notify them by comment on any of their posts.
  • Ask the Nominees 11 New Questions.

Riya’s questions:

  1. What is your favorite writer and why ? I don’t have any particulars, my favourite writer constantly changes. Right now, it’s Jefferey Archer. I read his book ‘A Prisoner of Birth’, and it is the best book I’ve read my whole life. I think it’s because of his gripping plots and the way he puts his words and crafts the illusion. I’m currently reading his book ‘False Impressions’.
  2. What is your dream occupation ? Music Therapist, Teaching
  3. Who inspires you the most ? My mother and Mr. Yash Nahar
  4. What does happiness mean to you ? Happiness to me, is knowing that life can never be perfect and will always have its ups and downs, so live in the moment, and cherish the spirit of the positive energy you have right now. It’s a choice and it comes from hardwork and solving problems.
  5. What genre of movies do you watch the most and why ? Suspense thrillers, because they manage to create this wonderful aura which keeps me hooked and continues being interesting enough to always make me want to watch more
  6. Do you keep up with climate change events ? Yes, I do. My mother is an environmentalist and hence get to know about it through my mother.
  7. Do you know who Greta Thunberg is ? Yes, I do. She is such an amazing person and I love her cause! Hats off to her courage and dedication. One of the many qualities of a true leader.
  8. Who is your favorite blogger ? I don’t have a certain favorite, plenty of bloggers whose posts always leave me in appreciation.
  9. What is your favorite cartoon character and why ? Jerry, I relate with him
  10. What is your number one fun activity ? Series marathons with my mother
  11. Who is your top choice for the best musical act ? None

    Great! Thank you so much dear, I am so grateful to you. The bloggers I wish to nominate:

Ancient Skies

Allison Marie Conway

Luna

Craig Lock

Accidental Blogger

trE

Samyak Singh

Brad Osborne

Anonymously Hal

Simran Sawant

These are all the bloggers I wish to nominate. I ask them the same questions.


When The Heavens Whispered

heaven whispers

Photo Credits – Pinterest

It rained,
The pink of the flowers melted into a mystical mauve of matte,
As the skies spilled their tales into a cascade of condensated love,
The soil gained a unique freshness and sprayed the air with the calmness of a mended soul,
And the edges of the leaves curved concave,
As the nectar of the sapphire sky slept unto the moss green bed,
And they shone emerald green just like your eyes,
Only that I just saw the exquisite beauty of the emerald,
And never saw your true stone-self.

I feel the beguiling beads drop,
From the heavenly realm of jewels on my bruised skin,
It penetrated my heart when those beads quenched my thirst as they fell unto my lips,
The maple syrup of the sky,
Now reminding me of the maple of your mouth on my dry lips,
And the way it tasted,
As it gushed gradually down my throat and my tongue craved more,
Because your caressing hands on my shoulder took the weight of the world off them.
I sighed with satisfaction while this alluring peace my soul absorbed,
Like waffles absorb maple syrup.

But who knew that your nectar would drench me and slowly drip my self-esteem,
But then again, I was blithely unaware,
That your maple was poison in guise of the sweet bliss of your lips,
Breaking the waffle of my heart into shattered crumbles.

I drown myself in the tranquility of this secluded paradise,
I let the skies bleed purple shades of hidden bruises,
They blend into the amber of the threshold of the bijou empire,
It’s not raining anymore.

My lungs came to savour the breath of freedom,
I let the streams of the translucent skies dilute the colors of my tainted galaxy,
I ingested the shattered showers,
Because I was tired of my own tears quenching my thirst.

Maybe the soil will absorb the peace,
And the prying eyes will once again self-hydrate,
But my throat is nauseous of the taste of my lacrimal salts,
I won’t let heartbleed be my life’s sole flavour.

I’ll be a warrior and I’ll embrace my scars,
With heartbreak as my healing balm,
I won’t be a prisoner of your love,
I’ll let the rains take my misery.


Originally posted on Medium via ACorneredGurl, you can check it out here!

‘Ello Guys! Yes, I know, I’ve been posting after a really long time. Like a really, really long time but my final terminal examinations are in progress and have kept me busy. My last paper’s on 27th February and I promise to seriously dedicate myself to this blog since that day, plus my holidays will start from then therefore will have plenty of time to surprise you and keep you tuned! I seriously apologize for the inconsistency.


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@theniharikadiaries

When Reality Hits

Heart of the Matter.

Photo Credits – Pinterest

It killed me.
Knowing that I couldn’t live without you and you were the air entering my lungs in every moment. The sweet nectar in our love we tasted under the oak trees at nightfall before we walked in the same direction, hearts intertwined and the hands interlocked perfectly like the perfect key to a lock, slowly turned into venom, consuming each nerve with a spiralling outrage. I wrote my pain unto chapped sheets which bent peculiarly every time its friction acted against the rustling tip, and I mixed that ink with the ashes of the letters you wrote to me which I burnt. No, my apologies, the heartfelt letters I wrote to you which you sent back because you can’t deal with my darkest demons, because you have your own, while I thought love was all about fighting against your demons together and falling in love with each other’s flaws, fears, insecurities. You stamped over my soul like a mere insect in your ravishing realm of creatures you converse with, make them feel important, and you make them see you as their hope. But unluckily, the only hope, ah, so blind. And then you see another marvellous creature. The list adds on. A lifetime of warmth burned into the coldness of the air as you walked away and every sound intensified but nothing struck my brain as hard as the sound of your shoes rhythmically hitting against the stone pavement and my heart beating along that bleeding rhapsody.

And in the series of irascible moods and uncontrollable rage, irregular eating habits and countless nights of insomnia that followed, I popped up a few pills and drugged me with some delusional reliefs through sleep, because I dreamt only of you and at times, us. As it gave my heart peace knowing that maybe I will once again get to bathe in the comfort and swoon in the brisk energetic fires of our passionate love with you as my soulmate forever and even now I can never think any wrong of you at all because I believe you just wanted your mind and nerves a different air to endure for sometime and you wanted to protect me since you love me. Until I saw that you replaced me like a mere utility. Not that I don’t dream or think of you anymore, just my eyes bleed streams of broken hopes as the agony in my heart consumes my every light, as I dream of how much I want to hate you and all I can do is hate. And there I went down with the stupid theories you made me feed upon but you were the one savoring the delicious feast in it, that you only hate me because you love me. The crazy part? I believed it. Shit.

Been more than months, and I have figured out the reason for my blind belief in that. I was an already broken soul, who believed another such soul would repair me. And now, I realize, nobody has a mended heart. It’s just either someone is more broken or less broken but never completely healed, because it just doesn’t ever happen. I am realizing I am the carpenter of my own mind and I can choose how to react to pain and pick the battles I wanna willingly fight in. Pain is inevitable, as I implore myself, look into the eyes of my deepest demons lurking around the unknown parts of my shadows I was unaware existed, and I deal the way I hoped from someone else. I have decided to fall in love with my insecurities, my parched throat, the drooping of my eyes, my overfilled fridge; my empty voids and torn lips. I’m embracing my scars, and it’s not easy. It’s a simple choice, just not an easy one. But when the sun seems to set and rise according to your mood, it’s always ink black, because you made me drown into the despair of such nothingness that I didn’t even bother to raise my head above the looming anguish of the wrathful waters of worthlessness which you forcefully wrecked my mind into, to see the sun at all. But once you make the choice of that struggle of embracing your scars and walking ahead, you learn to take responsibility for everything in your life; not being at fault for everything, but taking responsibility for it, and you stoopingly fall into such a comfortingly pricking cascade of self-love, no matter how long the fall; because there is always the same destination to it, love. And all of a sudden I’m thinking: ever fallen in love with yourself so much that had all those feelings of love/hate you had for that grim devil under the face of a gentleman just softly melt away?
It hits me.


Okay, so this is the first time I tried to experiment with words in a non-poem way, and I guess it worked out? Let me know in the comments whether you liked this way of writing I tried to experience with and should I post more such works. Also, this is my first post in the New Year 2020 and hence wanted to do something new😊 Other than that, I will indeed try harder to post more consistently and I hope that you guys follow, comment and share!

Suggestions welcome!

Thank you for reading!

@theniharikadiaries

The Bloodbath of Our Love

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Photo Credits – Pinterest

Our silence is more of a distraction than our love,
My longing for you drains the pure blood from my veins,
As I stuff my mouth with
The letters you wrote me,
Trying to quench my thirst
With the dried ink,
But choke on the yellow pages instead.
Want to feel your love through these words,
But your passionate words,
Now feel like venom.

Intoxication.
Suffocated air.
Lacrimal streams,
Flowing red in despair.
Blood boiling.
Blur transition,
From lover to bloodsucking beast,
As the poison,
Consumes every corner of the body you deprive.

Stone-hearted love,
Freezing fingers,
Heightened senses,
A deadly desire.
A vicious vampire under a hood,
Looks above the opaque shadows,
Eyes widening,
I’ve slumbered too much.

Nerves embolden emerald green,
Now I see clearly,
I desire the blood of your body,
Intoxicated by our love.

I pounce on you,
A merciless carnivore,
I suck the sweet nectar,
From your bleeding neck.

Lips luminous red,
An ever-growing hunger,
Satisfied for the time being,
My throat is now not parched anymore,
My thirst for you is quenched.
As I slice your throat and make you bleed,
The way you slit my brain,
Into a deluded madness.

I lick my lips,
Only to fulfill my thirst.
Maybe when I’ll wake up tomorrow,
I will wail my pain into demonic lakes,
But if this little adventure frightens you, my holy love,
You will suffer worse,
For these weren’t your last breaths,
As I’ve condemned you,
To a fate worse than death,
For now you are gonna join,
My human hunting,
Embrace your being,
Of a nocturnal beast,
Thriving on mortal blood.
As we dive into utter insanity,
The deadly kiss,
Of immortality.


‘Ello guys! First of all, this is completely my imagination and doesn’t mean to demean any beliefs. So, this poem is about a human who is driven into such insanity by a toxic lover and misses him so much, that she tries to give herself hope by trying to feel the truth in the words of his handwritten letters by stuffing her mouth with them. However, this lover being toxic, had mixed poison into the ink, which makes her choke on the pages. Technically, she should have died, however the goodness in her heart and her innocence prevents her death and gives her a chance to re-start. She is now reborn a vampire and is rid of the delusion that this lover was truly in love with her. However, she is in transition and has a choice. To trigger vampirism, she must feed and if she doesn’t, she would die a human. She decides to accept immortality and kill the toxic lover to trigger this power. However, deep down she is well aware that simply seeking revenge won’t make her any different than the evil lover. She would be as evil as him. Hence, she gives him a second chance by cursing him with vampirism.

What I intend to portray is that while vampirism is seen as a curse, it is a blessing for some. While the toxic lover gets stuck with guilt, as for her, she finally starts to see clearly.  The aftermath of the poem has three different paths. One, that the lover chooses not to trigger the vampirism out of guilt, other, that the lover chooses to take his brutality to another level by replacing his activity of breaking hearts with removing them out of people, and the last one, though a bit hazy, is that he unknowingly triggers it and spends his eternal life seeking redemption. Either way, what I intend to say is that we always have a choice, and happiness is a choice.

You can either be stuck in the past and not find peace, or accept its pain and not let it define you.

Everyone has their own perspective and belief, and you must always remember that they are unique and your own no matter how unpopular or unaccepted. I speak of vampires as if they do exist. And they do, however the way they’re represented in movies and shows are only for entertainment purposes. I wrote this poem having completed The Originals, and I was so deeply immersed in that thrill, that I had to write this one.

To know about how actually vampires live in real life, read here, which is an interview with a real-life vampire, and this, to know about their lifestyle, and a study of the vampires in New Orleans. 

And also, one more thing that I intend to convey through this poem is that as much great it is to give a person a second chance, it is most essential to give yourself a chance, and to believe that no matter how much painful it is now, no matter how tough this situation is, something good always lies ahead, no matter how far away the distance from it. You just need to give yourself a chance and believe.


Follow, comment and share ‘The Bloodbath of Our Love’ on Medium.

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Dust on Medium

“Dust” by Niharika Gursahani https://link.medium.com/NQ6RLccuh2

Greetings people! As you all know that I’ve started publishing on Medium as well, I request you all to read this piece, applaud, and simply follow me through your email.

I may be publishing different content here and there so do check it out! I’ve just began, and only published two pieces yet, however it’s just the beginning😀

So I hope you guys, check it out, read it and hopefully leave a comment if you like it.


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@theniharikadiaries 🙂

The Rhapsody of The Blues


An archaic tune playes over the dusty radio,
Reminds me of a dwindling duet I almost forgot a second back,
Every cosmic binder of the universe,
Wants me to never forget the rhapsody of our love.

Our rhapsody was melodious,
The tune was full of life,
And the lyrics of this rhapsody,
Were the loving letters I wrote you.

This rhapsody hit me hard,
But somewhere in the lyrics we drift apart,
And the bridge we built with committed chords,
Collapsed as you broke the guitar strings.

This rhapsody was our lover’s call,
I sang it and it beckoned you to me when I needed you,
And you followed my voice and sang along and gave me comfort,
But now when my ears sense this tune of the Blues,
They bleed a stream of shattered love.
And I scream louder than breaking glass.

Pillows don’t comfort me the way I was comforted,
When I cried into your arms and soaked your shirt in those tears,
My pillow only absorbs my pain but doesn’t relieve me of it,
The way you did when your chest was my only pillow.

I can hear your voice hiss through the corridors of my brain,
Corridors painted your favorite colour with our pictures hung up on the walls,
With this now irritable rhapsody playing in the ballroom of my mind,
Which is my destination to be in hallucinations,
When drowning in insomnia,
Dreaming of you in my arms,
Dancing an endless dance.

I can’t sing a note no more,
My throat is blunt of unspoken words,
The rhapsody of our love burns me down to a soulless spirit,
And this spirit can’t survive with her soul anymore.
You are my soul.
I can’t sing the Blues anymore,
Because you tore apart my vocal cards.
Pain is the only note I could produce,
But now I have a heart of stone and a spirit devoid of love,
Which has no voice of it’s own.


I can never caese my love for you,
You are my life and you are my death,
And now that the rhapsody has lost its life,
I dream of only death,
As I gulp down a handful of pills,
Drug me of a faraway fantasy,
This fantasy which I can only achieve,
With the sacrifice of my present life.

And the pills start their deadly effects,
As my body slowly turns into stone like my heart,
I am nothing but a mere corpse,
As grim darkness crawls upto the ceiling walls,
And as the noises intensify of the dead spirit’s desperate insanity,
I still hear over the drunken voids,
Rhapsody which still plays over the dusty     radio..

Greetings fellow bloggers! Across this wonderful interactive platform, I came across a publication named ACorneredGurl started by Miss Tremaine Loadholt. Here, I was made aware of Young Minds of Medium, wherein the youth can submit their unique pieces according to certain challenges. This time, the challenge was ‘How Do You Sing The Blues’ and this was the poem I wrote. The minimum required age was 15 and Miss Tre accepted me as a writer in her impeccable magazine despite me being 13. My wholehearted regards to her. She has so kindly blessed me with her generous and beautiful nature.

I hope you all take out the time to read this one😊
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Suggestions welcome!

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@theniharikadiaries 🙂

It’s night.

And the cicada bellows a horror tune,
Into the turbidity of thoughts of the chilled night,
That petrifying screech of intense terror.
And its horror,
Provokes the aeons and alerts their nerves,
With an abandoned pain
Of a long-forgotten tale.
And somewhere the oak leaves rustle,
Perhaps to calm the cicada’s call,
Or to soothe an ear bleeding velvet of woes,
Or to ruffle the rough pages inked with distorted handwritings,
Scratch poetry written loosely,
The pages repeatedly falling down,
As if the God’s way of saying “Nah, don’t write any further”.
Somewhere a broken warrior,
Loses a fight,
In the battlefield of life,
And the cicada is now the sound of vanquished hope,
But the wind is the voice of the Almighty,
Encouraging words of hope beckon this warrior,
To make her realise,
Broken she is,
But destroyed she is not.
The pieces though shattered are a part of her,
If binded well,
The battle ends.
And here I stand amidst this thick haze,
This hazy envelope of the mysterious night,
Foamed with the tales of broken souls,
Valiant, yet short of hope.
Eerie for some, comforting to plenty the night does sound,
But to me it’s sound of the ringing death knell,
As I stand up at the window sill,
And gaze up at the distorted moon,
Purposelessness crawling up my torn skin,
Hopeless eyes of archaic stones,
Shot with the hard-hitting lunar light,
The fire of this plight burns more bright,
My vision blurred,
Eyelashes drooping like showered rooftops,
My heart thuds against my chest,
Heavier than the crashed hopes of my past.
And I then see my destination down,
And feel the desire to taste,
The unfathomable joy of death.
Just one step,
And it all ends.
The final destination,
Of my psychotic pain.

I step ahead and fall,
A feeling I’ve never felt before I feel in my final breaths,
Freedom.
I hope you are happy now,
Do thank me for the boon I’ve bestowed upon you.
I thump down on the concrete ground,
My head hitting this pavement,
Has perhaps overpowered the cicada’s call.
My nerves bursting red in wrath,
I have pooled the pavement with demonic tears,
I feel the freedom through my deadened veins,
You.


Hello guys! So I’ve written this one about my perception of the night and what it symbolizes. The poem is grave, I do agree, and I would honestly love to know in the comment section whether my poems are now getting repetitive concerning themes and if yes, do suggest some topics you would like to read. I am planning to make this blog more interactive.😊

Anyway, this poem is about a person who craves her rightful freedom which has been stolen from her and feels the only way to now be free would be death. The ending of the poem, however, can have many views. In fact, this whole poem can have various perceptions of it. What I intend to believe, is that she wishes to be with someone whom she is not free to, and is so driven by that despair and so disturbed with confusion that she believes that it is impossible for her to be free with the one she wants to be, but wants to be free nevertheless. In the end, her despair overpowers the desire for the initially wanted freedom and she only wants to be free of the gloom which has sadly consumed her life, causing her to commit suicide.

Basically, the message I truly intend to convey is sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is let them be free. Give them their time and space. The freedom of choice and belief. Let them be them and love them for it. Of course, misuse of freedom is extremely wrong, but everyone deserves their rightful freedom to not make them feel like a prisoner of birth. Do share your views and perceptions on this one.


Also read: Before You End Your Life – Writing My Heart Out

And, the writing style of writing ‘You’, in the end was learnt by me through Miss Gabriela M.’s works, who is a US university professor and author of three novels and an exceptional poet.

Also, my friend has too started a blog and I was hoping you guys could take out some time to check it out here.

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Suggestions welcome!

Follow, comment and share!

@theniharikadiaries 🙂

Happy Birthday, Papa.

Dear Papa,

No matter how long we talk over the phone none of it compares to the time spent together when you’re here. Birthdays. Some are excited, some are not. Some have gigantic parties, some make wee celebrations with cake at the most. But we’re simple, middle-class Sindhis. Give us sai-bhaji with chawal along with teriyal patata and papad and we’ll call it a night. You are everything, Papa. You’re the one who taught me what life truly means. You never gave up on me and never will. You’re a wonderful father, never ceasing your endless support and encouragement.

You always ask me, “आपको मेरी सबसे ज़्यादा क्या बात अच्छी लगती है?” (What do you like the most about me?) and I present you a vaguer answer every time the question asked. Well, Papa, truth be told, whenever I see you, be it as a son, a husband, a friend, a father, a brother, a son-in-law, an uncle or even a human being, what’s not to like? You are perfect from every perspective. Even your flaws are so gracefully elegant. You’re it, Papa. You’re my inspiration. My heart. My soul. My poetry. My pani-puri.

Thank you for taking care of us and bearing with us and taking time out for everyone.

And I apologise for every mistake I’ve made and sorry in advance if I continue to do so? Because let’s just face it, what do I know about the ‘real world’? But you’re my world and you’re very real. And I know you’ll always guide me, support me, and be by my side and give me space when I need it.

I rummaged through all the exquisite words in the dictionary known to exist but could not find the perfect way to describe you. I mean, how do you a describe a person who so easily takes all your troubles away with just the spark in their eyes? I say it’s magic. There’s something magical about you but I cannot put my finger on it. Maybe it’s just you, from your dyed hair to your bubbly laugh, it’s magical indeed.

You’ve always taken care of me, walked by my side, showed me the light and I vow to do the same for you and Ma. I love you💕. You’re the paper to my pen. Happy birthday to such a surreal and beautiful soul.

Come soon.

Your loving daughters,
Simran and Niharika❤.


Waiting for You

I am tired of rhyming words,
Tired of surreal metaphors,
I’m tired of mirrored symbolism,
And tired of reading between the lines,
To find some worth that lies within deep.

For that’s what I do the entire time,
Go through the same day repeatedly as if Groundhog’s Day,
Finding out where I go wrong,
And finding the motives behind my beastly actions,
Due to the madness in my mind that you’ve driven me into,
As I stand here, waiting for you.

The ghosts of our past together haunt the silent chambers of my brain,
Which makes me commit fickle actions unwantedly in your anticipation,
I now tend to hurt everything I surround,
And the list of the people wanting to kill me gets longer by the day.

Perhaps I want them to kill me,
Erase my existence from this mortal world,
And burn me down to ashes,
And be the dirt on the finger tips,
Because I have lost myself,
I don’t know who I am anymore.

I want to write some free verse,
Which does not intend to catch your eye,
But only intends to mark me, my being,
So that you know I am here.
Alive.
Not dead.
Yet.

I had faith,
But now that’s lost.
I had hope,
But I saw no point in keeping that.
I had you,
And you have gone too.

I waited on the sandy sea shore for you,
And kept my eyes wide open and stretched,
Desperate in hope to see your glimpse,
But I’m tired of finding you.

For now I want you to find me,
Because I can’t find myself right now,
As I have frozen.
I’m a bony skeleton,
Covered in skinny sheets of your scarred love.

But my soul is drunk on this addictive love we have,
I am high,
On your tempting touch.

But you’re not here in physical senses,
Even though I feel your presence,
It’s maddening how I want you and I feel you,
Knowing that I’m already dead.

Because I froze dead in your cold wait,
As the sand combed my sole,
and succumbed my soul,
and trapped it within.

But my love for you will never cease,
As when we’re together I feel this eternal bliss,
So let’s let our souls meet again in a cosmic world,
As this love our souls share shall always be immortal.

During my wistful wait for you,
I gained momentary peace from the calm lonely waters,
And it reflected the moonlight above which penetrated my heart,
As it reminded me of the glistening spark mirrored in your eyes.

And I ran my crisp fingers through that translucent swell,
To feel your soul to know that you’re there,
And the aphrodisiac waters of that lake,
Comforted my almost deadened veins with peace from your presence which I felt.

And the waves never stop their surging swell,
Raging a silent conflict of dissolved salts,
From the tears of the aeons of the dynasties above,
Crying out to the universe,
Fighting for their desires.

But now I am aware,
That our souls will unite and bind in cosmic energy,
So I have decided to wait once again,
In hope that the water will meet the sand in solace.


This time, I tried to write on the theme ‘Love’. The speaker is waiting by the shore but eventually freezes, but her soul now residing in the sand has not ceased her wait for his soul, whom she believes will visit through the waves.

This poem lightly sheds light on the intense madness one can feel when in love at times. Even though I feel that love is not something that lies in forever promises, but in the bonds of friendship and trust between the persons, which automatically leads to a forever without having to promise it, this poem tends to highlight the craving of the soul with time turning into madness and eventually destruction, due to the longing of the soul for its lover far away.

However, I mainly intend to hint through this read that if one ever feels lost because of the loss of a loved one or some heartbreak, it doesn’t mean you are incomplete without them. You don’t need someone to find you. You find yourself and you learn to fall in love with yourself. You do not lose hope and never stop having courage. And most importantly, you must never blame yourself for whatever reason. Life always hits you hard. It’s your choice whether to collapse, or take your time to rise up and move on.

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