Her Eyes Never Failed To Fool

Oh, babe, I know how much you loved to play hide and seek where you stole my heart and everything I could call mine.
And you always made me the seeker, dooming me to find myself in your vague reflection and you, the hider – never revealing your true self beneath those pearl eyes and teal stockings.
But the games were fun until that day when you took me to the lakes for one final round of hide and seek and stole my breath and strangled me in your ocean and left me to drown.

I never got to seek you again.


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Originally published in A Cornered Gurl on Medium

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Glass Leaves

book rose thing

Photo Credits – Shutterstock

I’m tired,
My spine stays relaxed as I shut my eyes and disconnect
From the commotion of reality,
Which has all of a sudden shushed. 

But my mind is louder than it has ever been before,
Though the night doesn’t make a single twitch,
The voices in my head are draining me,
And my mind of its energy.

I turn to the other side.
My eyes are shut and I can see nothing,
I fall into a vision of an unknown delusion,
As my mind loses its illusion of control over Me.
The voices now seem to be shrieking underwater,
I can hear someone else speak.

I turn to the other side to see who is breathing
Such a familiar breath and I see you.
The energy in being drained by energy
is coursing through my blood,
As I succumb to the nocturnal desires.
I see you and only you,
and nothing’s more peaceful than that as of now.

My nerves put their best efforts
to rationalize this state,
But they’re failing to make my mind function again.
I’m lost in the vast universe you hold within the realm of your eyes,
My throat aches for words to utter,
But I fail in my every try.
I’m silent.

I then hold you,
I can see your hands in mine,
But I cannot feel them.
I know something is wrong.

I blink.
I can’t see you anymore,
You’ve disappeared into the void I was staring.
And melted into reality.
As I turn to see but a blurred scenery,
While the slumber crawls into the silent abyss.

It seems that the true works of art,
Are only birthed by silence.
The silence of the soul,
Or the desire to be silent
and to quiet the insanity of the demons in your mind,
Or the silence asked of you,
When the world suffocates your voice,
And asks you to crouch down.
But we rise up with our art anyhow.

And the silence which is capable of birthing poems,
the night is ringing today.
The painting in the sky’s canvas,
Is filling up the pages in a poet’s hut somewhere.

And while our love has frozen
Into an epitome of eternal autumn,
And the future in our pages
Has withered away into hallucinations,
I won’t lie to myself and let the nights drive me paranoid,
I will find that deserted quill,
And rewrite my story.


Hey Guys! I wrote this some days back and the ending today, so it feels a little abrupt or rushed to me? I don’t know, I’m really looking forward to your thoughts on this one in the comment box. So I thought of the title ‘Glass Leaves’ as I refer to that phase as ‘Autumn’, and the leaves which have withered, that is the pages, which now hurt like glass? I don’t know, let me know if you like the title as I’m trying to come up with better titles for what I write. I would certainly not consider this a great piece, and I hope someone actually reads it fully. 

I hope you’re all well and safe. Please take care and my love and blessings to you all.

You can contact me here.
Thank you for reading!
Suggestions welcome!
@theniharikadiaries