Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Social Commentary, Society, tagged anger, ask, atonement, betrayal, bleed, bloodbath, bones, box, brimstones, broken, build, cross, cry, dare, dark, dear, death, decision, deep, dirty, down, each, exact, exchange, existence, face, fall, fire, flesh, foam, forgiveness, friendship, ghost, grave, halls search, haunt, heart, hide, impending, keep, key, kind, knit, laundry, life, line, linen, little, lock, mold, moon, new, night, open, ouselves, page, pieces, pocket, poem, poetry, point, possible, potter, promise, quiver, rebuild, reckoning, red, redeem, revenge, sculpt, seal, secret, see, set, shame, silence, sky, soul, spill, splinter, squirm, story, swear, teardrop, thought, time, together, tormented, torn, trust, unlock, vow, wander, wash, words, world, worth on April 16, 2010|
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We have cried together, seeing
the pages of our lives torn into pieces.
And how we knitted to rebuild it,
and washed them like dirty linens
in the laundry. Just like a potter
we build and sculpt in us
a new mold of the world
we never knew existed.
We exchanged our boxes
of secrets and a set of keys.
We swore by the heart. And
made a vow that we would keep
them locked and tightly sealed.
That we would be keeping each
other’s stories, only to ourselves
and no one else. And for the longest
possible time, it has come to a point,
a reckoning. The seal of promise
had been broken.
Unlocking my box and spilling
the foam of words into little teardrops-
they fall like brimstones and fire
from the night sky, now. And the moon
must have hidden its face turning
into red, in anger and in shame. Bleeding
in the agony of a broken promise.
An impending death to a friendship.
Still, I am keeping my silence, thinking deeply
if it is worth to hide your keys in my pocket?
If keeping your box tightly sealed, or at once,
let them out in the open, will exact revenge?
While my flesh quivered at the thought
of why would you dare crossing the line,
betraying my trust. While my bones splintered
at the thought that I would dearly want you
squirm in your own bloodbath, redeeming self.
But I decided not to.
Letting the ghost of your betrayal haunt you down
into your grave. A tormented soul, wandering
the dark halls searching for some kind of atonement.
Asking forgiveness.
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Solitude Amidst the Maddening Crowd
Shoe String
Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, Social Commentary, Society, tagged afoot, away, bear, better, cage, cloak, comfort, constant, cover, day, deathbed, desperate, each, earth, familiar, feel, feet, free, grip, hand, last, loosen, mess, monotony, more, moving, need, off, order, parts, poem, poetry, possesively, protection, refuge, run, shaking, shoe, somebody, strap, string, tangle, thing, thought, thread, time, today, up, wander, way, wear, years on February 4, 2011| 38 Comments »
It get tangled in a way that it tightens
around my feet. The threads gripping
possessively over the need to cover
the parts that are constantly moving.
You say, I’d better be protected at all times.
And yes, I had been so, for years
and I can’t bear the thought that I would
in my deathbed never wandered away afoot.
Today, it get tangled even more.
How I might need somebody’s hand
to untangle the orderly mess I am in.
How I might desperately need
to run away from the familiar things
I need to loosen up. Shaking off
from the strappy refuge I am
wearing each day- such monotony
that cloaks in itself comfort
which in fact doubles as a cage.
Freeing the feet that needs the feel
of earth, at last.
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