(Reflection of the poem written when I was 14)
Eyes
dried, hollow,
Shadows dancing
behind the hazel hues,
Darkness
in its finest,
Dreaded obscurity.
The mind
preoccupied from thoughts scattered from past, present and of what it could
happens,
Infinite
ideas, pathways easy and hard,
Like a
game, I reach another level, new quest immediately pops out.
Life is
not that simple, not so straight forward, no code behind the visuals.
I can
hear my young self nervously pacing, holding that one paper rose,
The hands
are as empty as the heart - isolation as huge as the Artic Ocean,
Frozen
in time.
Symbolic
shire on the little vanity, picture from the days when thirty-something woman
was a call from the future,
Never anticipated,
only now matters - grow little flower, fly little bird.
Yet I am
still escaping the reality into the writings,
Still in
denial, still soul-searching; some habits never change.
Palette in
greys, thorns hugging the soul, ache is what still dominates the life.
Mental weeds
grow instead of lush meadows – imagination semi-working, a lot has passed.
I keep sinking
into the oblivion like I used to,
My inner
fireplaces no longer keep me warm,
I have abandoned
the prayers – they were never answered,
Only anxiety
is lingering beneath the cheerful smile.
The Self-love
never practiced is tearing me apart,
The tears
stopped visiting me – as withered as what I profusely refuse to release.
And in this
moment, I do realize how the young ghosts quietly show through the same fears
Flashback
from years long gone yet so relevant.
…
The eyelids
are shutting down; the calmness of the void remains the sweetness I constantly crave.
My
shriek continues to devour me.
Even now
the pain remains as sharp as before,
The
sweet memories are getting more bitter
And keep
inflicting the old, hidden, drenched in unrest Loneliness.
