Sad Symphony

 

(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.

Written in the Dark

 

In the abyss of memories, I stay rooted, collapsed into exhaustion

You are nowhere to be found,

Sun cannot shine in this bit of battlefield of snippets of happy times.

I am clutching this book again,

Ready to relive what was, like a fly in the cobweb of what could have been,

Overthinking every action, every word’s hidden meaning.

Conversations on repeat, the outcome - still the same.

Tears falling like spring streams,

At least I have survived.

…

Growling voices surrounding me,

Inner demons surface from underneath a troubled mind.

Their company is what I enjoy best,

Dancing with the cruel beast in the rhythm of lost souls

Vibrant tunes, ugly faces – they are still mine.

Dark fantasies played before these blue eyes,

Restless is the hearth.

…

In the end the morning comes to undo what the night knitted under its voidness,

Silence will never be my friend, serves me nothing but distress.

If the thoughts can burn then I am already in ashes

Willing to fly when morning breeze is ready to play.

If the feelings are tides, then I am at bottom of the emotional ocean,

Buried tempests and outer freezing gusts – this is what I have become,

Still turning the pages of the book of life I have written when I mattered most

Now a cherished treasure, like a reflection in the mirror never telling lies but yet never speaks the full truths;

Lookalike wearing the best mask while hiding the rotten images of poisoned consciousness.

I drift in daydreams, lost in the countless unchosen paths of coming back to my senses,

Yet without my shadows I am utterly incomplete.

I keep writing chapters of my unnamed self until I break fully down,

Until I give up the final spark of the soul I still cling to.

Willingful Confession

 

When the time is passing by,

And the clock is silent in the room,

No sounds around,

I am still in my right mind?

What came out of soul I bear,

What my fingers guided on the key board?

Was this truly my state I shared,

Or a mask I comfortably wear?

…

In the countless sleepless nights, I cried,

To state of uncourteousness I prayed the pain away,

Tons of words whispered on the word file,

Some shared, some hidden deep into the folders of my confessions.

I have tried reflect on what has been said, on what is written in world wide web,

Yet I feel like an imposter, as if I am deliberately lost this year,

I keep pretending that the therapy has helped.

Discouraged of the milestones left unticked,

The change of plans never foreseen,

As though my art is nothing special,

As if my writings are just ashes in the wind.

I have tried million ways to feel complete,

I shed my skins like a snake growing up – agile and adaptable,

Venomous if thread approaches, ready to attack

But yet my goals are somehow never close to be realized.

I cannot separate the work from the hands that wrote it – we have fused into one –

A shade of darkness, a shimmer of hope, a drop of insecurity, a touch of pain.

Is this what came out of me still dressed in dimness, longing of what I used to be,

A never ending changeling of feelings – growing pains we all need?

Ambitious to the core and still wounded from the staleness of my pace,

Overachiever in the body of a mortal behind the sheet of paper, fearfully holding the pen.

…

But in the end I am an artist, I can only carry what is mine –

The pain, the sorrow, the hope and longing for success.

I am not for everyone and this is fine… I guess...

My confessions are mine alone – somewhat tragic, somewhat beautiful, somewhat insane.

I am always ready to showcase my naked soul

And someone fails to catch what the lines were reaching for

It was never meant to be for them.

…

When the time keeps slipping past,

And the clock still refuses to speak,

No sounds around,

I am still in my right mind?

What came out of soul I bear,

What my fingers guided on the key board?

Was this truly my state I shared,

Or a mask I comfortably wear?

This duality in me real – sometimes shaky sometimes steady

Depends on what I want to feel

And if the silence is the ocean surrounding my island of thoughts and dreams

I prefer it to flood me so I can swim freely underneath the waves of drafts

Willing to be told in the most unexpected ways.

When Two Worlds Collide

My world collides with hers – my order her chaos,

I operate on reason; she is flooding emotions.

My vision is the opposite of hers – facts based on documents,

Her is just a feeling – nothing more.

Every time I speak she rolls her eyes on me,

As if she is tired of the boring citations from the countless books I’ve read.

Every time she speaks I feel utterly confused from the confidence she has

Yet I never seem to take her seriously – her truth is always an inkling.

…

She is the Yang to my Yin – yet I don’t want to admit it.

Her unruly world pulls me in harder; I lose touch with my reality.

Her voice so silent yet so powerful keeps me unarmed, yet always in unease.

Muffled words – unclear if she is imagining again or telling it how it actually is.

My world collides with hers on every instance – she is like a raging river mid monsoon season,

I am steadfast, grounded like centuries old uninhabited forest.

She is the hurricane of raw excitement,

Yet I am the harsh dessert – both dangerous in their domain.

And here I stand perplexed of how this mayhem is so appealing to me – everything I am not,

Everything I am running away from.

My world colliders with hers – the brightness of the known and darkness of what it might have been.

She is the sinner in the eyes of other, I am the saint who is meant to be.

One word and I am again disoriented, lost in her thoughts provoking me step out of the clear lines.

Is she trying to kill me with her mischievous smile or trying to free me from my caged mind?

Is she the punishment for my self-resentment or the salvation of my tortured consciousness?

…

My world collides with hers every breath I take – she is my reflection in the broken mirror,

She is everything I am trying to be – so effortless and charming,

She is my inner voice of what I really need.

When nights are cold and days are heavy, she is always next to me – indivisible to others

But so real to me.

I have fallen for her strength yet I am unable to see her in me.

She is bold to the bone, refuses to bow when I am willing to bend the knee

She is what I am capable of but yet scared to take the leap of faith.

She is me but not controlled by fears, always free.

One day I wish these two worlds embrace each other not colliding like a war for power.

One day I wish her to be on the other side of the mirror, not trapped by frames and reflective surfaces,

One day I wish she closes the door from the other side not me!   

 

Intoxicated by Guilt

 

Lost underneath the veil of darkness,

Drunk from sorrow bottled up for ages inside me,

Fated in loneliness,

Guilty of losing what I cherished most.

I longed for being someone else’s anchor in the stormy sea,

I longed for being someone else’s fundament,

I longed for being someone else’s morning or solace,

I longed for being someone else’s sun in a cloudy day.

…

Yet the dawn was never mine, the sunset is kissing the tired eyes

I scream under the moonlight like a hurt wolf.

She drives me crazy, calling silently my name,

She forces me to give up my dreams and follow the pack instinct,

Compelling me to turn into wild animal – unleashed.

…

Lost underneath the veil of the darkness I am still drunk,

Eyes lying me as if the morning will ever come,

Fight my battles – yet alone,

I am so wasted, unable to connect,

Fulfilling foreign dreams, not for me

Even though I wished to be drained from the rain of beloved laughter.

…

Lost underneath the veil of the darkness I am insanely intoxicated,

Still unable to sober up.

But it’s not the alcohol circulating in my blood stream like an oil in the old machine,

It’s the guilt eating me alive, like a ghost my mistakes haunt me,

Wrong decisions made when I was young.

My intoxication took control and buried me beneath the locked emotions,

My consciousness refuses to acknowledge the growth I’ve had – eternal punishment.

…

Lost underneath the veil of the darkness I am ultimately juiced,

A drunkhead with no hopes and dreams,

The liquid courage now poisoned me - weakness, unforgiven sins.

I refuse to become clear-headed, this world was never meant to me,

I prefer to dim my light, be invisible, an outcast, cold-hearted.

And yet the numbness starts to fade away, I am not ready to face myself -

I just need another glass.