Tag Archives: Immortal

My Dead Star

My star died tonight.

Turned to ash;

incinerated, and the dust

fell all over me.

 

My mouth is full, the gritty

taste has coated my tongue.

I can not speak.

 

It blurred my vision, I

can not see, the flowers

you put before me.

It’s gray, all gray for me.

 

But stop and stare

at the periphery.

Through hazy eyes

a twinkle I see.

My star is dead

but it blinks at me.

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Hear Ye, Hear Ye.

This is a public declaration of my insanity.

I slit my vein to see my blood

was it white like he claimed it was?

He lied. It was crimson

copper and cold

Red metal that dripped on the sidewalk.

 

I stood on a banister

swaying with the wind

then walked on my tippy toes.

I could balance,

the one thing he said was missing in my life.

I didn’t fall on my face

like he said I would.

 

I crushed my fingers

by swinging a hammer,

he had said I didn’t have the strength to do it.

I did it and then proceeded

to my toes

My bones were weak, I was not.

 

The wind bit me, burnt me,

red, black and blue

purple around the edges.

He had said I was dead,

couldn’t feel anything,

I proved him right

by killing myself.

 

Now that I’m dead,

in a garbage heap

around the corner of the new movie theatre,

there’s a note in a box

right under my bed.

Read it, then call me crazy

call me insane.

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Red Shoes

I’ll wear red shoes to your funeral

And trace patterns on the loose sand near your grave.

I’ll scratch the earth with crimson

For your blood will lie underneath it.

 

And I’ll wear red because life doesn’t stop

Nor does passion fade.

“Red looks good on you”, you had once said.

I’ll look good for you, always.

 

I’ll wear red shoes even if they hurt my feet

Dig into my skin and shred the skin.

I’ll wear red even if they stare at me,

Those who cared, loved you more than I did.

I’ll wear red because I want to immortalize

The memory of the day you met me.

P.S.  A special thanks to Noor Rehman for being the inspiration behind two lines. She knows which ones.

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Still Don’t Know What Love Means

Haunted.

This song is epic.
This man is epic.

His voice makes me cry…

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Day Off And Reviews…

Begum Nusrat Bhutto passed away yesterday so we have a day off. I actually had my Media Studies mid-term paper today, now scheduled for the 31st of October. I wanted it to be over and done with. But what can be done now.

I desperately need a book review, contemporary preferably. Can someone help me out? Pretty please. I’ll love you forever. And you’ll have your name immortalized in the second issue of Reality Romanticized.

I’m currently writing a review on Emily Dickinson and a few of her oh-so-amazing poems. Did you know that she almost always wore white? And that she didn’t come out of her room for months at end? And that she spelled her name childishly for most of her life, as in Emilie?

But she was awesome.

Here’s my favorite poem of hers:

A sepal, petal, and a thorn
Upon a common summer’s morn—
A flask of Dew—A Bee or two—
A Breeze—a caper in the trees—
And I’m a Rose!

Two words. Awe-some

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The One Who Didn’t Die

Sybil of Cumae

I have seen with my own eyes the Sibyl hanging in a jar, and when the boys asked her “What do you want?” She answered,
“I want to die.”

– Satyricon, Petronius

Thus says the Cumaean Sibyl, an Apollonian  prophetess, who had been granted eternal life on her request. What she forgot to ask for was eternal youth. What’s the point of living on and on if you’re old and withered and weak to the point that you have to be lowered for making prophecies for the public using a basket?

She wanted to die because she was becoming more decrepit than she could bear; the continuing degradation of her body, projected across the unlimited bounds of time ahead of her, was a terrifying prospect. Also because she was so burdened by the knowledge of the past, the present and the future. To know everything is to know nothing, because at some point the water cascades off the top of the rim.

She stands as a powerful metaphor for our own individual decline: the failing body coupled with the increased knowledge, the loss of illusions, the increasing despair engendered by a loss of faith in the human future, and one’s declining ability to do anything about it.

– Jonathan Wallace

I had first read about her in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, where she is mentioned as having asked Apollo to increase her years to as many grains of sand in her hand. I didn’t pay much attention to it then. The second time I read about her was in T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, from where I took the above mentioned quote by Petronius. This aspect I found really intriguing.

Jonathan Swift in Gulliver’s Travels also claimed immortality to be a curse.

Voldemort too sought immortality, didn’t he?  Horcruxes, unicorn blood, the deathly hallows, and the Philosopher’s Stone, he tried them all but nothing really worked.

Conclusion: It’s better to die, the sooner, the better.

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