Tag Archives: Past

The Letter

You slipped a letter underneath the door

I read it, pushed it back outside.

Who am I but a terrible bore?

 

You could not take it anymore.

The silence gave you nothing to hide.

You slipped a letter underneath the door.

 

Talking for me is a tiresome chore.

What you took to be ignorance, injured your pride.

Who am I but a terrible bore?

 

You told me once it was a foolish lore

that unfinished business never left your side.

You slipped a letter underneath the door.

 

I read it, my eyes never were this sore

The cursive letters seemed so snide.

Who am I but a terrible bore?

 

I knew from the look you wore

that last time you gave me a ride.

You slipped a letter underneath the door.

Who am I but a terrible bore?

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Villanelle Unveiled

I wrote a villanelle. Three actually, but the one I’m going to post is the only one I really like. This form was making me neurotic, I swear. I didn’t want to write it because I felt I would fail miserably. (Free verse is the only kind of poetry I’ve ever done, after all.)

But it wasn’t letting me rest either. I just had to write it, the weight of it was getting unbearable.

So after three tries, this is what materialized. Criticism is more than welcome, but please be gentle. I don’t want my first born to be slaughtered just yet.

 

Oh, curse the power that put me to sleep

While the lady in the apron stood at the shore,

“Here’s a warning, darling, don’t go in too deep.”

 

I gave the ocean all my treasures to keep.

But the lonely fisher-boy evened his score.

Oh, curse the power that put me to sleep.

 

What you sow, the others will reap,

the waves came whispering at my door.

“Here’s a warning, darling, don’t go in too deep.”

 

Once, the moon was a hurdle for my sheep.

Now, it rules the tides that crash and roar.

Oh, curse the power that put me to sleep.

 

Don’t take me down to where the weeds creep.

Don’t push me to mend what the wind tore.

“Here’s a warning, darling, don’t go in too deep.”

 

I ran to where my dreams lay in a heap.

I sorted them, put them back in my store.

Oh, curse the power that put me to sleep.

“Here’s a warning, darling, don’t go in too deep.”

 

P.s. Changes have been made after applying the constructive criticism given by Marie.

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There Is Life Ahead

The water flows

You can’t contain it

It spills into crevices you dare not peep in

It fills in spaces you thought you’d never touch.

But you did.

 

The world was fast

You ran to keep up

It spun from right under your feet

It took you somewhere you had never been.

 

Now you’re trapped

The walls are high

Your conscience, the lone sentinel.

It can free you, if you choose to be free.

 

Choose to be free,

There’s more to come.

Forget the place you try to run from.

There’s life ahead

And love.

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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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The Murdered Girls and I

I’ll make murdered girls live again

Follow their drops of blood,

Rusty in places

Black in some

Scrubbed clean by bleach

By the hand that held the knife.

 

I’ll grant them one last wish

And it wouldn’t be revenge

Nor would it be a chance to live again.

 

We’ll redecorate Heaven.

It’ll be our Earth in the sky.

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Dark Dreams

The silence floated – 

a lotus on the water – 

pregnant with the needs of May.

The light was dark

as shadows jumped

from the lantern –

cracked, but whole

imposing.

The night was young

though tired

And youth was it’s despair.

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Hate

Hate is subjective;
immeasurable.
How,then, can i tell you
the intensity
of my feeling.

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