Midnight falling on the walls
Shadows stretching often long
Each step feels incomplete
Like the ground beneath is
Wrong
I keep moving into
The dark
Trying not to turn around
But the silence keeps
Pulling me back
While,
Every wall just fades away
Shadows of my choices
Are always right here
calling up my name
They don’t leave
when the sun goes down
They walk with me everywhere
Trying to tell me the truth
Burdening my soul.
I have falter so many times
Blaming the world that surrounds
Runny away from reality instead of facing it
Thought everything would be easy
The pressure kept burdening me
"What a wonderful sincere and hardworking girl you are!"
It didn't feel like me
It didn't feel that I was worthy of being called that
Worthy of being me, being my parent's daughter
What was everything for?
Why did I feel what I felt?
Running away just makes it worse
Its as if the shadow of it clings to me every second I move
Blinding me from seeing something beautiful
As beautiful as life itself
How messed up everything was
As I looked outside ,
The shinning rays of sunlight fell upon me
Highlighting me in this very darkness
That I can do better
It's never too late
When I can’t write, I drip, plop, and prod.
And when I can’t write I forget how sleep works.
In this world of cycling between words and rest.
When I can’t write, I cradle this nest of tissue paper.
Don’t have thoughts, just droplets.
When I can’t write, I feel a temperate urge.
The inside is burdening these window panes which chatter.
When I can’t write, I dive.
And that’s when sludge can make it though.
Dread.
When I can’t write, maybe I’m dead too.
i am stuck at the bottom of a well i dug with my own hands
the stain from dirt on my nail beds
is too embedded to be cleansed
ablution wont be found here
a purposeless place too sunken for sustenance to fill
water is too pure and too righteous to visit me here
i befriend the cracked walls and we trade stories of misery
rain has forgotten to fall at my feet like she used to
the sound of quiet has been silenced by the weight of my past
burdening me with a tune of melancholy
“what say you, dear friend? will you stay by my side or will you let the lion die?
its hunger, coating you in arrogance
unwilling to accept your nature
the people no longer rest here, and the water that once lived here has ascended back into the sky
yet only you, my dear friend have found comfort in the nothing i have become”
the voice croaked and dry, lonely walls who comfort an unstable mind
I write because this brain is unbearable.
Everything is.
A type of lying down, still, stoic.
Feeling porous.
I chew into this brain…
A horrible waking up at night.
Words coded in strands of neurons.
Didn’t have enough time to redo my night.
I have pockets of restfulness that got spilled.
I write because this brain is unbearable.
It’s not the clawing into my back.
It’s just a caved in burdening feeling.
It’s not the clawing it’s them.
Grumbling in the morning at breakfast.
Feet are a bed when you sleepwalk.
How can daylight
come at night?
when the darkness
blocks out all light-
But the mind reels
on any hour,
bringing ideas alive
no matter how dour-
These relentless thoughts
carry implications,
burdening the soul
with soulless actions-
Sorting through this clutter
in the mind,
bringing doubt and darkness
with nothing to find-
Thus the answer becomes clear,
that complete darkness
will always be dear-
FROM TEARS OF GRIEF TO TEARS OF JOY
Be ever mindful that we mourn the loss of loved ones,
Because of the love and onderful oneness, we shared:-
Yet, the pain of such love, due to death, is likewise healed
By that love–that supreme love–God so bound in onement:-
In shedding tears of love’s grief, the Psalms remind us,
To wait on the Lord–being in good courage–for He will,
In and through His love, strengthen our hearts in trying times:-
Indeed, we’re reminded, “...weeping may endure for the night;
But…[in and of God’s healing grace]...joy comes in the morning.”
As time passes and waxes onward in its being,
Know that in the keloid memories of time shared
With those loving ones who have likewise passed on,
Tears of grief will indeed become smiling tears of joy!
Meanwhile, in burdening times of present moments,
Just do as the Psalms have further reminded us to do:
“Cast thy burdens upon the Lord and He shall sustain thee…”
Indeed, be ever mindful that God is our everlasting refuge,
And that ever needed–present–strength in our troubling times:-
Life, already, is difficult and short,
with pain dealt by the hands of others,
as in relentless judgment they hold court.
I've had enough from my sisters and brothers -
without burdening myself with blame
for times that I have hurt relatives and friends,
or myself, with decisions I have made.
No more will I live in regret and shame
but adopt an attitude that mends.
I have already overpaid.
A vine in winter…
stripped of its leafy clothes
shivers in forlorn silence
as it sways and scrapes at the colorless sky.
She walks alone…
in a barren, winter field
hoping to find a way past her tears
stinging tears, of loss and sadness
burdening and weighing her down.
A sudden choking chill of frost…
descends upon the vine
frozen fingers cling mercilessly
threatening to break it
from its brittle, hardened spine.
She looks up at the hazy sky…
the obscure, distant sun still shines
and a quiet hope begins to germinate
as her desperation dissipates.
A shoot sprouts anew on the vine…
…her revival has begun.
With internal devices I fight,
Battling my demons of the night.
Inside I am cold, empty, and alone,
Frightening faces, a burdening tone.
The blood of nights passed,
How long must they last?
Screaming shadows cast through the room,
Summoning the sense of utter doom.
The plague of the darkness,
It lasts with death's kiss,
A suffocating silence,
The vibration of defiance,
Echos in deaf ears,
Calling upon foreboding fears.
Churning guilt, a face of it's own,
Haunted whispers chilling the bone.
The Burden Man sits and plans your demise,
He consumes you slowly; feeding on lies.
He never sleeps; neither do you,
The paranoia becomes too much and you're through,
You're being eaten alive, from the inside out,
You can't breath, nor can you shout.
The Burden Man wins; he always will.
Your presence, it haunts, it lingers still.
The Burden man whispers his ominous dictum:
"I am not your friend. I am your victim."
The Way To Sunrise
Would we admire the stars, if it weren’t for the night?
Without that darkness, would they have glistened bright?
What gives justice its importance, its desire?
Doesn’t the cold fade away to light the warm fire?
Would honesty exist without the cave of lies?
Could trust be built without a fake disguise?
Our world isn’t a perfect, little ball of happiness,
The dangers cause safety, desolation causes liveliness!
Every happy moment has a painful past,
Success hides our burdening failures last,
Bright lanterns are made for eerie paths,
Villains lead to heroes, wouldn’t you agree with that?
Gods are sculpted to vanquish monsters,
Those cold, dark towns are why light prosper,
The rejection of stupidity created the wise,
After all, every sunset is the way to sunrise!
Indrani A. Deo
Theres all so much and so less in me..
My eyes and my heart
are but reckless youth
Shouldnt you wonder for a moment
before burdening it so
Quite a lot of you
Weighs my dear heart,
down like an anchor
Shame that it Seldom grounds
What that is about you
The pondering is long and listless
The something that gnaws at my heart incessantly and
leaves it all cold and in peril
Oh to gather you
and all your colours and rhymes
Till forever ceases, if i could
The smile such of
the breeze
in summers harsh beating
It hurts, this malady of hearts
But you just walk by
And i,
Have tides ,
ebbing back and forth my chest
Waves of bliss bidding farewell
Id clutch and grasp at the migrant waters
Theyd slip right out,
drag me behind
for just a little stretch
Then leave,
no words for the orphan at the sands
You're out of arms reach,
Sweet sanctum of serenity,
An island that dwells in dreams
And our destiny is
of the twisted stars
and a frayed red twine...
Two choices I had, which life served
Fight it or take a flight
Flight was tempting, why else did I have my wings?
Death waits for me on either side, the archers being veterans.
I fly, but not as high
Fear of death burdening my back
I fall to the ground, the easy choice is gone
Death becomes my inevitable fate
Burdensome fear vanishes leaving a sore of my last mistake.
I pick my wings, I sheath myself, this time
To fight the abusive arrows, deliberately hurled
Feathery wings or Iron Shield?
Perception diluting their difference
My wings can be anything I want them to be
Today a shield, tomorrow an Umbrella
Protecting me from the scorching heat of evil thoughts .
Or a Life Boat surviving my inner dark storms.
Or a paint brush painting the empty canvas of my mind with awareness of self.
One of the many secrets of life:
There is no true freedom.
Man is slave to his own ignorance
And to his own personal sense of reality.
This, in turn, leads to another secret:
The only true sin is ignorance.
All the sought-out and accepted teachings
Of priests and prophets,
Rabbis and theologians,
Imams and evangelicals
Are just rhetoric, empty words from hollow men
Purportedly meant to give
Comfort and order to Man's life,
But only succeed in burdening him
With a genuine and profound sense
Of undeserved guilt for sins he did not commit.
All the answers Man thinks
He learns from these teachings about life's secrets
Are merely vague, naïve assumptions
Based on unlistened to answers
To unanswered questions,
In his trite and pitiful attempt
To deal with the biggest secret of all…
The reality of death…
And coming, finally, to the inevitable conclusion
That there is no arguing with reality.
Author's note: There is no forestalling the inevitable moment, whenever it may come. The best that most of us can hope for is, that when it's our turn, we might possibly go saddened but not embittered.
"and the birds twitter like whispering violins "
Quote by _Constance La France
Seasons have no censorship on bird chirps in my hometown,
Even our temple bells are unable to calm them down;
All that I feel at their Twitter of various styles are:
Take things easy! Sing! Dance! Fling all that's burdening you, far...!
My violin has no season or reason to play on,
It plays in summer or winter or when fall is far gone;
Do birds have sadness filled in them, to relieve which they sing?
Though voices vary do they have special songs for the spring...?
I compare my violin voice with that of the bird songs,
In each gentle twist, my violin has versatile gongs;
Messages millions to minds million both dare to convey,
Though harmonies of both have their nature-directed way...!!!
15 May 2023
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