Jaun Elia:
She came to my grave with her new beloved,
Who says that one cannot be burned after being buried?
Mohit Rahinj:
I did not die among the people of this world,
Someone killed me.
It was my beloved’s ploy,
A conspiracy to burn me even after burying me.
She did not let me live while I was alive,
Nor did she let me depart in peace after death.
She is burning me even after I have died,
She is not letting me find peace even after death.
She did not let me live when I was alive,
And when I was on my way to paradise, she did not let me go.
She is still burning me even after death,
Look at all the things my beloved is doing for me.
My beloved, you have already taken my life,
Now, must I surrender my words to you as well?
Main tod leti agar tu gulab hota ??
Main arpan kar deti khudko ,
aagar tu mera hota ??
Jo sath rehena ka wada kiya tha tune, kash woh nibha diya hota??
Kash woh sache pyar ka dekha ,
thoda oor kar diya hota ?
Tera jane ke baad jo tu aapne yaad chod gaya ,
kash woh aapne sath le gaya hota ??
Aagar us din tu mujhe yu chhodke na gaya hota,
toh aaj mera hat tera hato main hota??
Aaj bhi aagar koi tujh jesa dekh jata hai mujhe ,
toh may sochti hu ki kash woh tu hota ??
Main aaj bhi tera galat shikwe bhula du
aagar tu mera pass wapas aaya hota ??
Some days the weight isn't heavy or loud,
just a fog that settles behind the eyes,
a persistent, low-hanging winter cloud
that blurs the shape of the morning skies.
We ask ourselves why we are tired or slow,
as if healing moves in a straight, clear line,
forgetting the seed buried under the snow
is working in secret before its design.
It takes courage to rest when the world demands speed,
to sit with the storm till the thunder subsides,
to listen with patience to what the heart needs,
instead of the pressure that daily decides.
You do not need to be cured by tonight,
nor prove that you’re whole to be worthy of space;
just stay in the room, let yourself see the light,
and meet your own spirit with unconditional grace.
I see that look in your eyes,
That sparkle with shine,
Asking me for something more
That I cannot provide.
I don’t want to hurt you again.
Why give you half of me
When you deserve me at my best,
And I’m just not there yet?
I want to tell you, you can trust me.
Your feelings are safe in my hands,
But I might end up letting go
And chasing after something that’ll hurt me more.
I know you’re what’s best for me if I healed,
If I stayed focused and put myself first.
I could be the man of your dreams,
Instead, I’m like any other man.
I wish I was like Atlas and could carry your load.
I’d tell you my cup is empty, but I can take more.
But I’m on the edge, with one more bad day
Enough to make me spill everything over.
Heavy rain outside,
your door is closed.
He is waiting out there,
soaked in the storm, counting time.
You’d open the door
and welcome him.
You’d wipe his head and face
with your fingers of love.
And when you unbutton his shirt,
you’d notice—
he is fragile from inside,
his little heart broken into tiny pieces.
Do not cry, my heart
I am still beside you
Hold your remaining breath
Gather your broken dreams
We must walk again
No one hears this pain
No one knows my silence
Fire burns deep inside
Tears flow within my soul
Still, I must smile
Do not leave me, heart
I will stay beside you
Even if worlds depart
Even if bonds are broken
You remain my friend
She chose another journey
My life must not stop
Her memories may hurt
Yet they will make me
I must live for myself
Rise, my heart, rise
Wipe away those tears
Your path still awaits
Your life belongs to you
I will become my light
AN EMOTIONAL DELIGHT
reasonanced
preception
overwhelming
the
implicit
rhetoric
as a
means
of address
observing
potent
responses
so
sublimely
beautiful
as
imagination fails
making
visible
phenomena
beyond
belief
Anxious as my thoughts paint out a canvas,
Tenuous strokes with each choke,
As I look at my hands, they soak,
Covered in blisters of oak,
As I wept through the saunter,
With no words their daughter says,
No peak at the herds,
Hoarsed around in their glammy gala,
Oh this fiesta, I could've taken a siesta,
Envied with this gluttonous rake over my bulging eyes,
Oh I'm shaken by this phrase,
Starved moons left to rot for this,
I cower with no fight to arise,
I begin to tremble with no cries,
Shots fired but it's only light,
I am in frame for only tonight.
Panic’s funny if it’s explained in rhyme.
I’m at a brite, swank, corporate event
summarized by its unexceptional
atmosphere - so I put on my watch face
- hanging back, an observer in the pack.
Fitting in is emotional labor
I couldn’t be more chilled - there’s a ‘work’ me,
who knew? Like a LinkedIn survival skill.
It must be a very recessive gene.
Adulthood happens without my consent,
like old iTunes agreements no one read.
Sooner or later we must all face the
unsparing proposition of working
- the need beneath it is adult and real.
Not money, in my case, something bigger,
something I must approach indirectly.
The wheel of life may spin quite wildly, but
ultimately, it lands on consequence
.
.
A song for this
kid by everything but the girl
kid by the pretenders
Flakes of ashes brushed off,
From a face that aches of dust caught,
The departed days go unnoticed from the keyhole it peeks,
The "authority" goes by to sleep, if only it could speak,
Petrified by them, they say,
The ones who doze off through these, hurled with dismay,
Pillars in construction dropped off for hostile strikes to take place,
Harsh bombs, an arm extended in support from the gaze,
But to whom? the offenders who blitzes raids with no sign of ceasing,
To quickly exterminate the problem known as "citizens",
Citizens, the people flourishing in the land, with jobs, future and family,
They have hopes and dreams too, a bright tomorrow that they could relish,
All they wished for was to stay, not to partake in this misery play,
The lost and afraid, the scene unwraps to a brutal display,
I hope the gaze moves onto the ones in fray,
Despicable us, all we can do is pray.
The soul's deep, emotional, wailing pain;
No one sees that it reigned in with sin.
The dire need for this emotional pain
To wane arises again and again.
The evil sin contained refuses to leave its domain.
When will the stalking of this emotional pain finally end?
In avoidance of pain & turmoil
I free myself from stubborn resistance
if Zeno of Citium were my guide
I’d fly, I’d glide, I’d know,
the natural order of the universe
instead I tumble where perception
lacks & tiers collide, I ride its waves
through chambers of vibrance,
scaled up or down, heaping hues,
strapping shapes & piercing patterns
of visual vignettes, graffiti graphics
toward tangency, I roam
rows of layered loops sorted
clarity rings forward, there is
a center piece lotus flower,
its wafting pollen stands still
as its petals protect me from falling
Electrolytes spark spasmodically
oscillate, bursting braincells
designs designate higher plains
I thirst for more euphoric phantasmagoria
& chase this balm through twisted tangles
& wiry webs of rebirth, a new existence calms
where soul separate from flesh explore
near death’s domain, a non-existence
free from outside influence
from stubborn resistance
fatigue & fallacy is painless
& in this immortal matrix,
I am faceless
Sometimes it’s better
to stay in the dark
and let no light in.
Because light sees everything—
the cracks I try to hide,
the wounds beneath my skin,
the pieces of me
I keep buried deep.
In the darkness,
I don’t have to pretend
that I’m okay.
I can disappear
between the shadows
and breathe
without anyone asking why.
Maybe darkness isn’t always the enemy.
Maybe sometimes
it is the only place
where pain
doesn’t have to explain itself.
But somewhere beyond the black,
there is still a light waiting.
And I’m not sure
if I’m ready to face it.
Not yet.
For now,
let me sit here
where the darkness knows my name.
each day
is my living wake
I wish you cared
& they weren't fake
my eyes are dry
tears made of dust
never mind
no one's fussed
all the f"cks
& suppressed damns
are my quiet poetry slams
rotate the fear
rearrange
the dread
ego & id
are well fed
days unlived
nights unslept
scarcity of love is kept
no howls of pain
but they twist & turn
retina & eyelids burn
tunnel vision
bottlenecks
sort through
my personal effects
recalibration
set in stone
through it all
I felt alone
reaching out
with brightly coloured gem
fear itself
I couldn't stem
hold the image
lock in view
lose balance
as all askew
life made up
of pretty rubble
but I'll commit
to be no trouble
You played with feelings,
I played with hope.
You called it a game,
I called it love.
When you left the game,
I was left with scars.
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