The following poems are a few rediscovered ones that I wrote a while ago. I couldn’t choose which one to publish on here, so I posted both simultaneously. Hope you like them! Let me know your thoughts in the comments below 🙂
Poetry-
From silent mouths, And aching wrists, From stifled tears, And battered limbs, From the radiant wings of a golden sunset, Casting fleeting spells of long-lost hope, Upon the shadows, That splayed from trembling, twisted bones, Hammered and hurt in all the wrong places, From pale, frigid, feet Swept out from beneath the, Darkness. Swallowing whole every ounce of love, left Forgotten. Until ichor flowed from these fettered lips, Ink from these once-fractured wrists, Strength rose from this collapsed body, And blossomed into the crimson petals of a rose, Dawn looked down upon the world and sighed, As a chorus of sweet, satiating, words, Flooded the mouths of its starved, emaciated children, Its light replenished by the loquacious limericks, By the lustrous, lyrics that lingered against its cerulean blue sky, By the masterful artistry that hid beneath its blinding, and blinded eyes. And the shadows receded. A fear monger unmatched, and untouched by the insurmountable flame ignited. Echoed through every muscle, and tendon, every tissue and organ. Every breath taken and bone shaken, By the passion and poignancy, that magically moved bounds. The very soundless strain of every soul, the very tune that rumbled through oceans And made diamonds out of coal. The endless song that was, Poetry.
Thank the stars-
Sweet, smiling, Torn, trembling, Bruised, and broken, Child... Didn't your mother ever hold you at night? And close the blinds on your bedroom window Because you were shivering and shaking Shying away from, The monstrous, looming shadows, That leered at you from beneath, The stars? Didn't she ever kiss your forehead as, the newly ripened moon dangled in the sky, Like fruit, And moonbeams tenderly filtered through, The gaps between your curtains? Or hold your hand as you sobbed silently, Into her strong, sturdy, shoulders Her silky, star-spun sari, Dazzling in all its luster? Didn't she cradle and comfort, And tend to your wounds, Just as you alleviated your daughter, Of the burdens that once bore into, Your breaking back, Of the skeletons that were buried in your closet And the shadows that crept under your bed, Haunting you from shore to sea? Didn't she heal, As well as hurt. Hope, as well as hate? Over years and months, And many, many moons That burned fire, Into the rapidly singeing borders, On her skin? Clothing and caring, Even if she was, Crying and caving in. Didn't she? Even when wrinkles now wander along, Those age-lined trails, Littered with the wisdom of years Her song still sings and sighs, Long-lost forgotten tales are, In the nimbleness of her fingers, As she plaits my coarse, ebony hair. In the bitter-sweetness of, The food she so carefully prepares. In the steeliness of her womanly gaze, The rigid manner of her ways. In the guise she wears, As a dhupata draped around her, Arms, Shielding me from the, Demons of the dark. Oh child, Someday, Someone, Will wrap themselves around you, In the most unlikely way possible, And you won't ever realize, Because sometimes the night sky, Can't help but suffocate beneath the stars of God.
Spilled Ink 