We are the sleepers
who live in dream lands;
we are the lonely
who love most deeply.
Ours are the hearts that
will never be filled.
— deveril
We are the sleepers
who live in dream lands;
we are the lonely
who love most deeply.
Ours are the hearts that
will never be filled.
— deveril
To pee or not to pee…
In the world of “Good morning”, be my “Saveron ka mere tu sooraj laage”
I want you to play with yourself, dropping your clothes & drops, all while you’re thinking of me
“If you’ve been brutally broken but still have the courage to be gentle, then you’re a badass with the heart of an angel.”
— Keanu Reeves
I think I can't be with anyone, May begins, I feel like a stone, motionless silence. If I am a table, no one surrounds me. If I am a tomb, no bones inside.
My thoughts are racing
Until I go to sleep
My inner personality scathing
I can’t help to think of it deep
Hearing the words come from your mouth
It was like I was in the car in the back seat
Opportunity with her was scouth
I cannot believe you picked her up to meet
Sitting in my spot
Taking hours of your precious time
All because we fought
Me going through trauma was a crime
Why wasn’t I good enough?
What you put me through was rough.
I write poetry
like music lyrics
with a rhythm
and flow
and far too late
for it to be acceptable
my words sleep
even as they dance from note to note
we forget
who we used to be
and poetry is not a good reminder
exhaustion cuts in
and it all weighs down
emotions to sharp to feel
until the dead of night
so i infuse them with poetry
and laugh in the face of criticism
poetry has no roots
but it needs ground to stand
remind me
I beg you
to chose to speak
instead of recite
like a doomed corpse
in an empty mausoleum
or i become as dead as my words
unspoken
and dry
in the dead of night
poetry flows freely
but it swallows itself
because it too remembers
the dangerous music it can sway
pity
poetry is pitiful music
but it sounds much more alive
then all the rest.
“But maybe life’s not meant to be all grand
And maybe lows are there to help us grow”
it wasn’t quite right, what I wrote before—
but I let the poem put up a fight,
and left the line that made me sigh
(there’s a rhyme to the reason,
and the reason was rhyme)
the line that I penned shouldn’t have been:
the pretty words did not have
the pretty facts to have their backs and
the wisdom that glowed and flowed before
I find I really must retract.
What I should have said is:
The valleys exist
not to teach us a lesson,
but because they do.
This does not change much—
sometimes you have to cross them
(you can, and you will)
and maybe sometimes
you have to journey alone
(but mostly you don’t)
The lows are not there
to test you, or force your growth,
strengthen you through pain—
ebbs are natural.
You will encounter many,
and you will survive.
Your life means something special
at every elevation.