Posts Tagged ‘angst’

The perpendicular universe broken

We are the broken people. The fallen souls. The shattered hearts. The twisted, constricted echoes of a hollow body. We don’t make a sound. We croon. We weep. We are always crying, fading away gradually from the inside. Our angst nibbles us every moment. It grazes us quietly as if we are its pasture.

Our shrieks go unheard. Silent muffled screams that don’t make it to fruition. Like mumbles they wither away into eternity. We bear tears. Like clouds hold an imminent downpour. They are always hanging there. Surmounted by our feigned ego and false strength.

It is hard to figure us out. You wouldn’t know it is us. You wouldn’t be able to put a pin to our emotions. We trudge the earth like dinosaurs waiting for the dreadful meteor. Maybe eyeing that impending doom and waiting for it to swallow us. We wish death. We seek it in every little thing we do. We prefer living on the edge.

We breathe in shadows. An abyss so dark and void of hope, we enjoy its presence around us. We love the way it engulfs us. We rejoice its gnawing. We wish to be eaten away. Pain has no meaning for us. Because we are written in it. We relate to the fallen. There is beauty only we can perceive in it. The trampled leaves and crumpled grass appeal to us. The chewed up and spit out souls rivet us.

We aren’t afraid of the dark. We love to feel its claws on us, its punishing jaws that make a silent promise to tear us apart. Blood is a gift. Every smear is an orgasmic pleasure. We are penned in gore, and seek it in every act.

There is no path for us. Because to be honest, there is none. We know it is all in our head. We know everything will boil down to naught. No matter what you do. No matter where you go. We are aware, we will stay, right here.

We don masks. Masks of a fake smile, of a lying head that you can never see through. Every jovial act is ephemeral. Your laugh is evanescent. To us it is just a moment that shalt pass. Long lasting is our woe. It will remain. Perennial!

We prefer the silence. Because it speaks. Bazillion words, if not for your ears, then for our heads.

We are omnipresent. We walk amongst you. Unseen. Unnoticed. Uncared. Yet we don’t worry. Because we know, nothing matters, and nothing ever will.

We are the broken people.

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MyGrief

Have this wont of going profound. Can’t help it! There is this poetic side of me, which slows down on an amazing quote, remembers the emotional bit, and captures the heartfelt in everything life offers. So that the beauty of poetry never ceases, I have decided to tag along another category into my blog and call it ‘Unsung Poetry‘.

The poet in me was never dead. It just went on a hiatus. Now that I have decided to keep throwing in bits of poetry hither and thither into the newly created label, I think I will resurrect my writing habits. That way my leaflets would be brimming with stuff to read.

The first one is the most recently penned bit which I have decided to kick-start this project with. Empathy runs wild in my veins, and I can’t help slip into someone’s skin to perceive pain. The poem is dedicated to one of my truest friends and it runs on his recent turn of traumatic and agonizing events, and for his appalling loss I wept like a cloud in excruciating angst. Written from his perspective:

 My Grief Isn’t Yours to Take

 What makes you cry, O weary eye?
Nothing lost you have,
You still have a life,
Mine’s taken away.
 

Why do you croon for my loss?
This void, I have to bear,
The pain is mine, this angst is mine,
Why do you even care?
 

Why weep in blood?
Why feel my pain?
Why take my shoes?
And soil my rain?
 

Why find you gutters?
Thy soul still flutters!
You can soar quite high,
Your wings hath flight.
 

Your face has a smile,
Your soul has a heart,
Your limbs can talk.
Still, why do you seek my bruises?

This woe isn’t yours,
This dead all mine.
Why do you shower more than my eyes?
You lost nothing!

The truth in your orbs
Bothers my grief,
I am still not over this lie
Called life.
 

Why do you take it away?
My agony has just begun.
Let me fade with it,
I wish not to stay.
 

The world has just ended.
This sorrow isn’t yours to take.
Don’t feel my misery!
It’s all mine to make.
 

Don’t wash it away with your tears.
I will cry till my rivers dry.
And leave me barren
And lifeless.
 

Just let me be!
Don’t feel for me,
Is all I ask.
Just let me wither away.
 

I wail for heeding ears
That aren’t deaf.
Now I weep for mercy,
So the dead might come awake.

I am finally able to get her out of my system. She is a withered memory now. I can’t believe it took me six long years to be able to do that. May be I wasn’t willing to let go. May be I liked my angst. I surmise, there was a loop open, which I closed deliberately to get rid of her memories, once and for all.

When I try to look back now, I just remember few wonderful moments. I don’t remember her face properly now. Just those events, they dangle like old faded memories. I know that those days happened, yet I don’t remember with whom they occurred. I recollect a hand in mine, but I am unable to put a face to it. Glad she withers each day. I am finally not reluctant to embrace something new.

I have started looking for new beginnings. I have successfully plucked the final thorn and taken the leap of faith. I feel like I am living now. Earlier it was like dying under a sealskin. Now I am bold and bare.

Sometimes I wonder, what made that possible. Did time heal me? Or did new faces overwhelm me? Whatever the reason might be, I am grateful that I have managed to climb up, dust off and rise up from the ashes of my defeat.

A fresher countenance has replaced hers. However, I am still a pawn and fate is still the king. Today, I have newer chalks with me and a duster to rub off the old.

What matters most is the fact that I am living and breathing again.

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I have always toyed with the idea of hell. Our ancestors have nailed it in our brains. We follow what is taught, and conventions, I take unmatched pleasure in breaking.

The first thing that comes to our mind, when we hear the H word, are snakes all around, darkness, silence, ugly creatures, monsters, abyss and what not. (You almost made it devil!) But here I would like to imagine something different. Let hell be just like hell, only a little bit more realistic if not theatrical.

I have had had days, when nothing would go right. I would fall, scratch myself unknowingly, hurt myself mentally, lose my temper every now and then, curse, cuss, break things reluctantly and then sulk for the rest of the day. Au contraire, there have been days when I would feel that I am on top of the world, create, do useful things, do things that would make others happy, me happy, win all games, gain, laugh, love and live.

You see where this is going, right? Yeah!

Whatever things we have ever defined, of which we are afraid of, are actually creations of our fears. They are an outcome of what we should be afraid of. They have confined us from exploring the unexplored. Ghosts would never have existed, if the notion of fear wasn’t there.

We haven’t seen it. It is only in our talks. All events breaking loose could be analogous to how hell could have possibly been in reality. If hell would have existed, it could have entailed series of unfortunate events happening one by one in quick succession, giving no room to sanity. Commotion. Sheer ruckus. That is how I like to keep the old theory breathing.

Nobody wishes to experience their weird imagination. People have just followed their mind’s projections to feel the angst and suffering. They already know it is not good. Why would they ever want to go there? People simply fantasize. Just how a kid does. Daydreaming a deadly fiery battle with a dragon. At least I do. I would always have my hidden blades with me. I would often fight monsters with a Katana. Now that is another story.

To sum it up, I would rather quote that great man, of whom I often speak in high regards. He wrote this about ‘hell’ somewhere:

It is reality. Just messed up with uncertainty and confusion. Just doomed by odd decisions and their aftermath. It is reality, simply stained with negative events. That is how I like to picture it. Because our fantasies are merely our mind’s projections. Hell as they describe it, is just the projection of their fears and my world has no room for it.

Kudos! great man. Yeah, that’s me again. 😛