Posts Tagged ‘cry’

The Perpendicular Universe Songs of a Ruin SOAR

This came out as a justification to the title of a new blog I decided to run, trying to satiate my poetic head. You could check out the link for the same: https://songsofaruin.wordpress.com/

             SONGS OF A RUIN

Voices I make
From embers of dead,
Silent croons they are
They go unheard.

Brute heads
Don’t turn around
To have a look
At my mess.

New was I once,
Alive and the breathing kind.
My red was strong,
My head was bright.

I’d see the sun
Before it’d see me.
Would heave in dusk,
And embrace their dark.

And count stars all night,
My pastime,
As if all gloom
Was mine.

Would chat with birds
And laugh with breeze,
Weep with rains
And play with bees.

And behold the grand,
Praise the right,
They bowed to me
Might was me.

Now ashes I feel,
Cinders I taste,
Old and rotten,
My body it fades.

My neck ails,
Yet I feel a song,
Perched up in pain,
That just won’t come out.

My glee forgotten,
Husk I am,
Rip me apart
O rain! Cry me away!

I have seen it all,
What a ruin is man
What hatred he holds!
Shudders my soul.

Silent mouths
They howl anyway
My story of stones
Grated with time.

Their greed for theirs,
Plundered my heart.
Took me away,
From me.

Piece by piece,
Ripped apart
To invisible,
To Nothing.

Hollow I am,
Echoes cease in my webs,
Wrought by naught,
Empty within.

I am a ruin,
Don’t wish to be
The tread of the dead,
But the walk of the living.

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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.

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My reflection stared hard into my eyes. It was blurry, for tears began forming up. It said, “Don’t cry! Don’t cry! Be brave!” But I wouldn’t listen. I don’t listen to my reflection. I listen to nobody when my glass is brimming. All I remembered him saying was, “I saw my father in my room.”

A dear friend of mine lost the most important part of his life. His father. Tragedy hit him like a bullet. It was bound to collide as days of suffering suggested. He knew it. Things were not looking good for the past few months. He just hung on. With hope. He kept looking. He kept up his search. Solutions weren’t solutions. They were mere reflections of the bitter truth. Death – The bitter end to everything that breathes.

I wasn’t aware. For the past few weeks, he ran from clinics to hospitals, looking for every ray of light that read hope, with his unabated diligence to set things right and to make his dad stand on his feet again. I had no idea. Whilst I was busy living my life to the fullest, he was busy saving a life from waning. I wasn’t there at all. I was not even in the background. Estranged.

When things got serious I contacted him, only to be a part of his dismay. He mentioned how serious his father’s condition had become. Uncle was, in fact, in the hospital. When my friend came back home, he said he saw him there, standing in his room. He broke into tears on the phone. I didn’t know what to say. My tears simply connected his. It was a tough moment for him. I knew. I was there mentally. Standing next to him consoling, trying to flow with his tears.

I just felt impotent. Nothing I could do to reverse the event. I am no doctor. I am no God. I am nothing. I just felt so helpless. So powerless. Without an undo button. Yet, I reckoned all my options. Made couple of calls to see if miracles existed. Preposterous solutions came up. At such an hour, he was ready to hear anything. I was ready to believe anything. Whatever worked.

The next morning his dad passed away. I couldn’t react. He wrote to me, consumed by profound grief, how he thinks his dad would return anytime, that he had just gone out. How he might show up just like that and bring smiles to their faces!

I am aware how his house would be speaking of gloom. How it would reek of pain for days! How deafening the silence would be! How crazy the minds would think! How tasteless the food would seem! How sad their happy would be! I am well aware. I can empathize it all. For a moment, there is nothing alive. For days, weeks and months, nobody actually lives.

So many sleep-deprived nights. So much care. So much trouble taken. So many tears spent contemplating. So many nerves broken apprehending. All for nothing. All for naught.

I want to be a part of his misery. Just to be there. To be able to tell him that I am there. To hold his back upright. To see to it that he doesn’t fall. To listen to his hollow voice. To understand. To empathize. To let him dry out all his tears. To cry with him. To die with him. But I have these walls around me that wouldn’t let me leave. Had I been in a better room, I would have stood up and left without a second thought.

I remember when a dear friend faced a similar mishap back in my college days. I remember him telling me how he felt. While I listened to him, I cried incessantly. All his aspiration for his father, all his dreams that he knitted alongside him, all the future he created together, how it all shattered in a jiffy! Just like that! Life’s way of telling you – it is evanescent.

Sometimes I wonder what makes this life so short. What defines our confinements? Why can’t we live and just live? Why is there grief when somebody leaves? Why do we miss them when they do? What makes our strength to go on, so feeble? What changes our conviction to live? Death always screws things up. Why is He so jealous of the living?

I called home. I cried and cried for my friend’s loss. What bothered me more was the fact that I couldn’t be with him during his desperate times. What tore me to pieces was the fact that I couldn’t be a friend indeed.

I surmise, eventually, it doesn’t really matter that I made up my mind to visit. That eventually, I decided to be at my friend’s side but my plans didn’t pan out. That I cried for his loss. That I already became a shoulder when I heard the bad news. That I told my parents how bad I wanted to be with him. However, what matters in the end is, I wasn’t there when he needed me the most.

As I ramble across the shores of Chennai, waves look sad. They wouldn’t even reach my feet. They are silently aware of a great loss. They are trying to pay their tributes. My heart reaches out to Uncle’s soul. I just want him to understand how much his family fought for him. How hard they tried! How they spent sleepless nights and tearful days to bring him to life again! They did not fail. They did not succeed. His resistance was simply too strong.

My friend’s loss is shattering. I just hope nobody on this planet has to go through something tragic like that. Death makes living impossible. It has to learn to let people live without it.

But most importantly, ‘we’ have to learn to live around it.

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I write pain. Does that mean, I am a sad soul?

Life is a tragedy. I have said it so many times, that tragedy knows me now. If I stop thinking about it, it doesn’t become less justified. The fact remains. The truth stands.

Today, I listened to a story so tragic I wish I didn’t have the power to empathize. I listened to death. Believe me – His voice is shaky, dark, dreadful and unforgiving.

Two people. Mad in love. One is taken. In a poof. One survives. While death, void of emotions, watched her weep.

I see the survivor every day. Her face talks death. I know those smiles are fake. I know that ecstasy is compelled through prolonged weariness. I know the happiness on the face of my survivor has nothing to do with this mundane earth. Yet my survivor is always there, making the world happy, making the world a better place to live in and making amends to this pointless life.

Have you ever witnessed an accident? Have you ever been a part of it? She witnessed an accident so tragic it makes my heart weep. I can’t imagine the horror she had to go through. Walls of the car painted red. Limbs cut. What not.

She watched ‘him’ go. In seconds. Poof! Just like that. He was there with her a minute ago laughing and having fun. She was having the time of her life with her to-be-soulmate. But fate had other plans for her. I have never really liked fate. That dumb old bastard! I have never really liked death as well. He screws life.

I have observed. Her face always wears a smile. She hides her emotions so well! People get duped all the time. But now I know. Now her eyes tell a different story to me. She is scared of this world. She is scared of accidents. She is scared of death. Yet she is brave like a lion. Funny like a clown. Lovely like a rose though living like a zombie. There is tragedy, right there. Sitting silently in the corner, her eyes full of tears.

I don’t know how I would have taken it. I whine at a mere heart-break. She just watched him leave this world. My angst feels so trivial now. She watched him leave her alone, involuntarily. He wished to stay. They were meant to be together. They could have had a great life. This happy-ending leaflet was simply plucked out. At least, I found out what happened to my relationship. She never even got the chance.

Death is a tragedy. So is living, after you have seen death.

I picture the hurt. I empathize for people. I make it mine. I will write for them. If they have words, I know how to put them on a paper. If they wish to be heard, I will listen. If possible I might alleviate them. If not then I will cry with them.

Yes! I am a sad soul. I am an emotional wreck. I feel for the suffering out there. Gazillions of dusky souls with their zillions of problems. I wish to write, if not to them, then for them.