Saturday, November 20, 2010

I Wasn't Expecting to Meet A Demon When I Walked Through Heaven's Gates

This is the day I’ve been waiting to encounter. The redolent fragrance of charcoal under thick juicy steaks and the crisp feel of clothing dried on the line. The birds chirruping their daily song while my friends and I lay on the springy bed of green that blankets the invigorating brown soil beneath us. We satirize the past, and all the memories we’ve acquired over the years. The drama and everything that was such a big deal in Elementary school, such as who sat adjacent to who at the lunch table, is all behind us now. We've got our whole lives ahead of us. A life of pleasure and fun.
No curfews, No parents! No assignment !
Just college and bunch of friday parties. Our hearts skipped for each thought of the outside world, we weren't expecting to meet a demon when we walked through Heaven's Gates

Remember when you were young? You
could run among the trees and feel the touch of wind and sun and dream of being
a Fireman or a princess. Or maybe Andy Warhol painting during recess?

Then you grew up. Discovered the dirty lies and the way dreams shatter. And you tried so hard. You said it didn't matter. You always remembered to smile. Even though you cried
when your dog died.

Remember the first time you fell in love, or thought you did? Even that didn't stop you; even though the pain almost did.

After all there was always tomorrow and
tomorrow and tomorrow.
Then one day, tomorrow  came and you
realised that nothing changes. Days go by and you get older and weary
and slowly you die inside.

Once upon a time, happier ever after. The stories we tell are the stuff of dreams. Fairy tales don't come true. Reality is much stormier. Much murkier. Much scarier.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Sparks Of Light ; All Those Pretty Lights.

This universe is bleak...
You could stay here, staring at the darkness, or
You could allow those stars to catch your eyes...
You'll some how start to yen for their sparkling aura...
Their golden hues, some how blinking,
On and off and back on again...
So close but yet so far,
The sun isn't in your view yet,
It's hidden behind one of the planets...
Some day, the sun will come out...
Sheer bliss that day will be...
It will replace the melancholy feel of this universe,
with euphoric... Exhilaration...
Sure the darkness will still be there...
You'll have to ask yourself;
Are the small sparks of light,
Worth this seemingly endless stretch of darkness?
Will they hold you in enough light,
Until the sun comes out?

Right now, the stars all all I have,
And for some reason,
That's enough light for me...
They're my sparks of light in the darkness...

Some day, my sun will come out...

Until then,
I'll be here staring out into the stars...


Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Yes, Man.

Lets role play for a moment here
You be Fake and I’ll be Clear
Pretending all your days away
And I will mean the words I say
You say yes when you mean no
And I’ll be a victim of your show
You’re so transparent all the time
I see right through you on a dime
You walk into somebody’s life
And burn your bridges, twist the knife
Words have been used for guys like you
Like fake and phony, and flaky too.
I have no use for blatant fools
The things you say, you’re such a tool
I gave to you this benefit
That what you said were words you meant
But you made me come to this resolve
You’re a “Yes” man who won’t evolve.
You have a weakened soggy will,
You stand for nothing  so you sit still.
When you look inside of who you are
Don’t you see where you’ve set the bar?
I have caught you in a couple lies
I have witnessed how you play both sides
You are a servant of one belief
If you play nice you won’t catch grief.
For whatever reason this has worked for you
You be agreeable, who care’s what’s true
Your biggest flaw is a coping skill
That’s now unhealthy, I know the drill
You need to wake up and change your ways
Leave behind your half hearted days
I hate to say it but you’re just a breeze
Weaving in and out of tree’s
I will be more definitive,
I will be myself or why else live?
You don’t know who you are
I see flaws where you see dark.
From where I am standing over here
I will tell you this, I will be clear
I don’t want to be a spineless twit.
I don’t want my words to suddenly split.
No, I am not perfect all of the time
In fact, the flaws I see in you…have helped me see mine.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

The Night Fell On Day Time.

We viewed our lives as an instrument
Without actually having it
We wrote about our happy lives
Except me, no not this time

As my guitar leans upon a broken window
Wet and discoloured music;
Lost for all I know
Its strings no longer able to play;
Music never came out anyway

Twisted, swirled, and coiled up
The strings are caught in random stuff
All broken, cut, and out of tune
The right description for this lune

The neck is cracked almost in half
Because it was torn in going two paths;
Rock and country aren't the same
When you love one the other is lame

Silently taking over
Wishing to change everything
Fooling the fools
Humming the silent wish
Outsiders looking in
Touching the beauty
Breaking the silence

It's dusty and rusty and beyond repair
not even good enough to use for spares
So against the broken window it will lay
And then the people will throw it away.
And my night shall fall during the day.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Shadows & Sounds.

As I listen to the sounds from down the hall
I become paralysed by dread and fear
And I watch the shadows shift on the wall

Hearing objects crash and then fall
I know that something sinister is here
As I listen to the sounds from down the hall

I hide under the blankets, and curl into a ball
Leaving an opening from which I can peer
And I watch the shadows shift on the wall

The lines are dead, no emergency call
I sense a presence is drawing near
As I listen to the sounds from down the hall

A particular sound, is it a slither or a crawl?
And in the doorway a shape begins to appear
And I watch the shadows shift on the wall

I realize there is nothing I can do at all
this fateful knowledge fills my eyes with tears
As I listen to the sounds from down the hall
And I watch the shadows shift on the wall


A Villanelle. (Also to be contd)
Please, all comments, suggestions & honest criticism are humbly welcome .

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

The Life & Times Of a Piece of Paper.

He took crayon to paper,

Such bright coloured paper

And pinked it with glitter and glue.

The words made no sense.

But in their expense,

He poured out his mind of un-filtered hue.

And he couldn't reach the counter;

Where the telephone rang

And he said hello to whoever was there.

And mommy wiped the stains off his face, even though she knew they’d come back

And daddy tucked him into bed and kissed him on the forehead

And story time put him to sleep

And he made dreams

He took pencil to paper,

Such widened, lined paper

And practised his a-b’s and 2-3’s.

He coloured off the lines

Of smudges and designs

But they were not very pleased.

And he could swipe through the counter

Where he’d grab his paper bag

And run off somewhere

And mommy kissed him goodbye, but he wiped off the lipstick

And daddy was hard at work; at least that was what she told him

And he threw a tantrum when daddy couldn’t read a story

And mommy tried to.

He took pen to paper,

Such plain, blue-lined paper

And wrote of what he was told to.

The words were generic.

Thoughts turned numeric;

- But he got an A - who cares what he wanted to do?

And he ran by the counter

To grab the keys and some cash

And left for somewhere - he can’t remember

And that woman screamed for him, without avail

And that man wasn’t there - he was never there

And he fell asleep at his friend’s couch - at someone's couch

And he was out

He took dust to paper

Such tattered, torn paper,

And laced it with powder and spit.

A pathetic, flicked ember

In the cold of December;

Whispering to nothing, "one last hit".

And he couldn't reach the counter

Where the beeping dial tone;

Came on after he typed one 9 and one 1.

And the woman was long gone, not caring

And the man was down deep

And he fell to pieces, but never resting

And he was out… cold

And the paper burned

And the fire ate

And the neighbours screamed

And the tires screeched

And the water drenched

And the memories singed

And the body cold; Was held dear by the woman

And the boy saw his daddy

And his mommy soon came

And so he took pencil to paper

Such faded, frail paper

And wrote of what he had felt

Just before the smudges in the beeping car pulled him back

From somewhere - he can't remember

And his mother cried

And his father died

And he was in bed

And fell asleep one last time…

With a crumpled piece of paper by his bedside.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

I Saw a Man That Wasn't There.

He's right behind me,
lurking like a snake;
I can see him moving.

Memories swim through me like
parasites ready to feed.
I remember what was stolen from me;
is that you I see? Are you my thief?

My stomach drops,
heat rushes through my skin;
pores produce a cold sweat.
Hyper ventilation.

I'm frozen.
He's watching me,
touching me with his deranged mind.
His hands painted with putrid sin.

I turn around-
nobody's there.
Have I finally begun to lose my mind?
Insanity sets in;
It suits me well.

••This poem is the second part of my series on "The Fear of darkness " . Please, all your honest comments, criticism, & observations are paramount to E-smiles.• •

When The Autumn Moon Is Bright.

I am not alone
I can feel it in my bones
The shifting darkness
Fear; more then I can express
I cannot see, think or hear
All I can feel is fear

Darker than the endless night
Darkness around me like airborne blight
Consumed by engorging shadows
At the mercy of the dark hallows
Ominous aura throughout the halls
Dark around me; like unholy falls

Breathing irregular and fast
Senses gone but fear outlasts
Alone, afraid
Being shrouded by black shade
Obfuscation of all surroundings
It can scent my fear

The 'it' I speak of is the creature with me
Watching my uncontrollable fear with glee
It prowls behind me, breathing down my neck
I turn around, but cannot see even a speck
But wait-I can see something glowing,
Glowing eyes, shifting and growing

Gazing into my fearful eyes
The fear seems to incise
The eyes continue to grow,
Yellow footprints in black snow
I can no longer breath, I fall down, clawing my throat
I can feel a gash, engraved into the cartilage of my throat.

*This poem obviously has to do with someone who has phobia for darkness,I tried to imagine how someone who suffers such phobia ,feels at night. And I hope I potrayed it well enough.
It has another part, "I Saw a Man That Wasn't There" which also takes us through the character,hallucinating in the dark. I hope you enjoy*
Please, All your honest Comments, Criticism , Observations are paramount to E-Smiles

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Your Silly Little Fool.

Keep looking at me like there's nothing more to see,
Just stare when I make myself look like a fool,
Laugh at my failures,
Smirk at the smallest of my attempts,
I try to keep the happiness,
I try to keep my pride,
But you're always taking that,
Now I am a fraud,
My sanity is waning,
My self respect is gone,
All of it to make you see,
There's more to me that I used to go and hide,
You see me as a failure,
Although you tell me otherwise,
You say I'm perfect and that there's no better person,
I crave your attention but the more I get the more I die inside,
Am a toy in which you can throw around,
Am I not allowed to have a happy ending,
Slowly dying,
Crying for myself,
Weak and unstable and people wonder why,
It's because I changed and became your silly fool,
My heart is slowly breaking,
Twisiting to try to fit in your desire,
I've never been good enough to hold a good thing down,
Now I live in constant fear of how I'll live this down,
But for now I am just your silly little fool.

Friday, November 5, 2010

The Night Belongs To The Poets & Madmen.

We Dream of Living

As we sleep, the world moves forward.
We beg for it to take us back.

The ebony skies once danced with lightning,
reflections of beauty only nature's eyes behold.

As we sleep, we dream of living,
we dream of having something more.
Regretting things left unfinished
and of things we have left unsaid.

We wonder, if it would be better
to remain broken under this
cold, cold earthly tomb that holds us.

We dream of skies that shine brighter
and a world with far less to fear.

As we sleep, we dream of something...
we dream of our heavens, or hells.
Questioning if this is a lie
and wondering how long we dreamt.

We realize, only too soon
that we can only dream of life
and death consumes our empty thoughts.

Calmness as I traverse these stairs
Darkness ahead, but I don’t care
Ghosts welcoming me home
I slip into bed, and I’m alone

We dream, and desire, and fail.
Six feet holds us back like steel chains.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Song Bird.

I'm sitting beneath the old oak tree,
Feeling light and feeling free.
I hear a sweet song fall upon me.
And I slowly drift to sleep.

The song birds voice is full of magic.
It can be beautiful. It can be tragic.
All the other birds wish they had it.
And so that song bird sings.

I can hear its melody in my dreams.
As warm and comforting as summer sun beams.
My consciousness is ripping at the seams.
I feel I may never wake.

The song is powerful and truly hypnotic.
Stronger than the doctor's narcotics.
With a foreign tune, harmony exotic.
This music; so unique.

This fowl is a symphony all on its own.
Wings like drums, vocals like a xylophone.
Talent in every feather and bone.
I wish that bird was mine.

But alas, that bird is forever free.
And so it flies away from me.
My dream is over. I begin to see.
I am all alone.

So I stand and I look around.
Knowing well, that bird cannot be found.
And when I am done I sit back down.
And shed a single tear.

I do not cry because I'm sad.
I do not cry because I'm glad.
I do not cry because it was bad.
I cry because I know.

I know one day soon I will return.
In hopes that I might possibly earn,
That song for which I always yearn.
From the lovely song bird.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Eleven Mondays.

Not a beaten, broken child
Not a victim of abuse
Never saw my daddy drink
Never felt his fierce fist.

No ghostly memory in my past
Except that one…
…and that’s not so bad

Screaming from shadows cast aside
The sun drifts away from where I hide
Such darkness echoes through these halls
Such painful reminders upon its walls

Such life I seemed to once portray
Such naivety begging to be betrayed
Weaving ghosts call out my name!
Whispering demons discuss my shame!

So why do my eyes burn with tears?
Why does my throat tighten?
Why do I feel heavy?
Why can’t I answer “why”?

No traumatic past to haunt me
No scars of abuse
No maltreatment

Yes I’m different
Yes I feel different
No, I don’t understand

There’s no reason for this darkness
No cause for this turmoil
Insanity it may be
But I feel sane –

– Can I feel sane if I feel wrong?

Not a happy, healthy girl
But they don’t guess I’m broken
Not a cheerful, smiley girl
Still they don’t know I’m hurting

How can I talk about this pain
When I don’t know its causes
How can I talk
without words?

I can’t
I must
I can’t

The Old Graveyard.

Across the dark expanse my worries flew;
Nothing made sense
Spinning in all directions
The ground shifted beneath me
It came closer and closer
Faster and faster
Until I hit a Cool damp pavement
The taste of hot blood
Running from cheek to chin
Jumbled thoughts in my head
My head reeling
Questions swirled in my ears
Spinning in different directions
My eyes wanted to close
I tried to crawl
The grass came close to my nose
Cool, damp, earth

Old, dark and scary,
The gate eerily creeks open.
A ghastly breeze in the air.
The winds carry the cries,
Down towards the town.
And everlasting song is heard.
Tombstones everywhere,
Two or three angels in sight.
Whispers and cries can be heard in the air,
Echoes of the people who shed their tears,
And whispered their prayers to the dead.
Not a single living form is seen,
No flowers or plants,
No birds or animals anymore.
People hardly ever come up the hill,
To this old rundown graveyard.
So the dead are free to roam,
These hills of the old forgotten town.