Life is like Ice-Cream,

Sweet

But

Melts

Easily,

Melts

Quickly.

21.6.2020

** ** **

No one knows,

that the smile on her face,

isn’t real.

No one knows,

that the beautiful dresses,

that she wears every day,

are slowly choking her.

No one knows,

that the laugh she makes,

is a cry for help,

strangled,

forced.

No one knows,

behind her confident facade,

is an insecure little girl,

wrapped in chains,

banging on the doors,

crying out every time she’s laughed at.

No one knows,

because no one cares to find out.

Every one,

thinks she’s okay,

maybe even better than okay.

So know one knows...

that she hates herself,

that empty shell,

that hollow carcass,

her soul,

eaten alive,

by her own demons.

Peace

happens

in pieces.

Its not an infinite mirrored pond

but the bits of reflective pauses

in the troughs of turbulent waters

that make the endless seas glisten.

I gazed at every landscape

of every picture and portrait

that my eyes set their sight upon.

Wondered what all unseen secrets

lie beneath

the grinning air in it,

the literal words of that prose

sung by daffodils swaying

in the merry wind

and the layers of paint in that portrait,

painted by a solitary lad

of a small, cold town.

I have

mixed that red with black

and painted drops of it onto something

as lifeless as a corpse

saying that they resemble my tears.

Lifeless

but bringing it alive

with each word

soaked in peace, pain and paradise,

with each movement of my wrist

while stroking the different brushes,

the tip of my pen,

and the graphite end of my pencils

lifting that

iron wrought

weight off the surviving flesh

of my soul.

Art adds the 't' at the end of 'pain'.

Smeared on my hands,

the ink spots bearing whispers of rhymes,

paint stains bearing sobs of a rose.

I handlettered

'solace' across the different horizons

of the skies,

to imbibe myself of it,

when rain the blues.

I shouted poetry off the top of my terrace

until my throat was sore

and heart floating

alongside its reverberations.

I made an aesthetic container

out of my mother's broken cup,

and filled it with waters of a dream,

and hung it over

the most fragile branch of the tree.

I doodled names of wizards

on that same tree

with a blade of the melancholies.

I gulped down one book after another.

One story after another.

One poem after another.

Each had its own taste and fragrance.

Sour. Salty. Sweet. Bitter. Hot.

Sad. Funny. Romantic. Cheesy. Magical.

Heartwarming. Heart-rending.

I tore paper hearts, pandas,

teardrops, flowers and stars,

and pasted them in my

journal of fantasies.

All unrealistic, inhumane and satirical.

Pain of the January and the May.

All unending ballads or essays

combined

would still be short of praise,

that art possesses

in relieving the pain

off an agonized being.

Here's a glittery pizzazz

thank-you card,

to art itself.

Art is the best coping mechanism.

Art is therapy.

The eye’s thread

with each

golden year —

loose ends

tied underneath.

A tapestry

meets trimming shears;

my mind plays

hide and seek.

Tossed into

a wishing well;

patina covers copper —

penny for a thought,

do tell,

if only I

could capture.

Treasured dreams

from wishes

lost beneath

the light of sea;

sleeping with the fishes,

ghosts of

sunken memories —

locked behind

a two way mirror,

the former me remains,

etched upon

my soul

&

tears

that scratch

the window pane.

Tip toe on star filled water

ceaselessly searching

to fill the

void

left by…..

you

When you want the readers to know something about a character or scene don't say it, show it.

Instead of saying, The sky is blue, say it in more detail; she gazed up. the perfect combination of blue and white. it lit up her eyes.

Another example of the golden rule.

Alex likes Mallissa. WRONG

His thoughts spun around him like a carousel. Does she like me? Does she feel the same way? Does Malissa even know me? CORRECT

See the difference. If you are always explaining everything as a narrator then your readers won't be interested and eventually get bored.

Follow the Golden Rule. Show Don't Tell.

Saying, ''I love you.''

While signing myself up

for

an

all

too

soon,

heart

break.

16.6.2020

Memories, like leaves, start green and soft and lush. Life pulsates through them—pulling nutrients from the soil, soaking up light from the sun.

Each day they grow, dancing with the wind. When it rains, droplets—like crystal tears—kiss the foreheads of these vibrant green toddlers as they wave and dance and love.

At the peak of their journey, the very top of their game, things change: Winds shift; air cools; water (once the bearer of life) wears a frozen necklace to the party. The leaves grow old, shifting from glowing green to frigid gold.

So, too, our memories—once lively and living—fall to the ground, become brittle and brown, until they fall apart, devolving into ever smaller pieces. Then finally dust, swallowed by the earth, mixing with the dirt. Gone.

With Winter’s white blanket hiding their ever-lost graves, they await Spring’s thaw—when nature’s nudge will launch their journey from dirt to roots, through trunks and limbs, to touch the sun again—bringing joyful memories back to life.

Copyright 2020

How strange it feels that things in life don't last forever

How things come and you'd think that they'll be around for a long time

Then you realise they're gone.

How strange it is to feel

Your heart bursting with butterflies, happiness and affection

Then that turns to agony, hate, despair

How strange it is to think that he or she is the one

Then you think to yourself, "what a waste of time"

How strange it is to have the best time of your life with the people you care about

Then the next thing you know, you're miles away from them

How strange it is to think that your family will forever be intact

Then your parents decided that their love for each other is lost

Strange as it seems, they come and go for a reason

They do it to help you learn, grow

But the strangeness and the emptiness you feel inside doesn't seem to make any sense

But I know deep inside, this world is temporary

Just keep going, let them pass, let them go.