Shorts
Shorts
Words that are too bright to be just inside, but not as loud to be somewhere prone.
They start below
Read em maybe
They start below Read em maybe
#0010
once dreamt of the absolute naïve,
thinking of what I want to be came with ease
all of life i’d live and perceive,
revolved around the eyes, the greens, and the seas
with the years that I’ve grown,
this indifferent universe has shown me
my own insignificance
for being a person of ultimate faith,
or the sheer indeterminate curiosity
absence of ultimate answers is an atrocity
standing here, staring into nothingness
I live as a mere mortal on a microscopic dot,
the only fair conclusion is life is a pointless plot
#0009
forever you’d guard and keep,
the battle of your life’s miseries
it wasn’t your choice to own,
but living with it still felt guilty
no wonder you’d hold the fort,
sew your own cloak,
among all the lonely,
it does go away on a long walk
but trouble sets near, when
you’re surprised by the troubled
do you walk away,
to distance from more of the same
or lean in to embrace,
to fix the broken?
#0008
One day the kinds of empty won’t feel as disparate
oh rather, this wouldn’t feel a thing, or two
how your day started, as it went, or
however in the night you’re clinging on you
you may want the wind against your ears
or the ones you rely on of a friend
the soothing is maybe colourless in a glass bottle
but this day will be a wee ultimately
do not let go, not what sources your misery
you’ve to keep what’ll take you to, bravery
let go of the first instincts to fight,
to fight a man, the woman, or human
this will be keeping you today, but
it should not on the morrow
ergo, say bye to this hollow sorrow
#0007
Lost is her heart in the summer evening of May, and
the naked bodies during the day in December
the eyes wait for the next words his lips would say
but poor as any he, his thoughts have no centre
one calls for abundance of patience
the other seeks a stable sense of belonging
missing is their expression of importance
is it a lack of love or a label, which is more fatal?
do you focus on the years of the past, or
the strength and tenacity of now
are you honest if you tell yourself you still want
or can’t anymore do anything, an or and another
is it truly a misery in the mental? or
are you escaping from the first sight of trouble
would you rather wait and see, if you
regret it when they’re with a different lover
#0006
Two writers of the same language don’t fool the other
they’re scared of themselves, visibly in their cover
the strength of none, and the scare of the world
is the common operator
why wouldn’t you be as well? if prior
all you’d believe was broken, left open, to be rotten
would you inspire them to desire?
or leave the stories be, and tell yourself, ok sire
the destined should find a way, through thick or clay
they’re left with their rendezvous, and rescue
in the soul of one, eyes of two and language of none
believe you’re gone
#0005
Reading people is a joy and mistake of plenty
the elated rush through and the right ones are slow
wonder if a sooner step would’ve filled the empty
do the eyes really give up more? although
the stern scans of a few more seconds
get your peeps to scream, I knew I knew
the eyes of the vulnerable, curiosity of the kind
meet together in the minds of the wild
your draw blood, tears or love
often the story ends in mediocre, and
the eyes didn’t say enough
#0004
People ask you why, the first time you nod and say a hi
People ask you how, the second time you say I never
did and won’t now
People ask you what, the third time you lie a little and
say since forever
People ask you when, the fourth time you bend them
and tell it’s just to prevent
What they never asked, the fifth or many, in the ears of a
few, the answer is a who
#0003
The demons come calling for the mind of the weak
And the tiny falling lay her prey to his gentle guise
The sounds of fresh breath only live till a week apart
Sooner come her tries to fix their ties
Often, the guilt-free becomes the foolish
Mischief of a few friends wrote her misery
#0002
Sensitivity is what her lack of claim was
7 year old self being nervous still said no
Hollow were the remnants of compassion
These empty insides have a new tenant
Turning my brown eyes to blue
The wild in me, wakes up to the woman in you.
#0001