An old soul

Loneliness be their dole,

For they have an old soul.

Always the odd one out in a gathering,

The shy one, seen in the corner doodling.

Bags under eyes,

For they’ve cried all night.

They blame it on the writer’s block

To hid their insomnia behind locks.

The darkness of their pasts and their mind,

They use their poetry to leave this behind.

Yet to bleed on paper and to bleed true

They need to dig into their wounds anew.

They hurt themselves by tapping their hidden emotions,

But what can they do, for poetry is devotion.

To heal themselves by the magic of verses,

They must bear through an over emotional heart and its curses.

To take a word and create some magic,

They need to use their story tragic.

For they expose themselves and bare their hearts.

They need to let their demons consume them over and over,

Using their stories of an abusive childhood or a jilted lover.

They walk alone even in crowds,

Their hearts feel at peace in silences loud.

Yet, their poetry you can never forget,

For they gave it their soul, these poets.

© Sneha P [ Rights Reserved]

Fire and water

Opposites

For this week’s photo challenege I’ve chosen this picture of candles floating on water in bowl decorated with flowers.I made this myself for the Indian festival of Diwali.

The picture beautifully captures the contrast of fire floating on water. Of darkness and light, much like people,  who happen to have both darkness and light inside them. It’s a matter of choice what we feed and allow to grow. 

Hushed voices

Thousands of voices
quietly hushed.
Fear of mankind,
fear of being judged.

Smiling on the outside.
Imploding on the inside.

Monsters of the mind,
Hardest to slay.
Some clouds don’t part,
Some people, don’t live
To see the day.

If they could, they would
snap out if it
As you suggest.
But some thoughts haunt,
Despite trying your best.
Some scars, stay forever to taunt.

Several hearts in need of mending,
Several wounds that need love
And tending.

But they’d rather burn
In the hell of their mind.
Than listen to the jibes
Of the unsupportive and unkind.

On your little screens,
Everyone appears contented.
Suffering on the inside,
Silently tormented.

When they’re gone,
Some will cry and
writhe in deep pain.
Oh what’s the point? All in vain.

For when they were talking,
You wouldn’t listen. 
When they were crying,
You’d only cringe.
Maybe your indifference
Pushed them off the bridge.

Even today, some whisper
the woes of their heart.
Waiting to be saved,
Still some hope left.
Watch closely, 
They leave their trail.

A hole in your soul.

There might be days when it feels like a hole has been punched into your chest and no matter what you try to fill it with, it just keeps getting bigger.
You want to curl up into a ball and just hide somewhere, or sleep and forget all about it. But for how long?
Some people will tell you to “Just be Happy” or “don’t think about it”. It’s like cutting open a vein and then asking someone to not feel any pain, or to not bleed.
This constant mental calculation, trying to find the cause, solution, different scenarios leaves you mentally exhausted.

image

Deep down, you want so much to be just happy. Some things seem to work, some things make it feel alright but only for sometime.

And then you keep wondering, hoping, searching for the next thing that will help, until it doesn’t anymore. 

As much as you long and hope to find whatever it is that will make you whole again, what If you know for a fact that the only destination to this search lies within yourself.
And you don’t know how to get there. 

Will it ever be fine?

Maybe someday it will hurt a little less. Maybe someday those memories won’t play on a loop in your mind.
Maybe one day, you won’t remember it so vividly. 
Maybe one day you will stop wondering what you could have done differently.
You will  stop blaming yourself. You won’t think if it/them everyday.

image

Then suddenly, one day when you might be walking down the street, or just having a meal with your friends, something might happen. Some tune playing some where,  some smell, some one’s smile, the color of some one’s shirt, or some old picture, and then you will think of it/them again.
And you will wonder if they think of you too. But you already know the answer to that don’t you?
Still you will convince yourself that it is in fact a good thing, that you can put the past behind you.
But a part of you always wonders if it’s a good thing or bad that you’ve forgotten what used to be an important part of your life.

Maybe it will never be fine.

Copyright ( c ) [ Sneha P ] Rights reserved.

Ran away from home to chase dreams. Wish I could go back home when the nightmares began.

Hello there reader!
Microfiction has caught my attention since quite some time now. I’ll make it a point to write extremely short fiction pieces from now on the blog. Any review, comments, discussion, writing challenges are welcome and appreciated!
Here’s one I wrote today –

Ran away from home to chase dreams.
Wish I could go back home when the nightmares began.

– Copyright (c) Sneha P [ Rights Reserved ]

Like the wind

He was like the wind.
Powerful, unstoppable and ferocious.
He could lift my spirits like a blow of wind gives a few moments of flight to a helpless fallen leaf, a few moments of love to my barren heart.
He could also be oblivious like the wind, taking these leaves to unknown places, introducing my heart to  emotions I didnt know exist, and then deserting it and moving on.
Can the leaves blame the wind though? 

Copyright (c) Sneha P [ Rights Reserved ]