Darkness within, seeking the light.

On some nights, the storm outside seems bleak,

For your mind is in turmoil, as your will grows weak.

Some days, in bright daylight, surrounded by a crowd,

Your demons make your mind grow weak, as they scream so loud.

Some days, the ray of sunshine just isn’t enough for your winter,

As the shards of the delicate glass of broken hopes just lay there splintered.

Some days, you bleed on the paper and you bleed yourself dry

For tears can come from your pen, and not just your eyes.

Some days you scream out your pain and no one seems to hear,

Some days you push people away from the wall they try to tear.

Some days loneliness is a gaping pit that swallows you whole,

Some days, you question the meaning of life and your petty role.

Some days, they call the ghosts in your mind just an illusion,

Some days, your thoughts run wild through a maze of confusion.

Some days, you want to end it all for good and get out of your dread,

Other days, you muster just enough to get out of bed,

Some may call it trivial, I say call it courage instead.

The will to get up and just try a little bit more today,

The desire to find a will, to start walking on the way.

For the warrior doesn’t always win every battle he fights,

Some days, you can be a contradiction, living in the darkness fighting for a light.

 

(c) Sneha Pathak

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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]

Dinner table conversation

Like a iron hammer striking a metal gong
The spoon clashes against the plate
Playing crude, loud, lonely songs
Of love, heartbreak and fate.

The old chair creaks under my touch, the one that we picked out together
The one you always wanted to get rid of for a newer design
You see I held on to it,
For my hope unlike yours, does not resign.

The pale white plates with light blue flowers clatter as I put them on the table,
The state of which, is also no longer stable.

This creaking, clatter and clashes, make noises make a symphony
Helping me fill this silence melancholy.
Even though my heart can’t stand this separation,
This melody, makes up for our missing dinner table conversation.

Sound of silence

He woke up at 2 am

Exhausted from his attempt to sleep,

From one thought to the next, his mind did leap.

Dragging himself out of bed,

He popped one of his meds.

Poured some water,

It splash against the glass

Making the silence shatter.

The ticking clock’s cruel taunt

The emptiness of the house, began to haunt.

Looked out the window to see all apartments with switched off lights,

Apparently the world wasn’t a part of a similar fight.

He sat there on the table, smoking a cigarette

His tears, making his face wet.

Slowly he got up and went to bed,

And just lay there and waited.

Next morning, he went to a work event and was the life of the party,

Had a laugh or two, and it was almost hearty.

Only in his heart he knew the melancholy night was near

And that, filled his heart will fear.

(C) Sneha P 2018

Save me again

Urgent

I was drowning in the sea of feelings,

You came in the form of my healing.

You taught me to breathe again,

by telling me not feel, pleasure or pain.

Tragically, you never taught me how,

And I am left drowning for good now.

Your heart was luckily made of stone,

However, mine decided to call it home.

I wait for you to come back patiently,

But my heart aches for yours urgently.

I wait for you to save me again,

Only this time, you are the cause of my pain.

 

© Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

Something inside

Broken bones can be fixed
The pain that they bring
Will one day fade away.
But the sharp pang,
Of the red hot iron rod
That has been jammed
Into your fragile heart
For a long time now
That won’t stop stinging.
The lump in your throat
Has been there a long time.
A part of your body
Perhaps. Perhaps forever.
The stream of wetness
Down your cheek, suddenly
Doesn’t  surprise you anymore.
The melancholy beating
Of your bruised and broken heart
Is the only companion
You’ve hard from the start.
The loneliness doesn’t scream
Not anymore, not always.
Something inside you,
Keeps clawing out
Drags you into darkness
You are never to be found.
You try to smile a bit,
but how long will it last?
You wonder why you,
Can’t have a fresh start.
And you try and try,
To fix the brokenness
To breathe, without a heaviness
Weighing upon your chest.
You wait eternally for something
To piece it back together.
To clean up your emotional mess,
Little do you know
For some, the universe never makes sense.