Butchers

This poem is dedicated to all those who have a dream.

I was six when I first stepped on the stage,
A toy in my hand, and a smile on my face,
Sang it through and through till I got it right,
My own face in the crowd was the only proud sight.

Every song I heard made me sing to its rhyme,
Someday I’d write the song, and it would be my time.
Someday, that stage would be mine,
That crowd would be mine,
The rhyme would be mine,
It would be my time.

When I began with my head held high,
They weren’t fans but butchers sabotaging my mind.
I was building up to my desire,
And reaching higher...

They threw at my face, slaps of reality,
Have you seen your face?
Or the Societal Mentality?
You’re not that lucky, not so fortunate.
They pushed me down, they killed the dream,
But it wasn’t about them, it had to be me.

Eight years passed by,
I’m still sitting here,
listening to a song I like
Don’t do it to yourself,
What I did with my life.

Eight years passed by,
And the butchers strolled by,
They waved at me and threw a cold smile,
“Whatever happened to your dream, honey?
What happened to that toy you carried around?”

“It was just a dream, it drowned.”

Silence : Love how it sounds

Sometimes I just sit and ponder over the meaning of silence. The actual meaning, the one which is far away from the way we like to describe it. For the world, silence is maybe, say, absence of sound, or apparently for the in-depth analyzers, silence occurs when you're alone. I believe that silence is the most gratifying feeling in the world, especially when you're alone at 12 a.m. staring at your computer screen and wondering what the hell is going on in your life. Every thought in your mind is intertwined or unsettled. Silence is when you know... that everything is silent but your mind. Your mind will speak to you the loudest when you're in silence, and the moment you isolate your mind from everything, including those you care about, or those you love, and especially those you hate, you will understand what's missing from your soul. When there are voices around you, they suppress your voice, and make you believe in things you don't want to believe. They bring you into a social, political, intellectual circuit that you do not belong to. Silence, it gives you the right to be yourself. Silence answers every question for you. I won't say it's insanely easy to understand silence, because those thoughts, are full of wilderness, something that your body denies, but your soul allows. So silence begins where voices fade, and voices begin where silence begins.

Lie

Fascinated, those countless thorns she acknowledges,
Each tip is pointy, each one sharp as the piercing sunshine,
Each carved the face of unrelenting words of ‘wisdom’ on her skin,
She could not see, they called her blind,
She could hear, but not listen,
She could speak, but not tell.

Disguising beneath the wise velvet petals they harmlessly,
Bore out fresh platelets of blood off her colourless skin,
And watched her squeeze it out, and set it free.
Watched her set a part of her life... free

They seemed nothing, too minuscule to acknowledge,
Infusing with the water that dropped from her eyes,
It diluted and yet became more morose,
She wiped off the exhausted platelets and her eyes.

The hungry petals absorbed her lustrous blood,
And stared at her face in a beautiful disguise,
She smelled the rose and thanked her God,
For those beautiful roses by her side.

Welcome to the world of Psychedelia

She stared at the ceiling, blankly. A pirouette surrounded her, of thoughts, wishes, desires, cravings and more. It was a new beginning that awaited her in the deserted course towards the end. She was twenty one and had allowed a long hypodermic needle to enter her veins, smelling of vinegar, smelling of the big H thing. The number was deleted from her contacts list. She picked up her phone and concentrated to remember the number. Carefully, with fidgety eyes, she dialed it. No, I don't love you. Stop calling me up, stop wasting your time and mine. He said. She smiled and said that it was okay. She went outside the room where a party awaited her. She laughed, cried, danced, sighed and enjoyed. She was in love with the H thing. No pain, no depression. She had found solace. She came close to me as she saw me snorting coke. "This is baaaaaaaad habit, but go ahead, it feels nice." and she jumped down to sit next to me, chuckling. I said. Welcome to the world of Psychedelia.