Archive for March 25, 2018


h o p e 



hope …



Morning dew glistens on feathered petals, alive with promise.


Moments past, having passed, soak up streaming rays of sunshine.


Wounds of yesteryear soothed, cocooned,

in fresh layers of solemn peace.



All aching yesterdays consigned,

in deep recesses of memory.



Haunting me no longer and tormenting me no more,

as I shed the weight of all I so reluctantly bore,

for tomorrow is alive, awash with new hope,

of gentle laughter dipped in quietly sipped joy,

of placid memories yet to be felt,

rising to my feet at last, for far too long have I in sorrow knelt.



Whispered songs yet to be sung, scribbled verses yet to penned,

joyous tears yet to be cried,

the incessant call of the ache, ready to be defied.



Tomorrow is alive with new hope,

of sweetly scented roses blooming all around.



Murmurs of delight in moments, warm, unshackled from pain,

lost touches of myself once again sought after, finally found.



Tomorrow is alive with new hope,

a new beginning devoid of the guilt of past decay,

absorbing freshness of essence of a new day.



Lilting melodies floating on the silken breeze,

banishing all pain, setting the mind at ease.



Tomorrow is alive with new hope,

hope that keeps gloomy nights afar,

even if the emptiness is lit up,

with just the shimmering of a solitary star.



It is this very hope that I hold onto with dear life,

never to give in again to bleak thoughts of mental strife,


hope it is,

hope it must always be,


keeping the sanity within,

setting my soul free …





metallic tastes burrow deeper into me,

‘I am lost’, I say,

as leaden weight blankets my vision,

and emptiness looms with frantic precision,


‘i am lost’, i say,

once more,

driving the stake deeper and deeper,

into my innermost core,

leaving me impotent,

torn, broken,

a shade lost amidst the myriad strands,

of tomorrows yet to dawn,

caught,

drawn,

quartered,

in the vice grip of yesterdays pain,


always,

always,

against the grain,

of cultured norms,

polished forms,

that dig,

and stab,

skewering moments,

lost forever,

in the paradise of thorns,

where desolation stalks the empty spaces,

etched on numberless faces,

battered and beaten down,


gurgling,

gasping,

snatching odd breaths,


as the edifice itself,

sinks,

tugged below,

into the quicksand of oblivious horror,

where suns dipped,

and emotions get shipped,

onto that barge,

stammering on a river,

cut to pieces,

shred, diced and sliced,

sliver by agonising sliver


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