Cages and Chains

We build ones,

We live in ones.

We cage ourselves,

We chain those around us.

We give them a name,

A cage of responsibilities,

And chains of expectations.

If they wish to move further,

They better learn,

To carry the cage on their shoulders,

And move only as far

As the chains allow them to.

We cage them so they wouldn’t run,

And play their roles

Assigned by us,

We leash them so they’d stay close,

Always in our vicinity,

So we needn’t fear.

But a cage and chains,

Promise no eternity;

Freedom and wings,

Predict no promiscuity;

Some stay for they choose to stay;

Some stay for they can’t dare to move away;

Some stay for they don’t care either way.

Withdrawal.  

 

4 days.

Since the last fix.

Throat parched,

Thirst unquenchable.

Food tastes of ashes,

On a cracked tongue.

Limbs shiver,

Craving for a dose,

Breathing uneven;

Vision blurred,

I feel the world revolve,

All too well.

 

Delirious,

For a parasite,

I loathe to my gut,

An illusionist,

Who tampers my reality,

A snake,

That poisons my hope,

A dagger,

That bled me countless,

A leech,

Who sucks joy out of me,

A quake,

That shakes the ground beneath me,

 

To consume again,

Would be killing myself,

Come to contact again,

Will maim what’s left of me.

Yet my veins dangle,

Yearning for a glimpse,

A sign that you exist;

Some tiding,

To console my empty vessel,

That you are not entirely

Of my mind’s concoction.

And remind myself,

Of what hell’s fire it was.

 

Lies.

The lies,

We tell ourselves,

To keep pushing,

Through the tides;

The walls of lies,

We build around us,

To protect our worlds,

From the truth;

The words of solace,

We armour ourselves with;

The words of encouragement,

We whet our swords with;

To fight against,

The reality.

Reign Again

A cuckoo who flew off the crow’s nest;

A diseased man on death bed;

A sparrow; a duck; in my head,

Endless metaphors run without rest.

Away, the birds fly,

All that live will die,

In my head – if I was five-

Thoughts otherwise, could thrive.

Alluring they shall sound,

Cause in one’s throat, a mound,

If the ghosts of loss, in my head,

Into paper, I transform and read.

But, why dwell on them, wail and cry?

I wasn’t five, yet I did try,

With the spirit of such, to hope and trust,

Ever-aware of the inevitable combust.

And someday maybe again,

To dream, the strength I’ll regain,

Maybe once more they’ll be slain,

Yet I’ll build the forts again and reign.