Collateral Damage

As they hustle along,

To find their homes,

Carry boulders,

To strengthen their walls,

Leap beyond,

To fill their souls,

They knock you down,

Though you weren’t in their way,

Smash pieces of rocks,

On your gut,

Tread on your heart,

And never look back;

Do they ever wonder,

If you got back on your feet?

Do they remember

Whose blood painted their worlds?

The Friend

The friend,

Who was meant to stand,

Right next to you,

On doomsday;

The friend,

Whom you’d heat needles with,

Stitch up each other’s wounds,

Through the blood and the tears;

The friend,

Whom you’d sit with,

In a bar, drinking away,

The battle scars;

The friend,

Who’d hold you,

In a steady embrace

Your safe haven, during quakes;

The friend,

Whose happiness

You’d have killed for,

Ripped out your lungs for;

The friend,

Who stabbed you,

In fear, of you, meaning to him,

As much as him to you.

As History Repeats…

On a Saturday evening,

On a black couch,

History repeated.

 

It was the same couch,

Around the same time,

The same you,

 

Except in my place,

Wasn’t me,

But one reformed than me.

 

Behind a glass,

With a heart-lost chest,

Was I.

 

Standing there,

Watching the smiles,

Screaming tears.

 

You wouldn’t turn back,

You couldn’t see me,

Or sense beyond your rainbows.

 

Where I was,

Was dark.

Noisy. Crowded with shadows.

 

Where I was,

Was a place in between

Your past and my present.

 

Where I was,

Was a groundless marsh,

Between memories and reality.

 

Where I was,

Was a wavy ocean,

Of stark choice and ambivalence.

 

Where I was,

I couldn’t break the glass,

And enter the past,

 

Where I am,

I dare not walk in,

Through the shattered glass.

Trap

 

One step further,

He said,

Holding out his hand to me,

Few steps ahead of me;

I walked,

Along his lead,

Then leaped,

And fell,

Head before heels;

He stood,

By the brink,

Still holding my hand;

 

I clung, on to him,

Trying to pull him, along.

The grip tightened,

He struggled,

To break free,

He loosened,

His arm,

And watched,

As I dropped,

Deep into a pit,

Of muck and thorns,

Crippled.

 

Still,

He peeps by,

As I try to heave,

My breath;

Soon,

He’ll stop,

Lurking by;

Soon,

I’ll stop,

Feeling myself.

 

 

Talk.

They said talk.

Don’t hold it all inside.

Break down your walls,

Let out the storms inside you,

And they’ll calm.

 

They didn’t say,

Once you do,

They walk away with your secrets;

A part of your soul;

The substance you were made of.

 

That you will ache,

For the part you parted with,

Knowing that it’s somewhere,

Forgotten and cast away,

Incomplete; like you.

 

They didn’t tell you,

That the calm you’ll feel,

After you spill,

Was only the calm,

Before the storm.