I was just a girl
With a whole lot to say
But lips sewn tightly shut.
You gave me a pen
And a scrape of waste paper
And the stitches fell away.
Words flew
Bled
And oozed
Across the dirty, stained page.
By the time I was done
I was undone.
As I watched every surface
Slowly overrun with scribbles
I allowed myself to smile.
For I was just a girl
With a whole lot to say
But lips sewn tightly shut
Yet, till the time I have words
At my mercy
I’ll always find a way.
On a Friday night
Just like any other
I lay in bed
Without a single bother
The town swirled around me
A blur of coloured lights
People rushed around talking
In a murmured buzz
It was a downright circus, aye
Like a merry-go-round
Running at a nauseating pace
While I stood silently still
At it’s very centre
Strung to it all
Feeling its ebbing throes
Yet disconnected from the throng
Like a marionette
The world passed me by
While I, the very epicentre
Felt like an innocent, dumb bystander
For on a Friday night
Like any other
I lay in bed
Without a single bother
You came to life
In my imagination
As the epitome of perfection
But when I glanced
At you again
Through a colour stained window
I realised
You were just my reflection
A moth To a flame Is much …
https://briahluther.wordpress.com/2019/04/10/1115/
— Read on briahluther.wordpress.com/2019/04/10/1115/
A beautiful piece of poetry! Do read.
Two halves
Don’t always make a whole
They could still be
Missing a soul.
In the best of cases
You’d be alive
Without victories under your belt
And feathers in your cap
Rich, for your experiences
Richer, for your successes
Richer still, for all your failures
Better now
Than when you started
Hopelessness’ despair
You’d have thwarted
So do it
Give it your all
Take life by the horns
Because
In the worst of cases
You’d be alive
With more than a breath left in you
There are words
And then there are words
Written to stir souls
Spoken to ignite fires
Resonating with grit
And the force of desires
Some others still
Create lyrical melodies
Their harmonic composition
Curing fearful maladies
And all I can do
Is soak them all in
Read. It’s a good habit, I was told
But I gladly beg to differ here
Do more than read
Feel. Feel the essence of every word
And you’ll be one with the world.
I was making a list
Of some of my favourite things
And my pen leaked
A blob of royal blue ink
I watched as it spread
Forming a myriad of shades
Sometimes changing hues
And I realised
My most favourite thing
Is to observe what I see
And pen it down in poetry
So I may remember the mind’s complex mysteries
For all of eternity.
Are you aware of this blog’s running series on why one writes poetry?
No?
Fret not!
I’m popping the links down below and would love to hear what you think! Most of all, I await your own take on why poetry.
Love,
Varnika
Links:
Rumour has it
That illusions shatter
When faced with mirages of reality
I’m conflicted
When contrasting
Facts with whims and fantasy
So, If I stood
In front of a mirror
Will you share
Its reflection with me?
Sometimes in my mind
The heavens and earth collide
Like an explosive segue
Transitioning to a beautiful aftermath
And I see colours
And squiggles
Little dots and curls, a pot-pourried confetti
Sometimes
I even see
A rainbow-esque bridge
And when I walk on it
I know
That
A star is born
