When my heart

is smashed in a thousand pieces,

I stand up to face my fears,

but my mind sinks back in.

I feel like I’m suffocating

in the middle of the street,

and no one can see me dying.

Teach me how to breathe.

It seems like I’ve been shut out,

shut out from the rest of the world.

The silence stinks,

and the brooding hurts.

Everything is on the standstill,

although my heart remembers to sound,

to remind me of my endless commitments;

to living, at least, to existing.

I speak to those dear to my heart,

but they listen without their ears,

decorating their care-less faces

with provocations, as smiles.

I think of giving up, losing hope,

but there is nothing left to lose.

Both heart and hope,

Have been smashed in a thousand pieces.













Through life’s unpruned path,

I walk with a crowd

that cuddle the fear of being victims;

victims of sharpened ecstasy,

threading on the paths of “Never.”

They burned our bridges,

we crossed their lines,

but we still bottle our fears

under the tree of pain.

The vegetation is not green,

our lives, bitter.

Our faces seem to burst

with expectations of the worst.

But on this unpruned path,

our hopes would see us through.
















When the arrow of self-pity

punctures the very essence of dignity,

I fall behind myself…

I wake up to

Angels of dark shadows

with broken voices,

hidden faces,

under the façade of triumph,

envoys of distress,

tied down in painted faces,

beautified with dangerous mirage,

of unquenchable fire.

With broken voices,

these angels tell a story,

a story of pain and despair,

Clothed in appealing shadows.











With man’s avalanche of thoughts,

intertwined in harmonious array,

flowing swiftly with desires,

pruned with no mean efforts,

like the horn of a unicorn.

Its depth and height,

prominent in the wave of the typhoon,

all gathered together in unison.

Of all man’s travails,

his soul, too wide to bear

these gushing streams,

from an overflowing heart,

poured out in fine filters.

His soul, too wide to bear

these thoughts and tears.




















The tattered lines of my heart

Break through my tinted face,

Revealing bluntly, nothing but pain,

Proud to unveil the dark patches on my soul.

Forgiveness pleads to be forgiven

As my blotted belly carry the weight,

The weight of undefined anger.

I have been exposed;

Alas, I hide no more, my pain,

Which forms a cloud upstairs.

My head ready to pour like the rain,

On the evergreen mountain.

Mount hatred and Mount betrayal

Play a game of chess within,

Betwixt and through my veins.

Conflicting thoughts overcrowd me,

Corrupting the very essence of my being.

Indecisive, I stand, waving flags,

Flags of justice, void of prejudice,

To rid my heart of dilemma.

Sprinkles of hope, I envisage,

To counter this feeling of glorious loss.




















The mask that hid my true self

The façade of truth

Being ignored in deep breaths

Happiness becomes a crown

with a price tag of a clear heart.

When the mind refuses to let go,

This happiness, this crown, is never purchased

Smiles; these become games

that must be hunted

My mind, too sickly to hunt them,

become dampened in sweet bitterness.

Praises depart from my lips.

Thoughts, they even depart from her, my mind.

The flow of my narration;

The state of my mind.

Confused and in no definite array,

Trampled upon by zero self-worth,

Scattered, evident in my pain infested face

Being masked,

By my pair of glasses.














Once again in my head,

I hear the growing bang,

thoughts of retreat

and harmony,

all mixed up

in an unholy matrimony,

feeding my heart

with uncircumcised food,

a call to be the bait.

Unspoken memories,

untold dreams,

filling my aimless vacuum,

a heart that thinks on nothing,

Nothing but history.

Splatters of the fountain,

rushes of the wind,

these thoughts perform alike,

on this punctured soul.

In the theatre of life,

play me the music of sorrow,

that I may perform,

a melodrama, dear to heart,

to remind me of my stolen dreams.

Unfulfilled, I lie,

waiting for mother earth

to claim her treasured possession.










The white apparel,

flowing and sweeping the marble floor,

swinging side to side…

I watched them dance,

showing sets of teeth

eluded of whiteness,

contradicting their pure white gowns.

I watched them intently,

scanning through the white gowns,

gowns of hypocrisy,

wraps of lust,

which the world sees not.

Sin and purity,

married under the shades of white

behind the poor pulpit,

which is void of expressions

to condemn such unholy righteousness

Eyes reddened with falsehood

lips broken of words untold,

The sad realities of a forsaken cross.

I see them match on,

with cassocks of pride,

robes of injustice,

milking the innocence of their congregation.

The altar weeps

for the careful brutality

of her damned sacredness.




When the guns blew up the delicate walls

Under the bridges of solitude

We seemed to forget all our deflated balls

As our hearts cried out; not in gratitude.

To end our thoughts of agony

We took to our heels, bodies dangling

We moan and detest the acrimony

Oh! What a war of no mingling

With blood; splattering, people groaning

Our hope is lost as our knees find their place

On the ground; for mercy, pleading

How can we solve this? No space!

Yes, in our hearts, no space left to bear; to forgive,

On bended knees, the victims, we pray to live!







What I see in every lightening.

The thunderous brooding of manhood,

fear soaked in pain,

melted hearts and rolling heads.


the voice that weeps

when Mr_ plays “catcha,”

her lips telling nothing,

eyes pleading

for the mad fellow

crushing her.

She dissolves into him.

Fear and pain in a fair game,

her body, the chess-board.

Groans and moans-

arrows of molestation.

He blends his skin in hers,

tearing the essence of her being.

A plucked flower,

rudely exposed to the scorching sun!















Passion fails;

Love hurts;

Desires explode;

All on the field-

Her body!

She cries from intimacy,

she cries from heart ache,

the first, sweet,

but a whole mixture

of painful pleasures.

No shame lies beneath-

This open pride.




















We are murdered

not by the things we said,

but by words unuttered.

Wild darts on the chest

crafted by greedy “M.”

The scars on the face

like the map of a country

burdened by guilt and regret.

The heavy band on her finger

tells her to push further.

“for better for worse,”

Wasn’t that the vow?

The daily dose of slaps,

accompanied by blows,

the constant song of “useless woman,”

do not warn her.

She dies slowly,

not for what she said

but what she didn’t.









Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.05.2020

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To God and the downtrodden in the society.

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