Skip to main content

By the Cliff


I was a drunken soul, 

When I reached the cliff, 

But sober enough to stop at the edge. 

I stopped and thought why would I stop. 

What feeling is better than 

Floating freely in the air, 

Feeling light and unburdened. 

What feeling is better than, 

flying with the birds

And falling among the flawed trees.

No romantic ecstasy can compete

with that feeling. 

Everything I left at that house, 

Isn't mine to go back, 

But everything that awaits beyond 

this cliff is mine to embrace. 

The cold chills me asking

is it the right time? 

When is the right time? 

When is the right time to float? 

I'm sober enough to remember

My pain, 

No drinking can diminish its essence, 

No party can fade its dominance. 

Happiness was a distant cousin, 

Who would come like Christmas. 

Yet I kept the Christmas lights for a longer time, 

Hoping to keep the darkness away, 

and Christmas never came as I hoped. 

But this cliff, its emptiness, and stillness

beckons like a witch, 

A sad witch looking for a company

in her solo existence. 

My soul is excited, 

It hopes to find joy beyond the cliff, 

If only joy exists in filth and decayed bodies. 


A. C


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

SHE

She was a girl of little importance.. She was not a damsel or a princess. But there was fire in her eyes. The fire of determination. Fire of dreams to be fullfilled. She never saw it ,but others did. But others never understood it ,but she did. She always dreamt of her future prince. Her shining eyes and glossy lips always waited for the arrival of her prince. One day. She met her prince,the charming one who came on white horse, she believed destiny made them meet, And she prayed let the same destiny unite them!! Days passed. Everyday she saw him. But she was afraid to come out of her shell. Another day. As she walked, he came. He walked towards her. she paused. As he reached closer her heart wrenched from its seat. And now there is no distance  between them. He smiled and reached for her lips. she closed her eyes. They kissed. It was deep. He looked at her. She tried to be normal.. But there was nothing normal around her .
2 comments
Read more

THE DREAMCATCHER ( A Poem)

She tried. And made the hoops from willows to wove those magical webs. Wrapped the hoop with suede lacing. The string was woven onto the hoop. Hours passed. She wove some of her favourite decorations to it. Feathers and gemstones, hidden with meanings. Hours passed. But she wanted it  to be perfect. And finally, here it is. THE DREAMCATCHER. She hung it on  her bedroom wall and watched it carefully. Rubbed it with an artist's pride. The hoop smiled, ensuring the travel of sun through the mighty sky. She thought that when night comes  the hole in the center would only let Bawedjige( good dreams)pass. She would be able to sleep safe and sound today. The nightmares will never ever haunt her. For she has her Dreamcatcher. And Bawedjigewin( bad dreams) will be trapped in the web, to be dispelled at the first light of morning. She slept. The sun rays pierced into her eyes. She opened her eyes with the innocence of a newborn babe. The thought stroke her. She
2 comments
Read more

The Grendels

Horror is lurking behind every moment of darkness, Seeming to be human, we cannot distinguish you from Grendel. We see no Beowulfs coming to rip off your arms that aid you well. When every closed door warns us, Every stare seems to map our bodies, Every vehicle appears to follow us, Every touch seems to warn us, You, cultured and well behaved, You are the light of the day, You are the Lord of the people, Who metamorphose into damned dangers  At the end of the day. Your venomous fangs go in search of  Prey, You wait in the darkness with twinkling eyes, Admiring the power of your hands, That can open up hearts, And show the uncultured your worth.  After every hunting, the sycophants who surround you, Kiss your hands and touch your feet. They wash your dirt and make your bed. They cure your sickness by gifting you scepters. Making you invisible, they uproot every Beowulfs to ensure your reign. Thus you flourish, never to die but to hunt and haunt. And behind your house, we see a pile of d
Post a Comment
Read more