About Untold Love

Inspiration to write by Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song’s excellent reading.

I think the city grey has seeped into my soul, 
I knead my eyes with my knuckles, trying to be awake,
alive, though I have never once felt so antique, so old.

The bells ring constantly in my ears and, expectedly bold,
Paranoia seeps through the uninviting demeanor;
head conjures up images, unforgotten and forlorn.

A sweaty hand across the cheek, weak eyes dramatically rolled,
there is pleasure in the throbbing, feverish forehead,
Although, there isn’t a part that seems even remotely untolled.

Blackness is inviting, darkness bring the stars (those old
taunts), haunting the night, with a ray of hope
And somewhere, melancholy sighs then, with a head hot and heart cold.

Perhaps that’s what I got for having loved untold:
Broken hearts, wasted murmurs, they weave through the lovely night
And when the day comes, murmurs disappear, hearts repair,
and we go drunk into our loveless, snowy, slushed lives. 

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Boom!

Blithely, I count the purchases on my hand, and feel a rush of excitement
To prepare food for the party at my father’s retirement.
He doesn’t have a clue, I grin with glee,
He will be so happy, we will all see.
A full roast of pork, and the succulent gravy- Boom, boom!
Something blasts, sending shards of metal and glass across the room
The image of my father’s face burned into my memory
And the thought of how his party will happen at the cemetery.

Promise, I did not want to go to the concert, and I did tell my friends.
They persuaded, knowing little that it would bring our end.
And yet, I proceeded, to make them happy.
Not wanting to abandon my friends and then be crappy.
I called my boyfriend’s cell phone and told him of my plans.
He said he’s sick. He did not know it then,
That we had said our ‘I love you’s, our last time it would be
As one of us would be dead before the nocturnal hour in the city of intimacy.

“Please, I don’t wish to go,” I begged with my mother to let me skip,
My school, for once in my life, and of course she flipped.
“No, you must go,” she insisted for I had my religion exam today,
And she had painstakingly listened to Prophet’s sermons yesterday.
“Don’t kill, don’t betray, forgive and always be kind,”
These thoughts are going on in my mind,
As during the test, they barged into the room and opened fire in our school (and hearts),
I wish my mother had listened to me from the start.

Mum said to send her pictures of the sea from the hotel roof,
With myself in it, and the lovely evening; I’d agreed, appearing aloof.
Fulfilling her wishes, I was descending to the lobby
Of the hotel, to visit the Gateway next to the Sea,
When I heard the loud noise just across the hall,
And felt myself collapse of the floor with each one and all.
There is something wrong, I feel palpable in the air,
I lose consciousness as I see my mum call on the local number here.

My new job is in the country that hosted the famous Tomatina, 
The first time I am abroad from my home country of Argentina.
I was enchanted and delighted as I stepped in the commuter train
Not exploring the capital city would’ve rendered my visit, vain.
I glanced left and right and in and out and up and about,
And in my occupation, was unaware and didn’t hear what the others doubted.
Suddenly I saw some panic and some people shouted, something had happened,
I was flung to the floor, something on my leg had me shackled.

The entire world sits tensely, for once in solidarity,
As the cries of the wounded and the killed echoes through the air.
We just sit and take in the live news, in horror and in pity,
We sit in front of our screens and stare.
As a thousand lives are destroyed, and they leave a stain,
That refuses to fade away with time; only darkens again,
when something similar happens and we are all dumbfounded,
paralyzed into action, since we and our loved ones are safe and counted.
Yes, there is fear, and there is rage, and yes there is pain for those whose lives have altered,
forever, and nothing can ever bring them to even remotely normal,
we can all pray for them lives and pray for the world,
and pray for the monsters that we have nurtured.
Or we can take a stand and remember to fight,
against what is wrong, and for the right.
We can raise and voice and we can make a change,
in ourselves by making our humanity resurface again,
In spite of the fear and the doubt, we shall fight
Against our blood, united for once, for the right.

Monsters.

*

Every night, before I sleep,
I hear the sound of the child weep,
I hear melancholy run deep
in the sound from my beneath.

Every night I wish to ease,
it’s pain, for it to be at ease,
But just like my fear fear of monsters beneath,
That don’t allow me to under, peep,
Does it too, have some under the crease?

Every night before I sleep,
I vow to end all its miseries,
By looking under my bed, fear be buried,
But, everyday, I fail spectacularly.

What stops me, the cry in its voice,
or the fear in mine, I have no choice
To help the tormented, I couldn’t start.
Who said anything about monsters under our beds,
when they live in our hearts?

*

(By the way, go follow TWPM at their instagram @theworldpastme for anything and everything.)

Haiku #4

Different style for a haiku. The photo is mine, clicked on March 18, 2015. I couldn’t get it to enlarge. I was pixelating otherwise 😦

Obsession and the Insomniac.

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In the dark quiet of the night,
She woke up, sweating in fright.
Her dreams haunted her,
She couldn’t get past them
her troubles it seemed,
had already stemmed.
He weaved in and out,
She was beginning to doubt.
Her horrors come live,
She couldn’t beat them,
No matter how hard she strived.
She believed he was a gem,
He couldn’t hurt her, she thought,
Ignoring the misery that he had brought.
He was dead, she had till now known.
But now, she just wasn’t very sure.
Her past had begun to haunt her present.
Her life now wasn’t very pleasant.
She lost sleep and trouble it brewed.
Daydream and insomnia, she remained subdued.
She lost her beauty, her peace of mind.
Her thoughts, his ghost were together bind.
A stalker, a maniac, he shadowed she,
For all the lives’ eternity.
Until she cried foul and he was killed,
By her brother. But still,
It was a mark left upon her life.
She married someone, became a wife,
And lived peacefully, until a day before.
She thought she saw his face through a crowd.
Her heart fearful, her mind went sour,
And she cried out loud.
Back he had come, to avenge his killing.
And she was back hysterically screaming.
Waking up in bed, sweating, with fright,
Wishing for her life, with all her might.

Fearful Shadow.

Your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever. ” – Aleksandar Hemon

The dark shadows of the bodies,
Forever following.
Just down in the night,
When the scared
Hide.
Comes up with the sun,
The shadow of all.
Mystery, fear, jealousy, doubt.
It camouflages the naked emotions,
With it’s darkest colors.
Fragile, disturbed,
It changes shape.
Still, it forever follows,
Never leaving sight.
The sun goes down. At night,
It is dead.
Though people fear the
Moving shadows,
Who’s shadow is it? Not me.
Then who?