#metamorphing9

[metamorphing9]

I don't know

if I exist

in spaces

between galaxies

too human

to be close to

or

if I have become

a supernova of dark matter

-metamorphing9

[metamorphing9]

I bury your face, into

The Graveyard of

Apologies to Myself

I swallow

every drop of

sadness, flush away

every emotion

A Nod to the Sympathising World

I hold a pen

Heavy, I start talking to

a fictional image

of my mother

and cry

A Flood of Guilt

This Song.

Paralysed, phantasmagoric,

I wish, the curve

my lips are tracing-

A Tribute to The Memories

doesn't hurt

like stitches.

-metamorphing9

[metamorphing9]

And hope cries

into echoes

the shape of

a half-goodbye

from every goodnight

that breathes warm

inside this body

-metamorphing9

[metamorphing9]

In places

Language wasn't

enough, to permeate

every ramification

of my being,

your voice

left an image-

A melting lullaby

whose lyrics I've

forgotten.

-metamorphing9

[metamorphing9]

I want to share

The smile from every star

With you.

But every morning,

You wake up

In a different world.

Sometimes I try to search you

In this quite sky.

And on lonely nights,

I wonder,

if you pass across

the same stars-

I hold on to.

-metamorphing9

[metamorphing9]

My younger self was a fighter. He never gave up. He kept on fighting and believing no matter how hard it was. But this self of me already feels tired of everything, the world, even the people

May be, my younger self didn't see the world as this me see's it. May be that's how this me should try seeing the world-hopefully and as something good. But may be this me see's the correct face of the world- all liesand corrupt and hollow.

I sometimes wonder what if my younger self had a vision of the way this self of me see's the world? Would he have still kept believing in everything?

[metamorphing9]

Could I become a child again?

One who doesn't know the voids filled with selfish motives within the outwardly self proclaimed true and best and honest compositions of this world, the rotting hollows within every solid proclaiming structure.

One who doesn't have to bother with the running away of time and of people too.

One who can sleep without getting up again and again throughout the night just to find that you weren't dreaming but just thinking- again and again- the same old thought.

One who can eat heartily without worrying how many people might be hungry today?

One whose mind doesn't keep reminding him of so many unfinished hopes- millions in every falling tear drop- every time he does something opening up his heart.

One who fears ghosts and voices and cockroaches and not about how badly you'll be broken, wounded and bruised when you fall trying to reach out your hand just for those tiny little hope filled lights.

One who can laugh hard until he feel all his ribs and stomach tighten and doesn't have to wear masks on his face everyday.

One who burries coins as treasures under trees and not feelings, secrets and the unfair games of life within his heart.

One who can cry heartily.

-metamorphing9

Could I cry freely?

[metamorphing9]

When the sun decided to set,

And the clouds wanted to pour.

When the sun wanted to warm us.

And the clouds longed to shower upon us,

When birds disappeared,

And there were no winds,

When the waves got still,

And the sea was silent.

When the sky devilishly grumbled,

And the sun glowed ever brighter.

When they thought of painting the sky with our symphony,

But couldn't fathom our hearts.

When the clouds hid 'us',

But they never knew,

We were already drowning in the 'sea'.

-metamorphing9