miscellaneous mac

unexpressed expresso

[talkthrupens]

Love enough to let go. 

I realised I had to let u go to those u were happier with , for keeping u for my joy would be called selfishness

With beds of melancholy under my fingernails. Among all the things I get scolded - for i forget things , you're never on the list. Give me an excuse to (forget)? 

I sit here writing about u; the urge not letting me sleep, the cigarette between these fingers plead for liberty . I've become a feast for the dark - nights consume me now . They leave me with fatigue, the next day . I adopt it with a smile on my face. Bukowski must be happy, lookin at me - "it's much better to be killed by a lover?" 

You compel me to write, to think about you at the hours people dream about what they long for. You compel me to pen down; I view this growing distance between us, more as poetry and less humane!

[talkthrupens]

Is love a bait for life? getting captured- being preyed- to live life or

life is a bait for love? what would this even mean if life ceased? give life, even take life/lives for love?

I've experienced the dusk to dawn (pitch dark to the blue hues) with you- when it felt perfect. I've experienced dusk to dawn alone, it was a bait for perfection!

[talkthrupens]

Don't buy me my favourite red roses to keep on my grave, if you never asked me if I liked them while I was breathing

[talkthrupens]

Got my head in the clouds

[talkthrupens]

Took the local bus to return home yesterday. Instead of plugging in the earphones, to delve into a world as I would, I chose to look at the actual world, through its inhabitants

The tranquility on their faces, very well camouflage the Commotion in their minds. The little boy, sitting on his mother's lap, lacks the basic awareness of this cruel world. He is on the periphery of acknowledging realism. There's a girl, on the windowside. She prefers to stare outside, while on the listening to songs, quietly. Although, depression might be another language she speaks; valiantly, silently- A language she did not learn, yet at comes to her quite fluently, more than the one she's been speaking since childhood.

Some unclear conversations, I cease to absorb, of those daily households, the complexity of which we all cease to highlight.

the old man, his head hanging. down as, he's asleep. The bus takes brakes while jerks wake him. Is it any sign or just another juncture of life? (He dozes off again..)

A woman in a sari, the worn colour of which suggest her economic standing. She carries the terrible weight of luggage in her hands, at contrast to the void in her mind. I lookk at these people, with never diminishing mystery, the unknown persists.

Thousands come and thousands go.

Oh, did I mention about the old wrinkled man, who drives a whole world of mystery, everyday in this vehicle termed as a bus?

[talkthrupens]

Took the local bus to return home yesterday. Instead of plugging in the earphones, to delve into a world as I would, I chose to look at the actual world, through its inhabitants

The tranquility on their faces, very well camouflage the Commotion in their minds. The little boy, sitting on his mother's lap, lacks the basic awareness of this cruel world. He is on the periphery of acknowledging realism. There's a girl, on the windowside. She prefers to stare outside, while on the listening to songs, quietly. Although, depression might be another language she speaks; valiantly, silently- A language she did not learn, yet at comes to her quite fluently, more than the one she's been speaking since childhood.

Some unclear conversations, I cease to absorb, of those daily households, the complexity of which we all cease to highlight.

the old man, his head hanging. down as, he's asleep. The bus takes brakes while jerks wake him. Is it any sign or just another juncture of life? (He dozes off again..)

A woman in a sari, the worn colour of which suggest her economic standing. She carries the terrible weight of luggage in her hands, at contrast to the void in her mind. I lookk at these people, with never diminishing mystery, the unknown persists.

Thousands come and thousands go.

Oh, did I mention about the old wrinkled man, who drives a whole world of mystery, everyday in this vehicle termed as a bus?

[talkthrupens]

With the flow of wind , fluttering

Between the leaves,

As the aeroplanes flirted with the clouds

We walked as long as

the moonlight showed the way

the planets were visible in the night sky today...

To feel our intimacy, I suppose

[talkthrupens]

I never name my poems, I never really want to fit them, rigidly into something- that they won't be able to come out of. ( You humans should know ?)

Poetry should flow, in my defense- take any interpretation one feels; that sits right, with their own comprehensions.

But then they say, you get lured by the name and then decide to read it.

You never really get lured to literature. it is a narrow concept- attraction infatuation. You get attached to it. The opposite poles of magnets attract, but how easily can they be pulled back to their former position by physical strength? Instead you humans should know better about the perpetuity of attachments?

[talkthrupens]

[talkthrupens]

Time flows

I still sit here writing last month's poems,

While yesterday is clotting-

In my palms

How do I live in the past and write about tomorrow?

the last month just went by

March came down

my pain still flows in those poems, immortalising the agony

instead of the aspirations

Art must have been a commemoration of the dreams, but it is the melancholy you left me with.

[thoughtkick]

Do you ever miss yourself? The person you were before you had your first heartbreak or before you got betrayed by a person you trusted?

Unknown (via thoughtkick)

she was so happy :)

[talkthrupens]

[talkthrupens]

Can you see how pain fuels you to write, Every other great poet suffered from mental health issues, anxiety, depression?

Is it an indication of something revolutionary?

[talkthrupens]

[talkthrupens]

Oh! This peace at nights

[talkthrupens]

Tell me how to find motivation to study, when the world imposes pressure in every possible way- while you just want to lay on the bed, decay, while listening to all the songs of cigarettesaftersex - in the graveyard of dedication...perseverance, sleeping by my side, in the next coffin?

[talkthrupens]

Hi, I know this is really random and I'm sorry about that. But I just wanted to drop by to say - your recent text post about love, is absolutely gorgeous is ways I don't know how to express. Genuinely I read it and started crying at 10am after months of not being able to cry. You worded everything so beautifully. I'm so glad I came across it 💖

I hope you are having a wonderful day 💜

That is literally the best thing someone ever told me about my writings. Thank you so much, more power to you! I hope you find whatever you're looking for, in life :)

Thank you for thisss, made my day