Devil's Carnival

How would you run from what's inside?
The broken swings,
And the abandoned dolls,
The carousel turns with the flickering lights,
The horses moving up and down,
To the macabre music,
dances the smiling clown, till the morrow.

How would you run from what's inside?
Your own darkness,
a comforting blanket.
The songs of defeat and pain,
Turn into the bugle announcing
The vanquishing of your sorrow's rain.

Trapdoors

Trap doors everywhere,
One wrong step
Abysmal despair.

Climbing up the stairs
Look behind
No where to go; vertigo.

Warm hands reaching out,
Skeletons of the past,
Pulling you down.

Clear water springs in here,
Mirages they are,
They disappear.

Kind soul,
Arms spread wide.
Only to choke you,
In the dead of the night.

Glitter Gutters

What do they care about us?
Those who walk the nights,
Covered in glitter
And smelling of inebriation.
What do they care about us?
Us with the broken hearts
Us who are so close,
Yet miles apart.
What do they care about us?
Us, who cry into the pillows
Wishing they would know.
Us, who wall the tightropes of sanity.
What do they care about us?
They, who feed us sweet lies
They, who never said goodbye.
What do they care about us?
As our emotions translated into physical pain,
Our innards burning and our brains screaming,
As we peep through our covers, hiding our tears.
But what do they care?
As long as they're all fine and good,
And we're there for the bad days.
What do they care about how they kill us?
What do they care about us?

Toy Soldiers

As much as it hurts,
We are soldiers.
We mask the pain with bandages and expired morphine,
We wear masks on our faces,
If only there were bandages for the soul.

The Typewriter

She sits with panache,
looking out the window.
The sunlight peeping in,
through veins in the sky
Crossed legged, in a snug sweater
and coffee in hand,
she blows over the cup.
A lonely typewriter sits on the rosewood table
the scent of antiquity attached to it.
It longs for fingers to run over the keys,
to let flow the black ink,
to tell stories.

She steals a glance at it,
"Come to me, Come,
Write something. Write yourself."

She hides behind her commercialized coffee mug,
with the standard silly coffee table slogans scrawled over it.
"But I can't think of anything to write.
I'm running dry, dry, dry.
I feel empty."

She looks over at the typewriter again,
that old pal, waiting patiently.
"Write about the emptiness.", it whispers.
She walks over, cautiously
Like a curious infant
at the sight of something wondrous.
Gingerly sitting on the chair,
She runs her hand over the keys.
She writes.
No pause.
No interval.
She wrote.
Her dog resting at her feet.
Calm and quiet at the knowledge,
his master is revitalized.
She takes out the finished paper and smells the ink.
"I love you grandmama"
She looks at the typewriter and says, teary eyed.

Note: Writers always have had a seemingly eternal love affair with Typewriters,for some strange yet comforting reason.

Girls Don't Cry

“Turn your face and wipe those tears”,

Papa said to me.

“Girls don’t cry.”

“You don’t cry, my love.

You don’t shed those tears for those
not worthy of it.

You don’t cry a waterfall
For those who don’t say your name
With the same honor as you do.

Girls don’t cry
You don’t cry away nights,

For things that were never meant to stay.
You don't owe anyone anything,
and you dont have to do what they say.

But most of all

You don’t cry for anyone
Because you are sui generis

Your tears are not worth the
jeers and the mockery.

Girls don’t cry

For your smile, they do not deserve
if they can’t love you for you.”

He holds me in his arms
and looks me in the eye
and says,
“You are more than what you think you are.
You are the past, present and future.
You are my poetry and my story,
you are the words I chose to write my life in
you are your mother’s skin and my bones
you are the pearl hidden in the oyster.
Seize the moment, dear child.
For if you are afraid of falling,
then don’t paralyze yourself,

Don’t be paralyzed!
for we are all murderers
in a victimless crime.
Fall, fall, fall,
and  the stars will catch you in their infinite fabric of time.
And I will catch you if you falter in your climb.”

I wiped my tears and after that,
I never cried.
I vowed to him
that I will emerge victorious
Maybe bruised, maybe cut
Maybe sunburnt,
maybe hurt,
But, I swear,
I will emerge victorious
through this illusionary snare.

Blessings

Blessed I am
for mother & father
who went through the shadows
to lead me to the light
Blessed I am
for the little black hound
who though majestic & proud
plays around
Blessed I am
for the beauty of the world
offering happiness
even when cloudy above
For friends who love
and bring out our shine
for strangers
though anonymous
make us believe
with little acts of kindness
in a big way
or a small one maybe?

Verse First ~ "He Said. She Said." (Poet's united)

I'm sorry if this poem sounds very negative and it is a serious issue I've written about. It's based on several stories I've read and accounts of several people who've faced such a thing.
(And I'm only a high school student :P ) I hope nobody ever has to face such a thing.






He said-I like you
She said- I think so too
He said- I love you
She said- I feel so too
He said-Marry me
She said- I do
They married under the canopy,
under the chill of the autumn breeze,
They married and lived,
over the years their love was rigged,
She realized he was a monster,
A broken piece of glass,
she kept blaming herself,
for remaining ignorant about his past,
she gathered her wits,
and decided to face,
the situation and packed her things,
to move out of the place,
She said- Something's wrong
He said- Nothing.
She said- I'm leaving
He said- Don't you dare
She said- I don't care
He took a knife,
held her by her hair
and beat her that night,
There she sat in the corner of the room,
weeping to herself,
regretting the day,
they met, they stayed,
regretting the day they crossed each others ways.