hurt

A dejected child

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Why did they never feel,

the same pleasure as they did

(when the elder sister was

amongst the standing ovation

proclaimed as a successful engineer)

when they saw her first painted Vase.

 

Why did they not encourage her

to try new mediums and buy new supplies

Rather she tried to found new ways to stir

any interest in their eyes.

For her “waste of time” career

which they despised.

 

Today she stands in her gallery

Amidst a huge crowd of admirers

and yet she feels so dispirited inside

Because even though she is

a renowned artist, there is no one

from the family, to receive her tonight.

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My beloved Typewriter hit the wall

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They say: Once someone is a self-destructionist, he will always go forward from there. The cuts baring the soft skin and that power one holds in that instant, make all the pain that follow through worth something. I know that power very well, through various people I have came across,and  recently I got a muse for this poem from a guy, totally unknown to me.

 

I took it in my hand
stroke the plastic,
I smile winsomely
And then throw it hard against the wall,
quite irrelevant and drastic,
It flew as the centrifugal force upon it befalls.

I pick the white keys
clench them in my hand
My blood rushes through, faster
I let myself stomp my heart
Tonight let’s paint the world
in bleak hues.

 

Secluded

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(This poem was written by a friend who wanted me to share it)

The thorns of seclusion are hurting my soul,

I feel myself as an ever burning coal,

A happy phase is there to satisy my thirst,

One glimpse is seen and in another moment, it bursts

Can you believe, someone can be that much alone,

To be neglected as in a way a stone is thrown,

Treated like a scrap that can never be used,

For having ignorant attitude; everyone has an excuse,

While I sit down in solitude, I purify my face,

With the twinkling beads in my eyes that my heart proudly trace.

Night

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Image

All along the gruesome veil of darkness in night, a frustrated agony engulfs my soul. With great conflicts thing get out of proportion.

 

By God,who wants this?

 

A restlessness rips through the heart at stake,the loneliness kills,who thought the lovely pink roses would wilt so early.The color of the leaves is orange,yellow and black.

 

Burned ambitions and aspirations have a darkened shadow, more than the shadow is due to show.