Eyes Shut...

My irony sometimes plays tricks on me,

Seemingly draws pleasure out of my nights,

Where destruction is all I see

When he reads the last rights,

 

I paint in colours they cannot see,

But I’m still dressed in their clothes,

The variations transformed facts to a greater degree,

To the point that no one notices those carcasses of dreams

... In the commonest roads

 

Then there’s a million moments

That you and I never had,

Well it’s not really me

Just the pictures I draw are sad,

 

All those newspapers didn’t seem to care,

About all the things I’d dare,

To infuse life in an unfashionable way,

And rekindle life of the words you say,

 

Those mornings with eyes squeezed shut,

Hoping... to keep on dreaming,

Only to feel time running out,

Even though I wasn’t even sleeping,

 

This isn’t addiction, this isn’t even me,

Not even the ways I used to be,

So little they were, I missed them all,

To regret sooner than the final fall,

 

A scarred old face drowning in a pool of time,

All it knows makes no sense,

It’s not good if it’s not a crime,

No one’s a hero... none so sublime...

 

So I erase all thoughts

I lay upon the theatre of rain

Amidst the ocean of azure and blue,

To the point that never was new...

Reviews

[Khaaki]

Kya baat hai!! so captivating. I agree with Serah. I read it once and again and again and...

[.]

. very dashing and dangerous poetry ... ah, the skill and sensitivity with which you talk ... absolutely consuming ... and that last stanza ... is to kill and die for ... super cool stuff, kolkata ... :) ...

[Arabdha]

beautiful..

[Alicante lullaby]

to the point that never was new,
nice way to escapethe rotten hecticness of this day.