Tag: melancholy

Artless. Sadness.

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I

I try so hard to be happy.
My hands tremble,
I want to be firm 

Thunderstorms have left behind debris
I stand with a flower (which you didn't bring me)
And I try so hard to be happy.
I etch lines inside my mind
It bleeds, I smile;
The bleeding stops, it clots
What a waste of time
And another day goes by
I stand with the flower
Anxious
It shall wilt soon.
If the bleeding resumes
Will the flower stay alive?
Does it know, I try so hard to be happy?
I try so hard to smile.

II

I hide in her room
She breaks my bones
I cope with her losses, she sobs with her soul
Isn't it funny? How you love me so well
I've been here forever and I see you fail
We're reeling in memories
And images conjured
Forehead to forehead
With nowhere to go. 

III

Once it's all said and done
Do I fumble for your hands?
I have done what I can, and I lost
I always think of the worst.
My dreams are clouded again
She laughs at me, cold
He texts me "bye."
I misread it: "hello!"
And then I wake up, with nowhere to go.
Why do I have to remember
All the lies we shared?
Friends come and go,
But some of them stare at me
Even as I die
I never could look away,
Fixated by their eyes.

My Sadness Is Up For Sale

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My sadness is up for sale
Packaged in a skin of rage
Buy it for your lover, Ma’am.
Buy it for your children, Sir!
My sadness is a ghoul you’ll get
It’ll stick to the soft terrains
Of all the lovesick souls that you’ve met
They will all forever be chained
Forever and ever, to you.
Black hearts work better than black magic
I’m selling you my best ever trick
It’s an offer that you all must use
It’s my offer that you can’t refuse
I have let my sadness loose.

Under construction

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The sand bag of my body
Leaks through tears on the sides
When I cry at night
Stone chips rest on my chest
They collect one by one
Clink, clink, clink
Seconds tick inside aloud

My sack is a shroud
That I sewed for myself
Threads made out of
Agonising hate
I’m cemented to the floor,
I need some help
I want to get back up.

Should I wait for the bulldozer to arrive
On some time even gloomier than this?
I’m perhaps already laughing at myself
On the other side of the pain
In moments of bliss and disbelief.
I don’t need help, please.

What will my heart hold

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What will my heart hold?
I remember I was once told
“Keep your loved ones-
Parents, lovers, daughters and sons
Treasured inside your heart, like precious stones;
Miles may spring up between you,
But you’ll never be alone.”
 
I wanted my heart to start
To feel like a home
I rearranged bits and pieces inside
I tried so hard that I cried
While I covered up the dark corners
I looked at my heart and I adorned her.
My heart remained cold nonetheless
I almost lost all hope and became a mess.
 
There was once again springtime
Beautiful purple flowers coiled around telephone lines
I felt that the universe wished me well
I remade my heart into a hotel.
Visitors who were always welcome
Never overstayed their sojourn
I had to happily wave them goodbye
I didn’t mean to, did I?

I was sick of my heart so much
I was sick of company, I was sick of touch
Words crawling out of every corner in the room
Was I sure I’d be fine soon?
I turned my heart into a hospital cabin
Breathe in, breathe out, keep breathing
Loneliness spread like a disease in me
In my white bed I dreamt of setting free.
 
But my heart is now a graveyard.
What will my heart hold? I ask
And I answer it myself,
It’ll hold nothing that isn’t meant to be lost
It’ll hold no one who isn’t meant to be gone
Even if I long to treasure my loved ones
I will be alone.

	


				
	






	
	

		
There’s nothing new under the sun
	


	
					

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There’s nothing new under the sun
There’s nothing new about my pain, longing, love
Nor in my desire to be unique.
There’s nothing new in my poem,
When I say I’ve been blue to have missed you
Red to have kissed you
Black to have forgotten you and myself
I’m only rewording what I’ve said
Maybe a hundred years ago,
Even a thousand, who knows?
The gnawing hunger in my mind
To compose the poem to end all poems
To create it all and consume it all-
Is a spectacular piece of comic nonsense
I laugh, louder and louder till my lungs bitterly burst
And I’m finally empty again-
A quill with no ink
A blank word file
A waste of time.

	


				
	






	
	

		
Nobody told me how
	


	
					

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Nobody told me how to look up
From the road filled with grey, Stretching and stretching into eternity
And look into the world
Into
People.
Sheer crowds of them
Moving in a steady fast pace





I lock my eyes with a man and my heart leaps
Not in joy,
There are no butterflies in my stomach
No love in my heart
My heart leaps like I’d like to leap into an abyss.
The glance of the man
Lasts only for a fraction of a second
He looks away
And I start looking at myself
What did he see?
That fraction of a second costs me a lifetime
Of mapping my body, my gestures, my posture
Measuring what I am and what I should be
Measuring to fit in
But sticking out like a sore thumb.





Nobody told me how to look straight
Into the mirror
And not want to be someone else.
I resist the urge to shatter it into pieces
The glass is spotless and devoid of cracks
I am not
No one is.





I lock my eyes with myself
I travel back in time to all the promises I had made
Pointing fingers at the mirror
Pep-talk for the self.
The mirror stays at the same place
Neither have I gone any further
Only the years have gone by.
The one standing on the other side calls me a liar and a cheat
I admit defeat
And put out the lights.





Nobody told me how to look down
Into the screen
And not compare myself to every standard set.
Scrolling up and down
Sighs of despair and unfulfillment
Oh the disparity.





I lock my eyes with the girl on the screen
With eyes as blue as the times when I’m feeling down
Figure as enchanting as non-existence is to me
Skin as smooth as the paper I accidentally cut my fingertip with
Smile as bright as sun on a scorching summer day.
Even while I fight the Euro-centric bias
Perpetuated in our minds
I wonder why some get to be so perfect
And more importantly,
Why some get to decide what’s perfect.





Nobody told me how to look inside
Get out of my head
And get over myself.

	


				
	






	
	

		
Small talk
	


	
					

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“How was your day?”
.
.
In the mornings
When my mother starts her day in the kitchen
And my father looks for the newspaper
All I want is an excuse.





An excuse to pause the day, even before it has begun. 





“Halt!” I say to Mr.Time.
Mr.Time wears a suit and a tie
With glasses as thick as icecubes
Perched on his rigid nose.
He slaps me hard and shouts like a war general
“Yes,Sir!”
I come back to my senses.





The day goes on and on and on
Like a thriller movie in slow motion,
Devoid of background music.
Deja vu
Every moment a facsimile of some other one.





There’s a cadence to monotony
If you have the ear for it.
Sometimes I do, don’t you too?





Before long, I get lost
In other worlds freshly manufactured
Where facts don’t matter,
Mr.Time is banned,
And I am free.





But I’m no God, no Creator Almighty
My thinly framed bubbles of thoughts
Fade away like half-remembered memories
Oh so quickly
Poof! And I’m back again.
Nothing makes sense yet, but at least
I’m back to my senses.





Ringing voices vibrate in my ears
Boys grinning with their mouths wide open
Girls leaning onto each other
Tearing up into giggles.
The dusky sky and the dazzling streetlights
Coexist with different ideals of beauty
I keep my eyes open
For every sight.





We call it a day.
I make my peace with Mr.Time
He smiles at me like a benevolent captor
I smile back.
.
.
“My day was great, how was yours?”

	


				
	






			

			
							
		

	
	

		
Void
	


	
					

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‘Melancholy’ by Albert Gyorgy


Sleepless nights and aimless rides

Where’s it taking me?

Why is it so hard to know

Who I want to be?


I have no big dreams or plans

No adventures to tell

Nothing seems right enough

No one does, as well.


Everybody goes through this

Everyone’s a mess

I just wish I found a way

To hurt a little less.


‘Hurt’ might not be the word-

It’s emptiness I feel

Nothing really matters, Queen,

Nothing’s really real.


I find beauty, I find joy

Sometimes I do laugh

But a hint of void remains

Nothing seems enough.