Tag Archives: emotional pain

The Anatomy of Longing

Posted in Poetry English by

What if longing wasn’t a feeling—but a creature, a curse, and a companion?

__________________________________________

Longing is an ache - a deep pulsating ache,

relief is an effort, which the ache cruelly cripples

Throwing a single stone and troubling a silent lake,

creating countless circles - outspreading ripples

__________________________________________

Longing walks a road - a long and lonely road,

sighing with each indulgence, so delicious is the sin

Tired and exhausted, longing bears its heavy load,

pleasure is the gain, a new loss with every new win

__________________________________________

Longing is the steel - the cold and heavy steel,

it is shackled to my feet, my bloody, blistered feet

Birthing countless agonies, the wounds that never heal,

I am addicted to its taste; the poison is so sweet

__________________________________________

Longing is a fragrance - an old, faded fragrance,

it’s embedded in my soul, my oh so tired soul

It rides the autumn wind, a bold and cruel flagrance,

engraved are the words, regrets on a scroll

__________________________________________

Longing is a swan - a floating black swan,

it sings a lullaby, a soft and sad lullaby

It is here for a minute, and then it is gone,

haunted is the tone, its verses all wry

__________________________________________

Longing is the darkness - a fearsome looming darkness,

it heralds the final doom, the black and grey doom

It really is a curse, so vivid in its starkness,

fear fills the sky, and hope cannot bloom

The Clown who Fell in Love and lost his Laughter

Posted in Poetry English by
mo_clown_1_by_imustbedead_d7mutyg-fullview

He made the world laugh—until love took his laughter away.

______________________________________

Let me tell you all a short and sad story,

a story so hilarious, yet so painful and gory

Let me tell you about a simple and good clown,

who just performed, and wasn’t interested in glory

______________________________________

He worked in a famous and grand circus,

so grand, it made all a little bit nervous

The circus encompassed all entertainment,

having just one rhyme, and one single purpose

______________________________________

The famed circus was just focused on fun,

ignoring all sadness, it was so fixated on pun

It abhorred all darkness in favor of bright light,

it chose to ignore the night; it worshipped the sun

______________________________________

The clown was so happy, but only on the outside,

his eyes told the cruel truth, while his smile only lied

Riding the high waves of senseless mirth and joy,

his sadness was a hidden and silently breathing tide

______________________________________

Masking his sadness with a smile so open and bright,

was something he had learnt just like a true knight

Being unhappy inside, yet always beaming with joy,

was an art he had practiced hard, each day and each night

______________________________________

His act drew huge crowds, and it made people laugh,

being fired from a cannon, his act was only a gaffe

He flew across the pavilion, landing safely on a net,

the kind cannon, thankfully, did not cut him in half

______________________________________

One day, while the clown was performing his act,

he saw a lovely vision, no dream but a glaring fact

She was an acrobat who swam gracefully in the air,

her magical eyes avoiding his, making no contact

______________________________________

The clown grabbed his chest, lowering his guard,

about to explode, his heart throbbing so very hard

Unbeknownst to his senses, he had fallen in love,

but it wasn’t beautiful, the reality was all scarred

______________________________________

He watched the girl for long, savoring her image,

vision overwhelmed, his senses taxing his courage

What to do and how to do? He thought so hard,

his sanity in wild chaos, all thoughts in scrimmage

______________________________________

So many days had passed, she occupied his mind,

so many nights had passed, his fate was all signed

His heart was wrecked forever; there wasn’t a way,

love is neither a salvation nor is it always kind

______________________________________

Then one fateful day, the clown decided to act,

approaching the girl bravely, he forgot all tact

‘I love you’ - he just blurted out the three words,

like he was just finishing the draft of a pact

______________________________________

She looked at him for long and then laughed out loud,

‘I waited for love so long and ignored the whole crowd’

She looked at him with distaste and said the cruel words,

‘look how God punishes me for being so damn proud’

______________________________________

‘A clown, He sends me?’ She looked up at the sky,

‘A clown, He sends me!’ She then started to cry

‘Why am I so unfortunate?’ She questioned herself;

‘Why a clown was to love me?’ She regretted with a sigh

______________________________________

‘I love you and want to make you happy,’ he said;

‘I love you and want to save you from pain and dread

Don’t doubt my words, my love, for they are all true

I will serve and love you till I stop living, and fall dead’

______________________________________

‘You will never stay by my side; I banish you forever ‘

She said after a while, in a steady voice, no single tremor

‘I cannot bear your ugly presence, I do not want you here,

‘I can never love you back - you may cry, or you may act clever’

______________________________________

The clown just bent his head; he could not see a way,

but something just broke inside him that fateful day

The clown lost all his laughter; he lost all his smiles,

his face was still painted, the reds hiding the grey

______________________________________

He started dying inside on that day and thereafter,

being neither ever wanted nor much sought after

And on his gravestone it is written, as I have heard,

‘Here lies the clown who fell in love and lost his laughter’

A Dialogue with the Darkness (Previously, the Darkenss Within)

Posted in Poetry English by

When the self turns inward, the sharpest blade is awareness.

__________________

I want a sharp knife;

the sharpest of all I have ever seen in this life

A knife with an ivory grip and a gleaming edge;

engraved with obscure ruins, carrying a death pledge

__________________

I want to plunge it into my belly;

slicing it across, all through the quivering jelly

Cutting open myself and savoring the soothing pain;

smelling the oozing blood and enjoying the red rain

__________________

The steaming guts will spill out;

and so will the coldness, without a doubt

I want to confront the coldness under my skin;

I so want to face the raging darkness within

__________________

I want to feel their texture and what makes up my core;

the ice-cold mercury seeping out of each pore

I so want to sense their force, so binding and so freeing;

their powerful darkness vibrating in my being

__________________

I want to question them all, the unanswered queries;

hanging in balance, the forever silent juries

I want to challenge them all, the reservoirs of valor;

forever loud but hollow, the reds masking my pallor

__________________

Why do you reside within me?

Perhaps two despising lovers smiling with glee?

Or are you sent by my respectful adversaries,

not really bothered, and just two emissaries?

Nostalgia: Scratching the Healing Sores

Posted in Poetry English by
autumn_nostalgia_by_kotenko

What if nostalgia isn’t healing—but a wound we keep reopening?

__________________________________________

I am addicted to the pain, the sweet throbbing pain

I am fond of the pleasure, the long steady rain

I am addicted to nostalgia, which comes at my leisure,

the memories and regrets, my great and humble treasure

__________________________________________

I am addicted to scratching my old healing sores

I am fond of the pain, it lives in all my pores

I scratch them and peel them, the dry, brittle crust

I nick them and skin them, the gold-brown rust

__________________________________________

I am addicted to scrubbing the old, clouded mirror

I am fond of reflecting, my past growing clearer

I see them and smell them, the sepias and the musk

I recall it all vividly, the dawn and the dusk

__________________________________________

I am addicted to being lured in by its deadly charm

I am fond of its false promises, all sincerity, and no harm

I see it as the raindrops caught in a great spider’s web,

seducing me, entrancing me, the dance and the ebb

__________________________________________

I am addicted to all the waves, the ups, and the downs

I am fond of the onslaught, the smells, and the sounds

I perceive it as a storm, all chaos and destruction,

my mind is the stage, it’s a theatrical production

__________________________________________

I am addicted to my past, a slowly burning pyre

I am fond of my journey on the path of desire

I am addicted to nostalgia, my friend, till my death,

I am fond of its company, till my very last breath

The memory of pain

Posted in Poetry English by
2-15_pain

Pain does not end when the wounds heal. Instead, it survives as memory, breathing through regret.

_____________________

The memory of pain perhaps causes more pain,

when all was exposed, an artery and a vein

The exposed nerves kissed the cruel air;

while the dark, flowing blood, left a stain

_____________________

The memory of pain is walking the road of regret;

each step burdensome — breath, blood and sweat

Kicking small clouds, dust of old guilt,

the downward journey is certain and all set

_____________________

The memory of pain is smelling the stink of loss;

the rainclouds have long gone, as speaks the moss

The body breathes on, drawing in the poison;

soul becomes the victim and is hanged on the cross

_____________________

The memory of pain is an assault on the senses,

the heart is filled with misery, thinking of pretences

All exposures and encounters, victory of the ego;

the eyes fill with tears, surrendering all defences

_____________________

The memory of pain is what keeps some alive;

breathing and moving, trying to survive

With each dawn, there is hope, salvation or damnation;

the wait is balanced delicately on the edge of a knife