Tag Archives: poem

To Him who Cared to Give a Fuck

Posted in Poetry English by
peel_to_fuck_by_buhoazul_d3f3aqx-fullview

This is what happens when kindness is wasted, loyalty is ignored, and patience snaps.

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To you, my friend, who cared to give a fuck,

to you, my friend, who chose to care for all

None of your fucks ever mattered,

none of them were counted at all

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For God’s sake, don’t be so fucking sad,

you just gave a fuck and not your whole life

For Heaven’s sake, your fuck wasn’t even that good,

it was a dull blade at the most, not even a sharp knife

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You think you just gave a fuck or two,

and they were all that were ever needed?

You believe even if you gave countless fucks,

were they all the shit that you ever ceded?

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You and your countless stupid fucks,

both be damned to the red hell and back

All the damn fucks you ever cared to give,

and the fucks you didn’t ever try to crack

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Keep your fuck and keep it hidden and safe,

it is not needed at all, in fact, it never was

Keep your fucking love and keep it with you,

it is not valued at all; in fact, it never was

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To all your fucks, only a ‘fuck you’ is granted,

and that too is a generosity beyond words

You deserved less, and you got far, far more,

only cause you ain’t complete but in sherds

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To you, my friend, who cared to give a fuck,

to you, my friend, who chose to care for all

None of your fucks ever mattered,

none of them were counted at all

The Custodian of Unfulfilled Dreams

Posted in Poetry English by
broken_dreams_by_spacewizzard666_dd2e8pd-fullview

A kingdom where broken dreams go to die—and a king who refuses to abandon them.

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Far away from all this filth and all this stinking mold,

there is a secret and silent realm of unfulfilled dreams

The realm is colorless, neither silver nor purple nor gold,

no laughter or singing, just a chaos of cries and screams

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Each dream, once it’s shattered, and in pain it cries,

it enters the realm, hearing some command unspoken

The horn of time does not blow; it is silent and so wise,

as the dreams lay trampled, crying and utterly broken

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There he sits at the gate, the old and tattered King,

the sad custodian of dreams, he protects and lovingly guards

He has neither a throne, nor a seal, nor a royal ring,

he wears only a crown of thorns and sharp glass shards

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The dreams are his children, a few are even his very own,

he cradles their delicate heads and lovingly treats their sores

Some dreams have broken wings, and some have never flown,

yet he loves them all, whether they are his own, mine, or yours

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The King has tears in his eyes; he cries over the wounded dreams,

he knows they are going to finally die, his efforts are all in vain

The dreams whimper as life bleeds out, in rivulets and in streams,

the King knows they are the last drops of a rare desert rain

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Each dream, when it breathes its very last and silently dies,

he gently kisses its dead eyes, singing the last lullaby

The King is sad, oh, he is so very sad, but still he desperately tries,

caring for dreams, without asking ‘to what end’ or even a ‘why’

Depression and Me – Till Death do us Part

Posted in Poetry English by
demons_by_captainnutmeg_dcf5t0d-fullview

A marriage vow written in shadows: depression doesn’t ever leave, it keeps on waiting in silence.

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All the faceless monsters lurking under your bed,

and grey smoky ghosts, hiding quietly in the shed

They are still alive, and though very much well fed,

their appetites grow stronger, smelling your dread

Oh, you were so mistaken, and you were so wrong,

they are still here, and they are still very strong

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You thought they had gone and had finally left,

leaving you for once alone, happy, and not bereft

Letting you grow freely to move either East or West,

was something so obvious, but you were so obsessed

Oh you were damn crazy, and stupid to think so,

it is not over yet, the dark misery and the grey woe

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Yes, they look different and may have new faces,

their new but scalding words leave new traces

Their horror remains a fact, and it has a rational basis;

you are an idiot; you were never in their good graces

Oh, you are confused and bewildered by this shit?

No worries, you may run, but you will again be hit

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Yes, you will forever run and hide from them in vain,

but you will meet them always, again and again

There might be a brief respite, and maybe a little gain,

but then will come suffering, and definitely more pain

Oh, you will scream, and torture yourself to death;

you will suffer and burn till your very last breath

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But listen, my friend, and listen to me with care;

they are of your own making, so it’s only fair

They might frighten you, and they might even scare,

but sensibility and you? It has always been very rare

Oh, you may protest, and you may angrily differ;

you are their creator, though this may sound bitter

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The ghosts and monsters will forever stay with you;

the shadows, the dark, and the legion of demons, too

You will keep on feeding and rearing them, it’s true;

but they will keep on torturing and tormenting you

Oh, you may try, or you may find your hands tightly tied,

but good fortune is a horse, you will never ever ride

Am I Good Enough for You? (A Mini Opera)

Posted in Poetry English by
galatea_and_polyphemus_by_thesecondbus_d7y0cde-fullview-1

This is the final dialogue between the miserable and desperate Polyphemus, and the idealistic Galatea - the helpless lover and the arrogant nymph.

Myth says that once upon a time, even before the birth of time itself, the Cyclops Polyphemus saw Galatea, the nymph, and fell in love with her. But there was a dilemma as he was large and ugly, while she was a perfect beauty. No matter how much he loved Galatea and no matter what he sacrificed for her, she did not accept his love. Finally, doomed and cursed, Polyphemus threw rocks at Galatea and her lover. As a punishment, he was transformed into a river destined to flow amongst the wild mountains forever - alone and miserable.

‘With a heart filled with love and my words so true,

am I good enough for you?

With my mind fixed on you and my soul without a clue,

am I good enough for you?’

He asks Galatea while the shadows of doubt line his single dark eye.

‘No, I am afraid not!’ She smiles at him coldly, untouched by his bitter misery.

‘No matter how hard you try,

you may scream or you may cry

No matter how long you try,

you may bleed or you may die

You’ll never be good enough for me

No matter how high you fly,

you may kiss the earth or may reach the sky

No matter how sincerely you pry,

you may shout or you may sigh

You’ll never be good enough for me’

‘But what if I change, and what if I transform?

What if I become the sunlight after a storm?’

He pleads with eyes filled with all the sadness in the world.

‘No, still no!’ She replies adamantly with steely resolve gleaming in her blue eyes

‘Even if you change and even if you evolve,

from a thorn to a rose, you may transform

Even if you become godly,

and God Almighty Himself approves your form

You’ll never be good enough for me

Even if you evolve

to all my rules, you may conform

Even if you become Adonis,

and loving you becomes a norm

You’ll never be good enough for me’

‘And why is that so?

Why a strict adherence to status quo?’

Looking down, he asks, dejection underlining his desperate whisper.

‘Well that’s a good question.’ She looks at him with pity.

‘You don’t matter,

and you don’t matter at all

Whatever you may do,

either very big or just very small

You may bang your head,

against a high stone wall

You may bloody your fists,

you may stand or may even crawl

Whatever you do is useless,

and you will always fall’

‘Then what should I do?

For my love is so true!’

Polyphemus raises his arms and begs till he is hoarse.

‘That is but for you to decide!’ Galatea decrees with finality — her voice etched in stone.

‘You may die a lonely death,

or you may burn forever

You may fade with the harsh wind,

or you may pray to whomever

You may make great plans,

or you may do something clever

You may aspire big and grand,

or you may rise to whatever

Whatever you do is hopeless,

and I will be yours, oh never!’

‘Silence! You, the wretched lover!

Silence! Yo,u the arrogant queen!’

The skies go dark, and the voice of Zeus booms from above.

‘Quit this nonsense, let your arguing be done

Love is a godly trait, and not a race to be won

You are both mistaken, individually and as one

You are both misguided; logic is what you shun

The capability to love is what’s desired by everyone,

an unfulfilled dream, under the moon and the sun

Polyphemus! You can love, you will be a god in the long run

Galatea! For denying true love, my blessings for you are none’

 

No Need for Metamorphosis

Posted in Poetry English by
metamorphosis_by_crisvector_du8k4b-fullview

A meditation on futility, longing, and the ache of wanting what was never ours.

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No need for metamorphosis and change,

when the change won’t ever change the mind

Of all the shooters standing on the range,

people I love, both the hateful and the kind

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No use of running and panting with ambition,

when the path doesn’t really lead anywhere

I should only walk and with complete submission,

trudging down the dark lands of nowhere

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No need for dreaming of fragrant flowers,

when the vine is bound to wither one day

People only like to sit in high, mighty towers,

their love and affection, always held at bay

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No use of reaching for the shining stars,

when the stars aren’t really meant for me

What is not ours and will never be ours,

shape-shifting shadows, as I behold and see

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No need for claiming loyalty and true love,

when all the desperate pleas fall on deaf ears

Hearts filled with a poisonous, fuming brew,

eyes darkened with memories and fears