Tag Archives: Poetry

The Last Dream of the Dying Lighthouse

Posted in Poetry English by
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Before its stones collapse into darkness, the old lighthouse imagines a final blaze of glory that never comes.

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The eagle soared high above the purple sea,

dark wings embracing the darkness of the night

A lonely lighthouse stood its vigil, tall and free,

alone on the shore, a noble and honorable knight

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Diving down and below, the eagle peered closely,

and his mighty heart was filled with a heavy sorrow

The lighthouse was crumbling down and in ruins, mostly,

it may have had a wonderful past, but no tomorrow

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The lonely lighthouse was very old, now just a token,

its tall structure, draped and cloaked in grey shadows

The glass lantern was long shattered and broken,

who broke it, and why and when? Who really knows?

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The sea was cruel and was full of wind and storms,

terribly angry and high waves venting frustration

Breaking apart furiously in white foam of many forms,

the foundation badly shaking, but still holding station

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The storms wrecked ships and boats, big and small,

hundreds of souls lost, and at sea, they all perished

The lighthouse stood on the shore and watched them all,

the loss was dire; there was nothing to be cherished

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It served no noble purpose or aim, no, not anymore,

a lighthouse devoid of any beacon or shining light

Being old and crumbly did not make him any sore,

having no light was its biggest tragedy and plight

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He just stood alone and prayed to God Almighty,

he prayed for nothing else but one single last chance

A last chance to fulfill his only purpose and legacy;

a dying shaman pleading and begging for a last dance

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Maybe God listened to him as He is kind and benevolent,

plucking a burning star from the heavens, He tossed it down

Hitting the tower, it exploded in embers, an event so malevolent,

but it lit the beacon, making the lighthouse wear a gold crown

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‘Ah! I have fulfilled my legacy, and now I can die satisfied’,

the lighthouse loudly yelled its last-ever cry of sheer joy

Very briefly, it was alight, at least it seemed as if it tried,

but to the wandering and lost ships, it sure cried ‘ahoy!’

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The eagle soared high above the dark, inky depth,

watching the shooting star and the high-burning fire

Sadly watching the lighthouse crumbling, it’s sad death,

he prayed for its noble soul over the burning pyre

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But, no desires were fulfilled that fateful, dark night,

God was busy elsewhere; there was no grand scheme

It was peaceful, no shooting stars, no fire, and no light

Alas! the lighthouse was only dreaming its last dream

The Autumn Outside, and the Autumn Within

Posted in Poetry English by

A season that never ends.

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Outside, autumn reigns with colors of gold and rust,

walking in fancy colors, is really a sad, old whore

Within, the autumn stays forever, heaps of ash and dust,

it was born when I was born, will die when I’m no more

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Outside, there is a verdict, a cruel and harsh judgment,

unsolicited and uninvited, yet delivered firmly in the face

Within, there exists failure, dark, rotten, and repugnant,

it was born when I was born, will die when I quit the race

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Outside, there is refusal, a hard and cold rejection,

imparted cruelly, yet justified and utterly sensible

Within, there exists misery, a bitter and dark dejection,

it was born when I was born, will die as I am dispensable

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Outside, there is warmth, an almost useless affection,

a product of reciprocity, mere courtesy, and manners

Within, there is love - a brightly burning perfection,

it was born when I was born, will die with lowered banners

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Outside, there is sadness, and within it is always blue,

in perfect harmony, the weeping violin and the crying cello

Outside, the autumn reigns, and within, there is an autumn too,

were there when I was born, will fade as the ink turns yellow

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
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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
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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