Tag Archives: regret and desire

The Anatomy of Longing

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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

Symphony of Loss

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Perhaps it was never really love—only obsession wearing a beautiful mask.

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Let you and me sit in the dark glen of misery,

and turn the faded pages of our long-lost history

The words have evaporated into the space and time,

while our souls were dancing their egoistic mime

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Let you and me play the symphony of bitter loss,

and try to trace our names in the wet green moss

The moisture has dried, the fragrance is gone,

while our patience was waiting for another dawn

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Let you and me sit under the old and bent trees,

and collect the shattered pieces of sun on bent knees

The leaves have all dried and are crumbling into bits,

while we were fighting each other to the end of our wits

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Let you and me think of passion spent and gone stale,

and recollect broken dreams, faded and already pale

They have receded into oblivion, the vision has died,

while we were pursuing our desires on a high tide

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Let you and me cry and scream our hearts out,

and try to fill in the cracks left behind by drought

The cracks are widening with the passage of time,

while we thought forgiving was an unthinkable crime

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Let you and me hold each other under the stars,

and find solace in intimacy, which was never really ours

The kisses have gone bland, and the embraces so cold,

while we stood against each other, feeling so bold

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Let you and me erase each other and forget what we had,

and allow our longing to die instead of rotting and going bad

The stink is burning our eyes and bringing unwanted tears,

while we focused on our ambition and our very own fears

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Let you and me say farewell and forget we were in love,

and permit our hearts to heal like a wounded dove

Perhaps it was never love that we thought we had,

perhaps it was just a crazy obsession, making us both mad

Chronicles of a Pessimistic Optimist

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Between hope and despair lies a grey hall filled with regret and guilt.

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I have always been a pessimist and also an optimist;

my life is a grey hall, filled with a rainbow mist

My past had been dark, and my future seemed so bright;

the night had been dead, but I said, long live the light

Yet my thoughts had been honest and so very true;

my mood had always been the darkest hue of blue

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I push open the window and scrutinize my past;

I recall everything clearly, the first and the last

I see so many butterflies riding the sunbeams;

some ugly and the others pretty - nightmares and dreams

The womb was very warm, and it was so secure;

but the shelter was a curse when the doom seemed sure

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My memories, when I open the old, musty book;

time had passed so fast, like a fast-flowing brook

Faces and images always passed by in a hurry;

my nostalgia was always chaos, even the chaos was blurry

Within this chaos, bitter conflict had always been a must;

all the treacheries of life and only a little bit of trust

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I have been the prophet of hope and a seer of visions;

but my regret is so bitter for all the bad decisions

The wounded birds, I always made them fly again;

but each time they left a parting gift - a cold pain

I cannot be a savior; it was just a false belief;

there was no pleasure in the pain, just cold, dark grief

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I treaded new paths, and also the dark forbidden places;

roaming in the spirit of adventure, leaving dark traces

Sin appeared to be the wisdom, and virtue seemed bland;

the sense of curiosity kept on burning and was so grand

Desire was the clear water, regret was the muddy silt;

but I always paid the price in the soiled coins of guilt

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Desires were sirens, they bewitched and seduced;

wishes were the flames, but to dust they were reduced

Hope always lived on, but she is a devious bitch;

and disappointment has been so abundant and rich

Wisdom came leisurely; it danced a slow waltz;

the pessimism was true; the optimism was always false

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Life is always a glass half-filled; it is quite right;

darkness always sighs with a promise so bright

Sorrows and joys in a long and tiring queue;

but more of the former than the latter, it’s also true

Within each light, resides a dark shadow;

perched on every tower of hope is a black crow