Tag Archives: self judgment

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

Posted in Poetry English by

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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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?

Confession of a Rotten Soul (Previously, So dark is my soul)

Posted in Poetry English by
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Not redemption. Not forgiveness. Only brutal self-awareness.

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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark,

that angels borrow ink to write down my sins

Light shies away, avoiding all corruption,

while virtue stays silent, very rarely it wins

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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark,

that I can hear my guilt, singing cold lullabies

Pushing me off precipices to a frozen end,

my regret laughs with coldness in its eyes

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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark,

that I can hear my sins whispering their madness

Smothering my conscience to a suffocating end,

my remorse weeps bitterly in utter sadness

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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark,

that I can hear my own fears, and their banshee screams

Choking my resolve to a pitifully miserable end,

the nightmares rule the night instead of the dreams

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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark;

my goodness was a tactic to avoid eternal damnation

The cruel demons of judgment smiled with glee,

seeing my kindness as a path to eternal salvation

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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark;

love was just a great delusion of pure grandeur

Humility was a disguise to hide the cold arrogance,

and compassion — a weakness, and selfish pleasure

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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark;

I worry what will become of it in the end

Its darkness cannot be remedied,

and its rotten nature, no one can mend

Chronicles of a Pessimistic Optimist

Posted in Poetry English by
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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