Climbed the ring
thinking it took me up with every movement
when in fact I was going down
even before I got to take the glory
of reaching the top.
And the darkness that filled my soul
kept itself away from my eyes,
as it never welcomed her into it's heart,
for it had a different and much darker black in it,
that couldn't be tainted by the dark
residing inside my soul.
I looked deep into him
and saw love for my darkness,
and as he came close
I felt them crave his soul and I had to pull away,
to save him,
from every single demon inside my head.
As I build the walls,
my hands were bloodied,
lifting the bricks, tearing my skin
and so were his, trying to break them
as I made them taller and stronger.
And just when I saw the tears,
that came rolling down his big eyes,
his shivering lips and plum nose,
I stopped and let him in again.
Now I'm numb, I seldom felt him,
and yet I persisted,
after having known what my absence did to him.
He craved my dark
and I let him in,
as I know now
that my dark gave him the kind of joy
all the lights couldn't offer.
And then I woke up today,
soil under my feet wet from the rain
and clouds above my head dark.
And as I looked at the black
that loomed over me and then down,
they were just a few feet away from me
unafraid and busy,
going on with their daily routine.
For a minute I wished I was one of them,
with air under my wings,
and the cold breeze calming my sore eyes,
flying to a distant land with no worries,
where my darkness will soon fade into light.
And then as I stood still,
lost in my own head,
a drop or two of the rain splattered on my skin.
I looked up at the sky and then the birds,
and was at once reminded,
that the sky isn't always kind to them,
everything they have to endure,
to get out alive when the worst hit them,
turning my desire to pity.
And yet their behaviour took me by surprise,
waking up when the sun does
prowling and hunting for a day's food.
'What are they thinking?' I wonder
Aren't they afraid of the rain and lighting
Or do they measure their life each morning
like most people does.
As I contemplated the beauty of the doves,
I found a pair of eyes staring at me.
My clothes were all intact,
and yet his eyes graced my body like I was naked.
One too many eyes have touched me,
and the fear that usually followed
is now replaced with disgust.
As long as the hands are far away to harm me
I don't much bother about
the vivid fantasies in his stale brain,
and I'd rather not find out.
The wind brushed my face smoothly,
not messing up my partly loose hair.
Even the wind was kinder to me,
soothing me with her slow strokes.
It caught my attention
As I looked at the road infront
through the glass,
covered in a blurry blanket of water droplets
from the rain that poured with the first light.
Three pots with green and one was alive,
holding three or more different kinds of plants
I can't name, of which
one looked like Tulsi,
and as much as it resembled Tulsi,
it also didn't resemble Tulsi.
I couldn't tell from the distance,
and I hate it when things lack clarity,
when people lack clarity,
for I've known from experience that
what's shown maynot be real.
The chameleons dropped their eyes in shame
before the sapiens who surpassed it's skills.
It's ironic that most people
can't seem to make a decent living,
but can easily manage to pull out different faces.
Face of a friend
Face of an enemy
Faces of deception
And yet, have I grown tired of this world?
I crave life and everything lively,
perhaps the force that keeps me more on earth than gravity ever did.