Quiet

I have written a lot less

Than I did last year,

And I had often woken up

With a crippling fear

That I no longer had

A single rhyme left in me

In spite of being crushed

Under the weight

Of worries and troubles

That could only lose power

If expressed poetically,

But I had persevered

By letting suffocating silence

Be symbolically lyrical

For a while,

By letting blankness

Of the pages in my diary

Be the voice for everything

That I couldn’t write,

And it had been all right.

I have been all right.

©Aaysid

“Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right.”
Oprah Winfrey

Featured image from Pexels

Trapped Within Itself

My unseasoned heart

Wakes up

With new year’s sun

Only to sip winters

From huge, chipped

Coffee cups,

And to chew green

Jelly beans with uncanny

Flavour of summer,

And to feel alive

In spite of itself

Even when all it knows

Is how to fall

As it waits for

The promised joy

That is taking forever

To spring out.

©Aaysid

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.”
T.S. Eliot

Featured image from Pexels

Ancient

As the years

Turn to dust,

The folded scraps

Of yellowing paper

Safely tucked away

In the pockets

Of worn-out coats,

Missing a button or two,

Become fewer

And farther between,

Until no memory

Of discrete moments

Can be retrieved

Without being consumed

By the history

Of almost everything!

©Aaysid

“With each passing moment I’m becoming part of the past. There is no future for me, just the past steadily accumulating.”

Haruki Murakami

I wrote this poem last year, and it is scary how relevant it still is.

Absurd

I.

I buy myself flowers

Only to end up

Sneezing all over

The place;

How can an act

Of kindness,

Turn that easily

Into an act

Of hate?

II.

Everything deserves a break

So one of these days

I shall take my thoughts

Out for a walk,

And then I’ll make them

Go back without me.

III.

You can send me

An empty box

As a present

For I can love it

For the things

That will be there;

I’ll make paper planes

Out of the gift-wrap

And scrunchies

Out of ribbons,

And use the box

To store them in.

©Aaysid

“I live in my own little world. But it’s ok, they know me here.”
Lauren Myracle

Featured image from Pexels

Enough Said

It seldom worked…

Disagreement.

Felt unreal.

Resentfully shoved aside.

Thoughts held captive…

Indemnified.

Too late.

Nothing was forgiven.

Grim words penned…

Misspelled.

Made sense.

Left at that.

Every you knows…

Someone.

Like me.

A small world.

©Aaysid

“It is my ambition to say in ten sentences what others say in a whole book.”
Friedrich Nietzsche

Featured image from Pexels

Off Course

I.

Whispers have replaced

All shrieking attempts

At communication,

I wonder when

Silence will be

The only thing we’d use

To communicate

To be actually heard?

II.

I pretend that I

Know where I am

Even when all I do

Is dream about

Sleeping with a fan on

In December nights

Only to wake up

Feeling like I did

Last summer.

III.

I see your outline

And try not to

Fill it up with rainbows

For I am still

Quite bad at colouring

Inside the lines.

©Aaysid

“I’m still in bed writing this, lying on my back like an omelette in a pan.”

Alain Bremond

Featured image from Pexels

Unuttered

Not all words

When they touch

The solid ground

Can bounce back up,

Some of them stay

Huddledtogether,

While only a few

Dare break away

To wait for the ones

Still.

©Aaysid

“The unspoken words trembled in the air.”
Iris Murdoch

Featured image from Pexels

December Eyes

She sees you with December eyes,

The sleep-laden eyelids,

Frosted lenses and an inkling

Of fog all over the corneae,

That way she can only make out

The shape of your face

So if she’d ever have to conjure

Your image up from a memory,

She wouldn’t know where to begin,

But she wouldn’t make any mistake.

©Aaysid

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…I could walk through my garden forever.”
Alfred Tennyson

Featured image from Pexels

Freezing Over

Somewhere a version of you

Is finally able to fix

A broken violin

As the night outside

Turns emerald green

And the fire grows cold

In the fireplace,

And you wonder

If throwing silent,

Winter nights into disarray

By sending out notes

Of a newly repaired

Time-worn violin

Will be a huge mistake?

For life may be full

Of trivial affairs,

But something colossal

Is always at stake.

©Aaysid

“and then I decided I was a lemon for a couple of weeks.”
Douglas Adams

Featured image from Pexels