Skip to main content

Faraway

Safe in the knowledge, or so it seemed,
That things lasted, she happily dreamed,
Of the day he'd come back, the day he'd call,
Of the day he'd embrace her, and call her his doll,
Every birthday of his, she'd make a card,
Plaster it on his wall, pristine white paint scarred,
Every anniversary of theirs, she'd decorate the house,
In the hopes it brought back her long lost spouse.

Little did she know, in a village, in a faraway land,
Was a prisoner of war, with no right hand,
Learning to write with his left, an alphabet a night,
For the days brought torture, and his never ending fight,
Every birthday of hers, a tree he secretly planted,
In the hope that some clean air to her he granted,
Every anniversary of theirs, a word more he wrote,
In the hope that one day, she'd read all he spoke.

Comments

  1. Through chasms of rhytm i arive,
    Ray that glimmers to keep the duo alive;
    Felt the sorrow, touched the pain,
    Love has no boundaries, its just insane.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Boundaries, sense and logic love defies,
      So I have heard and seen with my eyes,
      To feel it for myself, I would wish not,
      For great sorrow just seeing it has brought.

      Delete
  2. The hurt you see can be felt in your rhyme,
    The depth it reaches are sublime;
    Carry on this journey is what I hope,
    Paint more pictures and broaden your scope.

    (Fancy way of saying, deep and awesome poem, keep it up :P)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Love and not hurt is what I thought,
      This poem and it's story were about,
      However, I believe, in most cases it seems,
      Hurt takes love and crushes all its dreams.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Internship: The beginning

So I've noticed, and I'm sure you have too, how my blog has no real (or maybe way too little) information about me. It's all mostly a collection of vague poems, deep emotions and disturbing recollections. The reason for the exclusion of my life adventures from this blog is not insane paranoia about my private life, but the general lack of happening events that my life presents. Now that I'm on an intern in Canada for the summers, I thought I'd make this blog a little more personal, and let all you (if there are any) people get a glance at what I hope will be a happening and tale-worthy part of my life. Leaving any space is always quite hard. However, this last semester was like an iron club in pendulum motion, and every time I stood up, it hit me back down, periodically. Bashed and beaten by this semester, the approaching date of departure for my intern happened to be a date I wished upon myself faster, and hence as life is generally known to do, came crawling sl...

The night sees it all

A newborn me was welcomed by the world not with broad daylight, I came in crying and squealing at the velvety, dark night, As a 5 year old me sat beneath the star-lit sky, crying for a dog, The moon saw my despondent face, and offered me a hug, As the 7 year old me fractured her toe, and couldn't fall asleep, The stars saw me sitting quiet, and didn't let me weep, When 9 year old me won her first prize, and was jumping up and down, The moon and the stars seemed to become the prettiest white crown, When the 11 year old me went adventurous for her first camping event, The dark canopy over my head protected me everywhere I went, When a 15 year old sleepless me felt life wasn't going her way, The darkest night before the dawn, promised a better day, As a 17 year old me sat excited, waiting to be an adult, The sunset and the fall of dark, made my first birthday wishes felt, Now a 20 year old me looks dazed, upon the beauty of the night,...

The torn blanket

I can barely breathe. As I feel the whoosh whoosh of my seemingly scarce breaths, I want to tell you a story. My story. I was born with 8 siblings, and our mom was a single mom. She didn't ever tell us about our dad, and we never pestered her, as she was good enough for both. She would give us all we needed, keep us warm and happy. She was the main focus in our lives, we would do whatever she asked, and she rarely, if ever, was wrong. Though she wasn't a very emotional woman, I knew she loved me a little better than my siblings. Maybe because I was a little weak at times, got a cold and fever too often. I still remember how once when we were kids, and others were ridiculing me for feeling cold all the time, she had bought a new blanket, a unique one, made by an old woman who was the only obstetrician and also a magic-worker in my mom's village. She had silently walked in while we tossed and turned in our sleep, and covered me with it, and I don't think I ever felt more...