Endings-

Endings-

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My breaking was my becoming,
But i didnt know it then;
Built an ocean from my tears
Watched its waves rise up and crash,

I Stood at the shore and wandered
Of the nothings i have left,
While the ocean i had built up,
Watched me break torrentially.

I thought that I had nothing
But here’s an ocean calling me,
I could sail to all the everythings,
I’ve always wanted to see.

But the thing I learnt of sorrow
Is It never lets you see,
That endings aren’t doors closing,
Sometimes endings are the keys.

 

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Writer’s Quote: Loss

Writer’s Quote: Loss

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We’ve all suffered losses. Be it a missing pen when we’re about to write an exam, or a missing doll; the loss of husband to someone else or the loss of a loved one from this earth. Some losses, the magnitude of a life ending and some minute. Nevertheless, we have all experienced loss.

The poem I’ll be sharing today for writer’s quote/poem Wednesday is written by the poet- Elizabeth Bishop, and it talks about loss, all forms of it; the inanimate and humanly ones.

Below is the poem and I hope you enjoy it.

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

First of all-

First of all-

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I am not your personal poet;
Churning words at your whims,
Do you approve?
A few more here,
A little less there;
Pouring your emotions,
From the tip of my pen.

I am not your personal therapist;
Listening to your woes at your
Convenience,
A sponge to absorb your torments,
And a seal to my comments,
Because You and You is all
That should come first.

I am not your doll to be used,
Or better yet abused
At your beck and call;
My legs aren’t yours to move,
At the beat of your drum;
Right-left-forward- now back

But I do write your poems,
And I do listen to your woes,
I’ll move the ground and skies for you,
You don’t even have to ask.
I don’t do it for your status,
Your might or your “prowess”,
I do it because i’m made that way,
To give and bleed unreciprocated.

I do it because,
my heart’s wired to give,
Even if yours isn’t.

 

 

Sigh-

Sigh-

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Every sigh,
Escaping
From the lids of our lips;
Bear a story,
A memory,
we deny the opportunity,
Of the permanence
Of words.

It floats,
Into the universe,
Uniting with its brothers-
Other sighs,
Other memories,
Escaping from other’s prisons.

Do you feel it,
When the wind brushes,
Across your face,
On a summer day;
Do you hear its whispers
At nighttime?
A message,
A reminder.

Every sigh-
Escaping,
holds within itself,
A story untold.

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest.com

I said a prayer-

I said a prayer-

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I said a prayer today,
And it went something like this-
Dear Lord,
(With my head on the ground),
Please grant me empathy.

I said a prayer today
I never thought I would say,
Not the praying part of course,
Just that prayer in particular;
For- cynicism and hatred,
Were not in my nature,
(I thought),
But then I grew up and

said a prayer today,
For the world is changing,
And the world has changed me,
And the dreamer within
Is dying-
Like the trees, the earth, the sea
And its beings.
Dear Lord grant me empathy
For cynicism is overtaking.

I said a prayer today,
For the world is bleeding
And I am bleeding with it.

Of despair & hope-

Of despair & hope-

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Depression,
is a friend to despair,
trudging along the same path;
when one comes,
so does the other.
As is said in the kid’s rhyme-
Birds of the same feathers,
They flock together.
They could have just said-
Depression and despair.

Depression,
has got an enemy in hope.
The different ends
of a magnetic pole.
When one draws to an edge,
The other pulls to another.
Depression and hope,
Do not last together.
When one stays,
the other has got to go.
(Depression has got to go)

Depression,
Brings along its friend-
Despair.
Hope is its own force,
Sufficient against them.

The above image is courtesy of Thehealthyplace.com

 

My words-

My words-

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I write for the days when the beating heart within my chest feels ripped apart. For the days when my readily accessible tears fail me (it wouldnt be the first thing to fail me).

I write for the days when my mind spins tales on purpose which perpetuate me as the villain- it is my mind but i have no control over it.

I write for the days when rejection and heartbreak; betrayal and sadness all morph into one and spring on me at once.

I write to remind myself, I am not alone. I have my words, I have my Lord. I have been failed before and I rose and wrote words.

So I write these words and save them, for the rainy day that I would need them.

A writer to another-

A writer to another-

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You have your love,
I have my darkness,

You pour your heart,
I divulge my soul,

You have your lover,
I have my black dog,

You write of the future,
I disdain my past.

You write of rainbows,
I write of dark clouds

You write in free verse,
I drown in rhymes,

You are a writer,
I write in hiding,

When you’ll write of heartbreaks,
I’ll write of hope.

You bloom under sunbeams,
I strengthen with lightning,

Our swords are the same
Just not our pattern of fighting,

When my clouds dissipates
And you, darkness visits

Here are my words,
To keep you company.

You have your love,
I have my darkness,

We both need each other,
In a world that keeps changing.

The above image is courtesy of Tumblr

Reach out-

Reach out-

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Reach out,
For my hands
Lay outstretched,
To welcome yours;
Through setting suns,
And rising dawns,
Through mist filled airs,
And darkness bound.

Reach out,
Old friend,
My ears are perked,
To be filled with sounds,
Of your nightmares,
My drums-
They yearn,
to welcome your sobs,
And pass the message
Through arms outstretched.

Reach out,
To the arms,
You once lifted,
When raging storms,
Depleted my joy.
Old friend,
Who lit up my world,
Once more.
My hands,
Won’t tire of being outstretched.

Reach out,
For you deserve to see,
The sun
And feel it’s light,
In your soul.