Tag Archives: pain

I Wanted To Heal You….!!

Yesterday, I posted this, and I felt exactly the words deep in my life, something that came out from inside my heart, but somehow I was not satisfied with the end. I hated my own poetry, my own work, my own thoughts, leaving my readers and myself without hope, and hence I came up with a little different conclusion today.

 

Do let me know which one of the endings did you like more?

 

I wanted; wanted

To take away all our pain,

To free you from your aches,

To envelope you in my embrace,

To make you forget all that can’t be erased.

 

I wanted; wanted

To kiss all your tears,

To chase away all your fears,

To taste all your wounds,

To chaperone you to the tombs.

 

I wanted; wanted

To cure you of your grief,

To surcease all your strife,

To heal your body, your soul,

To be your cure, an antidote.

 

I wanted; wanted

To give you all my happiness,

To bestow you only with blissfulness,

To free you of the enchains,

To liberate you, of all the restrains.

 

And in doing so,

I lost my exulted ecstasy,

My humorous joviality,

My peace, my calm,

My tranquility, the only charm.

 

And in doing so,

I reached someplace called inferno,

Burning, writhing, for how long I don’t know.

In healing you, I lost myself,

My body, my soul,

And there was left, no antidote.

 

 

But then someday, one day,

I rose to that Elysium,

Finessing away all your delirium,

Proliferating my poise,

Vanquishing the void,

Conquering the little forgotten calm,

Regaining all the lost charm.

And I liberated from your chains, with time,

The long lost, yet my lustrous smile.

 

 

 

 

I Wanted To Heal You….

 

I wanted; wanted

To take away all our pain,

To free you from your aches,

To envelope you in my embrace,

To make you forget all that can’t be erased.

 

I wanted; wanted

To kiss all your tears,

To chase away all your fears,

To taste all your wounds,

To chaperone you to the tombs.

 

I wanted; wanted

To cure you of your grief,

To surcease all your strife,

To heal your body, your soul,

To be your cure, an antidote.

 

I wanted; wanted

To give you all my happiness,

To bestow you only with blissfulness,

To free you of the enchains,

To liberate you, of all the restrains.

 

And in doing so,

I lost my exulted ecstasy,

My humorous joviality,

My peace, my calm,

My tranquility, the only charm.

 

And in doing so,

I reached someplace called inferno,

Burning, writhing, for how long I don’t know.

In healing you, I lost myself,

My body, my soul,

And there was left, no antidote.

*

Sometimes, I wonder though, if at all this is possible. You always wanted everything to fall in place for the other person, you always wanted peace and serenity for them, but in trying to do everything for them, can you really lose yourself? In doing something good for others can you really hurt yourself? Can you really torture and enchain yourself, so, so badly that you fear your presence? Can you really fall to some place so dark?

I Am Walking!

I am walking down a path

Somewhere, where I am so scared to walk,

Somewhere, where I have always dreaded to walk. 

 

I am walking down a path

To somewhere, where I don’t know the destination

To somewhere, where I don’t know what awaits. 

 

I am walking to someplace

Where? Why? How? 

I know not. I am simply walking. 

 

I am walking down somewhere,

Alone, dejected, beaten. 

Shivering, shredding, succumbing. 

 

I am walking. 

I have no ounce of energy to walk anymore. 

No iota of inspiration to walk.

 

I don’t want to walk. 

No, I don’t. 

And yet I am. 

 

I want to hold hands,

I want to lie down. 

I want to breathe.

 

And yet, I am walking. 

 

I am walking the steps of a failure

I am walking the painful steps of helplessness

I am walking to an endless space.

 

I am walking where there are tearful smiles,

Where there are hidden sores,

Where there are only painful stones.

 

I don’t know what to do. 

I want to lie down,

But all I doing is walking, walking, walking…..

 

PS: I am sorry to be away from all of you. I will be back to all your posts very soon. I will. I am just a little screwed up right now.

The Time I’m My Period.

Just the other day I shared a very powerful poem ‘Half World’ by a Telugu poet, and here I am today, sharing yet another AMAZING piece by a Tamil writer K. Geeta. Again I had to find the translation in English to read it, but here it goes.

The Time I’m My Period. (I am not sure with the title, my translation version says so.)

When the whole body is frozen into an abscess

When a private mount explodes silently

I make efforts vain to catch the pain in my grip

All of a sudden it gives a jolt

I in myself, solid becoming liquid

Then become a solid again

And then shattered to pieces.

Every month, having no other go

I transform myself into pain

Dead

Unable to plaster the wound that would’nt surface

Unable to grind the ribs into powder

Even unable to draw myself into a bundle of cosy sleep

Embracing the thirty-six hours of turbulence

Unable to remain a forced untouchable

Walking forward a few paces in civilisation

Becoming gasping leaps and sprints

Desiring to flatten the spine on the anvil

Toying with the idea

To bundle this bother with chains of iron

Again and again, once in every thirty days

Taking rebirths one after another

The period when crushed in gut-twisting agony

This period …

The problem does not lie only when people shy away with the topic, but even today their are many myths and beliefs associated with it. Not going into the details much here, I’d safely say that those beliefs should not be thrown on women, it’s on them if they believe in it or not.

Even today we have people who shy away with the topic of menstruation, and it is indeed a powerful poetry that I strongly stand by. Some people tend to take it so casually, never understanding the amount of pain that a woman’s body goes through and those hormonal changes which she is herself unaware of, in those days, every single month, almost her entire life.

Still I rise!

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise

I rise.

-Maya Angelou.

And thus I love this woman too.

“They”

 

They say

I didn’t fight enough

They don’t know

How my body aches

How my body has

Lost the feeling to

Feel the pain.

 

They say

I didn’t raise my voice enough

They don’t know

How my throat itches

How my voice has

Completely lost the feeling to

Feel the voice.

 

They say

I did not repulse

I did not revolt

They say the fault

Is mine.

 

I can’t blame anyone

They say

That I was wrong

And they were right

They were strong

And I was weak.

 

They say

My demeanor should be composed

My anger should be subsumed

They say

It is not a big thing

It is just a passing fling.

 

They say

I am the devil

I am my own fall

They say

I am the ill

I am the cause.

 

They say

I didn’t fight enough

They say

I didn’t raise my voice enough

They don’t know

My lungs gave way

Screaming into void

They don’t know

That my armor

Rests in peace

Fighting for my life.

Yet they say

I didn’t revolt

Yet they say

I was wrong and they

Were strong

They don’t know

That my blood

Distanced itself from my heart

They don’t know

That my soul embittered

On my body.

 

These “they”

Who are they?

Who are they

To make me the evil

Who are they

To judge me

For being the devil?

 

They don’t know me

Let alone my soul

They can’t judge me

Unless they can tell me

That they have fought

More than me

That they have

Screamed

Longer than me.

 

They don’t know me

They don’t know my battle

And yet,

“They” say….

 

*

I still refrain to even believe in my rarest imaginations that I am anywhere near being a poet, despite all your comments on my previous posts. So, again I call this a vain attempt to try and write in as limited words as possible, and to express as far and as truthfully I can.

The Next Morning!

I was glaring at the TV in the dark, my vision unclear, blurred, I hardly knew what channel was switched on and I couldn’t possibly care less. I kept it on, on bearable volume only to feel myself accompanied.

 

I was slouched beside my study table, beside which the balcony door stood ajar, supported by the wall behind. There was the novel kept in front of me, that I was reading but I hardly remembered what was it about. All I could see were the tree leaves wavering outside, and all I could think of was, … wait, I could hardly think straight. No I could think of nothing, simply nothing.

 

I shifted in my seat, making myself more uncomfortable, instead of providing a little comfort. My leg was twisted and I could feel the slightest of pain then. But I did not twitch. I enjoyed the pain for a while, then when I was comfortable again, I simply did it again, bring the pain back, just for the sake of doing it, this time with my hands, and my fingers. My finger nails, digging down in my palms, and yet I could feel nothing; nope, not in a slightest. I guess all the drinks were playing their game then, making me numb. I smiled, and why? I had no idea about that.

 

My phone started buzzing, vibrating, and it was irritating me, the noise, the feeling. I fumbled to take it out of my pocket and cancelled the call. It was my friend. I knew what she would say, “You can talk to me” and I also knew that if I “talked” she would put on her earphones and all the while keep texting or playing some game and in the end she would very easily divert the topic, make it all about herself, and cut the call. I didn’t need that then!! No!!

 

It started vibrating again. My head was so full, it ached so much that I gripped my hair into my hands trying to just tear the pain apart. I just increased my pain. Furiously, I picked up the phone, mumbled something, which I really did not give a thought on and cut the call.

 

I sat there till late in the night. I don’t remember the time; I don’t even remember what exactly I was doing till then, what was I thinking about. All I remember is slowly walking or rather dragging myself towards my bed, and falling off to a deep sleep with the TV turned on.

 

And so I woke up the next morning with the same things I had gone to sleep with, a numbing pain, a throbbing head, and a dizzy mind, and yeah, not to forget the TV turned on.