Poem; Deception

Overnight the wintry cold arrived,
To cover the stones with frost;
Those deceivingly beautiful glimmers of white
To make a stranger fall.

The ancient sun rises lazily on
Illuminating the soaring sky.
Yet no warmth does it offer against
The biting chill of air.

That complexion of molten gold and
Voice of a bird you had –
It claimed a beauty that did not exist
And thus I was left deceived

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Fear

I spotted the teenage girl, walking
alone in the dark lamp-lit street.
She did not see me coming first,
walking on with her weighty bag.
As I approached, she sensed me in her heart
But when she turned around to look – I was invisible.
She tried walking faster, but I easily caught up,
Gripping her in a tight embrace as she tried to run,
leaving her breathless and panting with a beating heart.

That night was a stormy night
But I found the baby boy lying awake
in its crib, against the clap of lightnings
and the endless roar of rain against glass.
I slipped in through the window as the child looked out
and in the darkness I saw the frown.
As another thunder unfurled in the distance,
The boy began to cry for his mother
who lay in a dreamless sleep in the room next door.

The next day I visited the hospital again
to see the frail old man, lying helpless on the bed.
Crippled, no longer having the control of life he had in the past.
I taunted him scathingly to make his eyes turn
and catch the reflection in the mirror next to his bed;
“Look old man, you don’t have long to live.
Soon you die, leaving people behind
and go wherever people go after death
What’s the point when your disease will take you away?”

In the afternoon I met a business man,
gazing out of the window of the crowded train.
He was a hardworking man but I could but suggest
that one day he’ll get fired and his loved one will depart,
that he’ll break down and turn to gambling,
spiraling further and further into an uncontrollable decline,
Or else, lose all in a single fire
Or the crush of a vehicle and leave nothing behind.

Then there’s the girl sitting on her bed,
deciding whether to go out tonight
So I gave her advice and told her the things she already knew;
The people outside, unsympathetic, cruel, busy
won’t notice her, so unappealing that she is.
But feel free to go make a fool of yourself, drinking alone
in front of your crush, and watch the others have their fun
while you pray for them to invite you to join.

One day. I met a person;
male or female it matters not.
I was welcomed but then shaken off
I was powerless, insubstantial, against
the strong resolve of acceptance and courage.
I, became nothing, Nothing. Nothing.

What jealousy can offer, poem

I was watching a TED talk by Parul Sehgal titled “An ode to envy” which analyses jealousy in the context of literature. Although I do not agree with entirely everything that she says, I agree that there are many faces to this emotion that people and animals feel from a young age. It is a basic emotion that stems from our survival instincts to be loved by our mothers and to be the center of attention so that we have better chances of surviving. But of course, jealousy can be destructive – a cause for those horrifying stories on the news, and it can destroy relationships. Many religious teachings discourage this emotion because it can be a sign of a materialistic approach to life. But jealousy itself? It is a complicated thing.

It inspired me to write this poem that explores some of the qualities of jealousy;

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“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet”

“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet” – Plato

I don’t know how other people feel about this, but for me this cannot be more right. English is my second language and I had always struggled a little with writing. It surprises me now to find so many pieces of creative writing in my documents from the past year or so.

The first of these is a poem I wrote to address the frustration I felt towards love. When I wrote this poem, I was resentful towards love for making me suffer the indescribable pain of loving someone who did not love me back. What compelled me to put down my emotions in words, I do not know; perhaps love is an emotion that particularly demands to be explored and analysed, unlike other emotions such as anger or bliss. However, this poem led to other poems and stories and I now enjoy writing in a way that I would not have thought possible several years ago.  Here it is;

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