An Outcry of Impatience

Here I am,

Again, back from yet another,

Crisis.

I thought it was utopia,

It turned out to be unlike it.

I was confused to go ahead,

I waited for time to decide,

It happened with a blink.

Utopia, as they would say it,

I call it a slaughter house,

I chose it,

Over another,

Much finer confinement,

Now I am stuck with it,

My mind barely intact, 

my patience given way.

My skin was peeled,

It was painful,

It was slow, 

That was the only solace,

I cried to let go,

It clinged to pull back,

Then, the butchered soul,

Did flee across the tides..

I miss the house now,

It was better than this untrue paradise,

I recall this failure,

Yet again, the struggle,

Incomplete though,

Partly because I lost,

You won, and 

I Gave up……

Tanzila

Impulsion

Impulsion

These creepy clusters of a vicious laughter,

Merciless impulsion of my regular being,

This despaired emotion, intolerant gesture,

of lifeless existence, mourning regime....

The resurrected soul with utter confusion,

Unguarded by destiny, discarded by nature,

Defeated by memory of irrelevance,

To a lighter and subtle sunshine.

All vices unearthed, the virtues buried,

The graves of characters, fallen apart,

Imposing decree, dismissal of rest,

Infliction, addiction, surviving this test.

Brutal murders of souls and sight,

Raping one’s intellectual best,

Extension of the hands of rebel,

To freedom, relief from worldly creation

It’s a lie, a false disposition,

I live a dream, this impulsive plan,

This untrue happiness, questioned status,

Is my definition of a ‘revolution’………..

Scenes, stories ripped off humour,

Tenderness deprived of compassion and feel,

Revelation, revolution what it may be,

End of the world……..of the Great Gatsby…!!

Tanzila

DYING STORIES

This story is beginning to die.
It began a while ago
and it has been sometime now.
I tried saving it,
resuscitating it,
gave it everything.
I gave it a chance, an honour, and pleasure,
I gave it love..
I gave it whatever I had.
I gave it all I could give,
And all I could lend.

It got the much needed trust,
togetherness,
And the peaceful time….

It left me,
as I am,
as I was,
as I will remain,
Broken.
Into pieces..
In this un due clutter
With a clamour to afflicted memory,
This deeply tattered soul
And an extinct feeling of trust and love…

This story has ended,
Its dead,
I add it,
To one of the dead stories………….

Tanzila