Falling through a vicious sinkhole,
My mind spirals out of control.
One thing out of place,
And everything has gone to waste.
My control over this,
Has to be absolute.
Else most everything I've done,
Will mean less than nothing.
– Arsh
Day Nine: A Moth
It was only today I noticed,
That around my home
A moth hopelessly circled round.
It was nothing extraordinary,
Most certainly not the first either.
Yet its pale and ghostly hovering,
Left me dark and pensive.
Its almost lethargic flapping,
Seeking only a place of darkness,
As in its mind, a safety was only found there.
And a wardrobe could not be an option.
For the wardrobe, the ghastly thing,
Only gave an illusion of comfort.
And all that is in there,
Is its predecessor's remains.
And so, I simply watched,
Knowing its fate,
As its tireless flight
Slowly withered away.
Yet it kept flying in circles
Flying around the entire house,
From room to room
And nook to cranny
Exploring every possible place for some rest.
As its flying became desperate,
Hopelessly looking again and again,
I wondered if it ever questioned,
What it was doing in the first place.
Why was the darkness so necessary for it?
It seemed to be fine in the light,
Yet it was restless,
Looking for it in a room full of brightness.
Did it not see the darkness outside the window?
Did it realise it could not go through it?
Had it already tried that?
These questions thoughtlessly floated in my brain.
I don't know how long I sat there thinking,
But eventually,
I observed that the moth was nowhere to be seen.
I do not know whether it is alive or dead.
I wonder if it ever realised that
It had no escape unless we opened a window for it.
– Maya Desdemona
Panopticon
This prison of my mind,
Is perfect for me.
I cannot leave,
And neither can I stay.
No interaction with myself,
Slowly going insane.
This really is the most perfect prison,
A prison of the mind.
– Arsh
Day Eight: My Mother And Birds
If there is any being on Earth
That could even compare to my Mother,
It would be a Bird.
Not just any one at that!
With the might of an Eagle
And the wit of a Raven,
She would be the kind of bird
To soar over treetops
And chirp happily with the other fowl.
She would not be a shrill bird either.
With the voice of a lark,
She would sing melodies that
Great poets could not even compare.
In every sense,
She would be an early bird.
Pecking us if we didn't wake up
To her chirping.
She would be free to glide
All over the World,
but would still choose her nest
to return to at the end of each day.
Now, Human or Bird,
I wish only one thing.
That my Mom remains happy,
And that one thing is enough.
– Maya Desdemona
The Sea
The sea is beauty in cruelty,
Cruelty in beauty.
It is constant and ever-changing,
Linear and paradoxical.
The sea both gives and takes,
Both sailors fortunes and their doom.
The sea is indifferent to all,
And yet a caring mistress.
The sea is a beauty unto itself,
Both calm and turbulent.
It is everything at once,
And it is my only love.
– Arsh
Betrayal
I watch as you bring me down,
Stare silently as I watch my fall.
My hope has already withered,
I once used to trust you.
Everything was so perfect,
I don't know why it had to change.
I don't know why you did it,
I can't help but ask why.
My faith in you is gone,
I will never trust you again.
My god, why did I ever trust you,
I think I might hate you.
– Arsh
Day Seven: Excuses
Is distance your only excuse?
Years have passed,
You still haven't visited,
And now I don't even remember your face.
Time and Time again,
You claim to miss us.
"I'm too busy"
"The flight ticket is too expensive"
"I don't have a vacation now..."
Seem to be your only reasonings.
Your voice, in my memory,
Is now only heard through the static of a phone call.
I don't remember what your personality is like,
Or why you made me laugh at all.
Who are you?
Do I even know you anymore?
Your excuses are all I remember now.
– Maya Desdemona
Unsolved Murder
Vermillion blood spilled
On snow-white tiles.
Bloody knives are hidden
In the black of night.
Standing orders are
Given to keep guard.
And yet the murderer
Always slips the guard.
Seeing as the one
To help keep guard is
The murderer, it seems the
Murder will never be solved.
– Arsh
When everything is done
Whispering voices surround me,
The fence has been broken for days.
The lamp posts flicker and burn out,
Plunging the street into darkness.
Eyes that have been raised in the light,
Seek into darkness for comfort,
And the hands brought up in the dark,
Shy away from the eyes that blind.
– Arsh
Stages of revenge
It stings.
Frustrated tears pool at my eyes,
Unable to do anything else.
It simmers.
Darkened eyes look away as
Yet another bribe takes place right under the noses of those
Who were once trusted to protect us.
It burns.
Knuckles are bleeding,
Pummeling the punching bag as though
It would chase all problems away.
It boils over.
Knives stick out of those
Who once dared to take advantage of our innocence
Leaving behind empty puppets.
It's empty.
But maybe this emptiness
Will herald better days.
– Arsh
