Breathless is how I feel, As the same old air cuts through my face. A deafening sound is what I hear, When the silence of the night grows in the day. It is the date that changes not the day, It is the sky that brightens, not our souls. Time is money they said, But we never knew that our freedom is the debt. We built our roof to keep us safe at night, Today in this impending dark, the same roof blocks our only light. For a quiver of hope, we must embrace the dark. For we must fight this fight not together but apart.
I might paint the day black and white, Or I might paint a brilliant day ending in a starry night. It is the eyes that might be the brush, But it is the lens that mixes yellow with a tinge of red to recreate a perfect sunset. For some, the lens views sunset with hues of crimson and gold, For some, it views the unending darkness of a world like a blindfold. It might be the dreams that the lens reflects Or the nightmares over which I slept. It feels like a fog has engulfed the world, A fog which has veiled the brilliance of these colours. I wonder if it is my lens that I let fade, Or the billion lenses that created this dark shade.
I wonder where they led, Was it heaven or hell? They were the steps of judgement, Existing to judge my existence. I walked on them alone, Not a soul in the distant unknown. What appeared was the door of fate, Fated to be knocked for all eternity. Those shiny steps have been drowned in tears by one, And worn out by joyous running of the other. I wonder what is waiting amidst this blankness, A glimmer of light or eternal darkness.
A dark painting is what I see when I open my eyes, A painting that has engulfed the world. It seems like the artist did not use the white, Is it because none is available? Our vile faces finally can’t be seen, In a world so dark where the light is the only dream. A moment is what it took, Nightmares turned to reality and reality turned to memories. The world was his canvas, Red was the colour of his brush. Is it a coincidence which is harmless? Or did hate just paint darkness.
A faded image is what is left, Of the time in which I no longer exist. The image tells a thousand words, Of a time when happiness used to persist. A memory doesn’t lie, Although a hoax is what it seems. An eternity is what has passed, Between what I feel now and what I used to feel. The memory darkens just as the reality, Imagination seems to be the only light amid this insanity. A dreams is what the memory is now Signifying what life is and what life could be.
The mortal man’s exploits have foisted upon us an era of darkness, A time so horrifying that we have been forced to distance ourselves and fall a victim to apartness. Our social order is decaying and fossilizing under the mud that the human race once excavated out of the earth we cherished, whereas the pandemic has inflicted death upon the homes that have perished. The masks will not cloak the vile face of human creature, it will be penetrated by the winds of justice that shall convict us for our sinful acts against nature. Neither can we wash away our vices in matter of seconds nor were we fated to end from our inception, this is just a price we pay when we meddle with forces beyond our comprehension. With the plague being a testimony to what shall follow, the day of judgment is knocking on our door, now we shall choose whether to be locked away for a jiffy or to answer and be locked away for more.
Check out my other poem A THOUSAND DREAMS
I lay awake in the darkness of the night, reflecting on a thousand glimmering dreams, their colours so brilliant with a tinge of my creativity, Distant from the reality brimmed with indecency and depravity. A thousand Dreams are now intertwined with a thousand memories, For they are the ashes of the reality that has fallen. Our dreams were the outline for a reality we set out to mould, now the same dreams are the only glimmer of light as we perceive the darkness unfold. As I close my eyes, my tears break the shackles of reality which are a thousand years old. and i sit on the edge of my dreamland watching the sunset with hues of crimson and gold. I now wonder if it was the darkness we harnessed inside us that left us with nothing but a thousand dreams, or our everlasting dreams that inflicted upon us this dark regime.
Nowadays, covid 19 has forced us to stay at our home due to which we can only dream about the world we used to live in and how we would love to return to that world. Here is a poem about dreams.
Golden is its value, Blue is the color, Mirage is what the parched will discover. The condition of Cape Town is just the tip of the iceberg, While the god and his nature goes berserk. Third world war would be over Adam’s ale, Droughty land is where the ships will sail. We seek water on the alien mars, While these life sources every day turn scarce. Hanging in the balance is the earth’s fate, In the dry future, Atlantis would not be hard to locate. Sahara desert is the mirror image of the future civilization, Cactus water is what would give a pinch of hydration. We are unsuspecting that the tap is running just as our time, After the water cycle’s abandonment, three days is the period for the human life’s decline.