My guilt is ready

My guilt is coiled up inside me. 
Like a cobra
ready to pounce.

Like a dormant volcano
ready to explode. 

Like a saw 
that cuts through your hand;
accidentally. . 

Not mine. Not ever again

One

My words are not my words
anymore.
I give them up.
I can't claim them to be mine
MINE, MINE, MINE.

Were my words ever enough?
My words. 
I remove the prefix now.
Words.

Words flow...
like a river?
Why did I think of a river?
Is there no other analogy?

My words used to be mine.
Never touching brilliance
Mediocrity
Reminding me everyday.

I see brilliance around me;
knowing that I cannot even
touch it.

I scared of revealing
all that I feel. 

I scared of dark thoughts.

I give up my claim.

No longer mine.
Just words. 
~Anjee, Nov 2013

This is the first poem I wrote in my series Mid Carnival of Woe. I wrote the series within a day or two. Eight poems in two nights to be precise. 

Shriveled

Two

Here I am;
tattered,
shriveled.
Plank by plank;
cell by cell;
speck by speck;
bared. 

There was no
madness to my method
I made that up.

But it was never a mask.

At another place,
in another time
verse still swims
in my mind. 

~ Anjee, November 2013

The 2nd poem in my series Mid Carnival of Woe. 

P.S : Sometimes I miss Nov 2013, It was a very different time...

Pricked

FOUR

You're like a paper cut
you make me bleed.
At first it was hardly there.
I didn't even notice it.

And then I realised
I was pricking myself
on paper.

I have bruises
I don't remember getting.

You hurt me
slowly
it's like water dripping down
a leaking tap. 

It hardly makes a sound
and you forget about it.
And when you do notice
you feel like you'll drown.

I didn't notice
the blood at first.

It was only when; after
hundreds of cuts
the blood stained my white shirt;
I noticed my red finger,
my now red hand. 

And I remembered 
all those times 
you hurt me;
unnoticed. 

And it pains now. 

~Anjee, Nov 2013

This is the fourth poem in my series of melancholy poems Mid Carnival of Woe. 

Despair

Like getting ready and going out and getting drenched in sudden rain.
And all your hair undone and all your make up; washed out.

Like those untruths which started out as a joke but the words flowed and it became
a bag full of lies which could not be thrown in a trash can. 

Like not knowing where you stand. Do you stand, at all?
Are you falling? Have you fallen? Will you be getting up soon?

Like standing outside a clinic and realising that 
you really want the baby but can't keep it.

Like crying yourself to sleep and getting up in the morning 
even though it's easier to sleep. And maybe even easier to reach out for those pills.

Like not knowing and all the thinking and wondering
killing you slowly and not being able to stop.

Like drilling holes in an already wounded heart
and somehow accepting the pain.

Like drowning in three feet water, it seems impossible
but it can happen and you don't even think of it.

Like not stopping, like not knowing if you can
and going around in circles looking for answers for questions never asked


Like shedding silent tears because you're mediocre 
instead of brilliant; like knowing you have no right to cry.

~Anjee, Nov 2013


This poem is part of my series Mid Carnival of woe

The first thought

A poem within me.

Smiling, yearning,

crying.

Passionate,

dead, dull

beautiful.

Sweet darkness of my own,

give light to my poem,

my own.

Teardrops like rain,

falling.

Poem, you’re beautiful,

I exist in you.

familiar face,

déjà vu.

Poem, I cry for you.

~26.03.09

Kinda

Kinda funny, kinda not.

You promised but you forgot.

Kinda like a quiet blot,

which did twist the plot.

Kinda funny, kinda not.

When Lucy spoke

I am no Lucy

But if I were

I would wait for you in my cottage

I would stand by my window

staring out,

till you came.

I would send clouds towards you

to tell you of me.

I would know that

I love you

even though I had not opened my eyes.

Lucy has always loved you

much before you realised.

I am no Lucy

but if I were

I know I would have no other

You would teach me

more than I would ever know.

You would tell me of my existence

and speak aloud my name

 I would not know passion

only know to wait.

 And I will

till you longer doubt

what would have been.

What is there is there

has been there for years.

Before you; before me; before all.

I am Lucy

and I am right here.

 ~28th November 2013

I am no Wordsworth but if I were...

And Then Sadness Prevailed

Emptiness,

encircling gloom.

Leaves falling off,

leaving me alone.

Distress,

I deserve all this and more.

You going away,

melancholy has never been so sad before.

Darkness,

am all alone.

No one by me,

you- forever gone.

I have a  new feature on my blog called Verse Wednesdays. I will be posting my poetry on Wednesdays. Sometimes I will also have poetry from guest bloggers. 

I wrote this poem 7 years ago when my maternal grandma passed away. Last Wednesday night, my granddad passed away. I miss him loads. Thought I'll share this poem today.