theboredpengwing

Latest Posts by theboredpengwing

The nights are cold again. And my fire's dead. Guess, I'll freeze tonight.

If only....

maybe one day we'll get married.... & we'll have children. if they look like me, they will be poets. or if they look like you, they will be poems

दिल जाने, मेरे सारे, भेद ये गहरे. खो गए कैसे मेरे, सपने सुनहरे

EFFORTS, EFFORTS, EFFORTS.

Who decides what's counted as efforts and what's not?

Who decided getting flowers for your partner is an effort and opening up a LIC policy for your partner isn't?

Who decided breaking your bank to go meet your LDR partner every 2 months on a mediocre pay is an effort and curbing the urge to see her everyday and saving up for our dreams of our future isn't?

Who decided racking up your brain to have something to talk everytime is an effort that matters and having a quiet non verbal time together in an effort to get through daily challenges of life, isn't something that matters.

Your partner is supposed to be your happy place. It shouldn't take efforts to be with your partner. It already takes a lot of effort to get through the day. Your partner is supposed to be somewhere where you just exist and feel safe. Somewhere you don't need to worry about how you look or about filling silences. Just exist. TOGETHER. Is there something wrong with me that I believe in this, amidst all the chaos about superficial efforts? I'd like to improve, please take a moment and help me out with your opinion on this.

Yet another failed '"happily ever after".

Yet again, walking on shards of shattered promises.

Yet again, sleeping on wet pillows.

Yet again, there's a storm raging within.

Yet again, it's gloomy in the midday sun.

Yet again, poems have lost their rhyme.

Yet again, I'm back to square one.

Lately, it seems like

I'm pushing everyone away

All the connections

And associates.

Subconsciously.

As if I'm living on a different wavelength.

As if nobody understands where I'm coming from.

Lately it feels like

I'm thinking way too less

Everyone's mannerisms

Are too difficult to process.

Breathlessly.

As if life isn't supposed to be easy.

As if we're supposed to think before every action.

Lately it seems like

There's something wrong with me.

Always at a war with myself

My beliefs vs what I see.

Today when the world turned grey,

And cried the sorrows of yesterday.

The spirit of earth lifted in song,

Rejoiced to the rhythm of pattering drops.

The trees were exalted and gay,

Having not felt love in summer days.

With the wind, their nomadic friend,

And the rain, showering kisses from heavens above.

The wind she finally got her say,

Long been silenced by sunny rays.

She rose and fell with fiesty laughs

And rejoiced thunders awoken from it's yearly nap.

The artists, they sat at their windows

Lost at the hues of painful delight.

How poignant the world when she weeps

How sullen and what a splendid sight.

Why does it have to be like this?

Why do things have to move a certain way?

Why can't there be questions and why can't someone have their say?

Animals don't think so much.

Trees don't think so much.

Why do humans have to put everything into thousands of rules and such?

Why do I feel bound up and chained?

Why is there expectations of me to follow the same line?

When everyone talks of breaking the chain and rebelling but then it's half past nine.

(So it's time to go home and the chain can stay intact another day.

So it's okay to just follow the line and be like everyone else.

So it's okay to be sheep, just 'baa'ing through the day.

Just like everyone else.

Chained up sheep!

All of you!

And me!)

Ignite every nerve ending

Rob me out of the pain

Break me down

Slowly and truly

Just your written words remain.

For my soul doesn't feed on food or water

Oh poet,

When will you write for me again?

*finds a nice even piece of rock*

*places it against a tree trunk*

*spends the afternoon sitting on it, probably falling asleep*

*wakes up to an owl hooting near me in the middle of the night*

*takes a walk under the moonlit night*

*finds a swarm of fireflies in a meadow nearby*

*stands there mesmerised for a while*

*encounters a pack of wolves on a hunt*

*gets attacked, dies and gets eaten*

Ashenbank woods near Cobham, England by Simon Bolton

You always loved the broken ones, didn't you?

You did, you do, love us.

But that's not a kink innately special to you.

Everyone loves broken pieces,

As if we are one mend away from perfection.

They all find us bewitching,

But only from afar.

A wreckage isn't pretty up close.

From a distance you can fill the landscape,

Imagine it to be whatever you want,

But take a few steps closer,

Swim a few yards to the Titanic laying peacefully in the glory of its past,

Look us straight in our eyes, tuck our hair behind our ears,

And ask us again the questions you asked from afar.

That's when you hear the screams,

The sound of emotions gasping for air,

The carnage.

But you can't help it, can you?

You have to touch it.

You have to feel it.

And once you've touched, you have to fix us.

Ignoring the thought that this carnage

Was from the last one that wanted

To touch,

To feel,

To fix us.