My poems

[glacial plaza]

I'll keep all my poems here, maybe this can act like a storage of my poems

BOB

Here am I, standing in front of my pain
Seeing him staring me in the eyes, filled with dread and vain
Let’s call him bob, for a name’s sake.

He stares at me, holding back tears and sorrow
His heartbeat not letting him breathe, he is not able to speak
But his eyes leave words worthless, for they tell everything he feels.

I understand that he is from the future perhaps, for he stands still there with such grief and agony
It’s definitely something that happens later which I am yet to feel.

Alas! A tear drops from his eye, containing weights more than the world can survive
Now I am thinking what it might have been, that made bob feel so deeply.

But the tear did not go in vain, for it cleared some of bob’s face
From the bruises and dirt that the people forced him to take.
Maybe the weights cleanse a man, from the deeds he fears would erase his plans.

Who did this to him, is all I think of as tears roll down his face one by one, with a very slow passage of time.

Decades pass by, I am still here, and bob keeps shedding a tear, we are staring in each other’s eyes.
As his face clears, tear by tear, I uncover a story, that I think I was always meant to hear.
I see his face, and reckon it’s something similar, I go and take a picture from my drawer, and see that the resonance is perfectly clear.

Then I run, I run and I run a little more, to get out of the dark tunnel that I deliberately came to, just to realize… that the door to get out has closed.

I go back to the dark room, where I found bob, just to see that bob was gone.

All there was left was a mirror large and tall, where I saw that, I had become bob after all.
I take a chair, sit down with grief, knowing what I had done caused the bruises and dirt that I see.

I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I feel my heartbeat, and know that I will be stuck here for eternity.
Just then, the door opens, and a man comes and takes a chair, having keen curiosity in me, looking at my despair.
He is the past me, and I have become bob, and I see him writing a poem, describing this all.
I wish to speak, but I can’t at all, only if I could, I could end this treacherous vicious cycle of doom and fall.
I was wrong, I couldn’t listen to everything that his eyes had to speak.
So I sit here, staring at him menacingly, hoping that he listens, to what my eyes say about what I’ve seen.
I wish for his safety, that he leaves, so the existence of bob can be erased and we won’t have to suffer this torment till eternity.

But that’s the catch, it will never break, and another bob, someday, will be made.
~Rahil

-> Poem -2

I am stuck in an ocean of quicksand, hoping that some, some white swan, will pick me in this life which you can call a barren land.

I want to get out, just to fall again... but for a soul, willingly, not dragged down in hopes and dreams like i already am.

But alas, all the swans are living near water filled clean ponds, leaving me here, with my mind which is a malfunctioning magic wand.

My existence is alone, i must know
for the longer i hope, the more i hurt and farther from happiness i go.

I must cope, i must seek
For an alternative, that helps those whose connections are bleak.
Will it be god, or will it be me who will get me out, of a sticky sadness, this deep.
~Rahil