The Killing Vibration
Once a melodic resonance
Suddenly a shuddering utterance
I’ve never loved or hated my name
As much as I have today
How does it feel to be amputated emotionally? Does it leave an empty space within yourself, where you hold your old self like an infant in a cart. How does it feel to furnish your own amputation in your imagination? Surrounded by what you desire, do you feel a sense of amputation? What is left to you after that? Do you remember it? Is it simple what you remember? What to do with what you remember ? How would you decide which of scattered pieces to carry forward, what to protect , and what to leave behind? Who will help you out? You? Your surroundings? Or your imagination?
In rhythmic movements I move around,
I want to be adored, I want to be loved
I want to be beautiful,
I want to feel comfortable in my own skin.
When I smile I pretend it’s not mine,
When I talk I pretend to sound like someone I’m not,
I just want me to be someone who’s at least loved by me?
Is that too much to ask for?
I dance around foolishly,
Seeking for validation,
I stare at myself in the mirror,
The mirror is shattered just like me,
Perhaps I like these broken pieces of me,
I dance around a bit more,
Those same rhythmic movements,
Everyday, I shower myself with glitter,
Perhaps it would make me more beautiful,
It does not.
I stare at myself in the mirror,
I finally end the dance,
I keep staring at my reflection,
With a smile lingering on my lips,
Beautiful yet uncomfortable,
But beautiful nonetheless.
The ability to survive is a trait that i thrive,
The inability of letting go is the hardest fight
The path towards you is full of crumbled leaves,
You either step on it with joy or avoid whats underneath
Those wide eyes and hollow ones, all see the same thing
Its how we perceive it, makes us differ from the rest
Your smile and your laughter is what defines you from the outside
But the screams and the cries is what I perceive on my own
The picture you present is half of what you are
The person you think you are , is half of what you are not
Perched upon my window sill
was a crow in all its dreary might.
A captivation so eerie,
quite visibly held my sight.
The faint frenzy in his eyes.
The silence in his stance.
The vigor in his flight,
when it flashed through the sky
and rested upon a distant tree.
Now although very far, but,
still in line of my sight.
It seemed to be judging,
almost mocking me
for my miserable plight.
But I took no offence
As I was accustomed to feel alright.
No one really cared, if this heart
burnt or swelled or ached at night.
Then what right this bird had to mock me
for my plight?
I stood there, patiently
to witness its surrender,
its leap into the vast skies
was all that I hankered.
Until it finally hit me
what the bird had truly implied.
A voice acutely profound
called out to me, my mind,
it longed for many a things
most ravenous for freedom and escape.
Now, I seemed to get why, the crow
had for so long held my sight.
It was not mockery after all
but grief and courage.
A hope in myself
it successfully ignite.
Then, as if fulfilled its purpose
the bird sailed south, in all its glory
left me behind, triumph over misery.
With a desire so wild, prudent but folly.
To be a bird
for the remainder of my life.
To be a crow with all its dreary might.