The Blank String

Family along the streets.

Just a few bodies live together in a hole,a burrow in a space of cement concrete.
Pigeons that return on beaks of worms,gophers in their holes of common space.
Exploring life,sharing its outer darkness,as the sky hangs in balance,tautly held.

Our children eat porridge off our hands, we are their white walls,with nail-holes.
Their clothes are hung in our blankness.

Old man stare at ceilings,under the stairs,sagging cots bring them closer to the earth.
Away from the overhanging sky of the roof.
Just a few bodies that return to the earth,one by one noting each other’s presence.

Salvaged pastels,
Make up a chalky wraith,swaying and sighing,from day to day and night to night.

Dust filled drops
Frozen on the cheeks,lacklustre and void of roses,petals fallen like crumbled ash.

Pools of Black Death
Afraid and burned by light,no longer dilating or rippling,standing still in time .

No more visitors of Life Only sights of a ghost prison,gray buildings,and empty avenues.

The broken,the lifeless,the angry,the wraith that walk along the streets.

Along the streets.
Along the streets.


© The Honest Fabler– Pooja Mukherjee
©Image Source-Www.wideswallpapers.com

A BLACK RAY

ray

Did you listen?

I have felt like this for a while,
but I have kept it all inside.
This time, though, its way too much,
I do not think that I can not cry.
This sense of loss and emptiness,
most people feel it too.
I hope if I don’t voice it,
it will pass on through.

This feeling has not passed,
I think it’s here to stay.
Yet, what is making me feel this,
I really cannot say or lest sense the hope’s ray.
It’s more like something is missing,
than something causing pain.
It’s messing with my mind,
it makes me feel insane.

I have realized something though,
it’s only for me to decide.
Do I want to live my life,
or always wonder why?

A life where no one even knows I exist,
where everything I have ever known was a lie.
A life where everyone avoids me,
where I become just an another forgotten memory.

A life where I question whether the world I am living in is real, or a figment of my imagination,
where nothing seems familiar,
and I forget where I am,
and I don’t know how to get back home.
Destined to walk this lonely world,
forever,
Lost…

I try to tell myself
but the cuts tell me different.
What am I to do with all these dreams of
death and tormenting?
Am I to lock it up and hide my feelings?
That seems the only way.
But why can’t I be saved again?
Am I so damaged that I can’t be saved ?
Broken with every care in my heart.
Do I even have a heart anymore ?
Can I show love anymore ?
Can I smile without hiding how I really feel?
It goes on and on and I have nothing.
No one,forever,
Lost…


©The Honest FablerPooja Mukherjee
©Image Source – Google Images