A white paper needed ink

 

My words shall be dark
Dark enough to brave shadows.

 

Let the soul that reads find light,
Let the soul of the works light up lives.

For the pen of the writer
Saw nothing but a white paper that needed
a darkness that exudes deeper than black ink.
For the pen of the writer
was filled with tears and not ink.

Let his tears not be seen.
Let his papers never have a word.

For his words could tell the truth about love.
The truth that was little too real.

Let him cry in solitude.
Let him die in between the first few lines.
Let his poetry be the moon on a moonless night
Let it never shine.
Let him be.

For he is walking back his path,
He is looking at traces of his own shoe marks,
For he is cursed with memory for the worst of all things.
For the muses of many greats,
 All Cry, Chant, Sing, Plead, Command,
Beg for him to write a happy word.

But he the man felt absurd.
For he could not write lies.

Sometimes,
The muses of the darkest days prayed,
For him to be blessed with death.

He could write,
but a sad word.
He could confess his love for love.
He could teach some lessons to the writers.
The writers of happy verses,
“Thy words should never stop.
Thy lies runneth the world.
Thy lies keep the sand inside the clocks.
Thy lies in the name of gravity refuse to give man wings.
Thy lies ask a man to believe in Hope.
Thy lies are blessed.
Thy lies keep a person alive.
Thy lies are God?”

He had some other lessons,
He could tell to no one but himself.
Some things.

For he feared death.
Death that would stop a dark soul from writing the truth.
Here, the words,
“My words kill belief,
My words cause dearth,
My words be safest companions to loneliness,
My words maketh immortals and change world order,
My words which are due to the muse
be heard by too many, but understood only by few
Few from the early winter’s dew
My words be me in spite of the cups of tears filled”
He should be dead, Right?

Let the failed heart find some more tears to write.
Let the hope stabbed by him find heaven’s sweetest spot,
Let the writer in him search for more love.
Let his love be mere mortals in the next times.
Not a winged charm.
Let the love he finds not be an impostor of
Persephone, Diana or Aphrodite herself.
And let him find love, after love, after love.

The order of the world needs his love more than he needs it.
And his words need love in some tense.
The balance of the world for him was on Art’s lyre
and flowers that were born to decorate her crown

Let him find water of Styx around every corner,
but let his thirst never quench.

Let truth win.
Let him lie everywhere other than his paper.
Let him lie to escape from reality.
Let him lie as he is a human and then a poet.
Let love let a man live.
Let him have lesser pains in touching wounds.
Let him forgive every second.
Let him listen to the music that keeps secrets.
Let him dwell on every word and world.
Let the world feel sorry for his luck.
Let the world not laugh at his poetry of failed love.
Let the world love cliches.

Oh! Reasons that maketh pieces into puzzles!
Oh! Seasons that change for him!
Let him write one beautiful, smitten elegy
for every day that dies to get him closer to death.

-just Barath
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என்னை தொடு வானமே!

Ennai Thodu Vaaname

அருகே உள்ள
அறைகளில் எல்லாம்
ஆதவன் நுழைந்துவிட்டான்.
நம் பாெழுதுகள்,
நம் அறைகளை மட்டும்
நிலவிடமே விட்டுவிட்டான்.

நிலவை மறந்த
பொய்களை எல்லாம்
காலை எரித்துவிட்டான்.
பொய்கள் கூறும்
கதைகளை மட்டும்
அறையின் வெளி இழுத்தான்.

விடியும் பொழுதில்
வடியா கண்ணீரில்
வானவில் மிளிரவிட்டான்.
இருளில் உளறும்
உண்மைகள் கேட்க
ஜன்னல்வழி கசிந்தான்.

நிலவை நேரில்
பார்த்த அவனோ
மேகம் அணிந்துவிட்டான்.
“இன்னொரு நாளா?”
விண்ணது வினவ
இயற்கை மறந்துவிட்டான்.

நம் விரல்கள் பிணக்க
குரல்கள் கனக்க
என்னை தொடு வானமே!

To dusk

It’s hard to stand when the shadows are tired

And the eyes bleed tears.

It’s usual that trees grow old for the season

Giving out fruits just like I do.

 

So, before pushing a rose into your Garden

and completing this Octave,

I need to ask, but don’t answer.

Will a Goodbye get me closer to you?

Will hope save me from lies?

Will the darkness writhing in my words steer away?

Because,

In this darkness,

My feet find its way to you.

 

It will take a lifetime to realize failed love

And the other side

is not the right place to learn this.

 

So, this tree battling

Winds of the dusk,

Losing every last leaf,

Standing in its own shadow, alone,

Can wait.

 

For it has seen all the

Shades of Clouds and People.

Grey and Black,

Wounded and Victorious,

White and wine,

Sober and the kissed.

Waiting for the winter

It could fathom out that,

 

The only problem with love is,

We are humans.

 

– just Barath (C)

To catch up with the entire series kindly visit this link-

Epilogue- An Epilogue to Autumn

Winter is Coming Soon..

 

An Epilogue to Autumn

Hey, Oldsport!

The fall ends here.

I mean the poetry series(READ: Ramblings, musings, rants, poems) I have been working on since 3rd August. This caught me amidst a wave of Happy and smile-filled moments. Just like many people out there, I too started with the hope that I am going to write frequently, whenever I can. Fill my blog with the most beautiful words in the universe. But, it did not happen. Yayy!

So, If you’ve started reading this blog only recently, I’ll let you know what I’ve been working on. I planned on writing a poetry series for the season Autumn. I wanted all works to hold elements that make Autumn, Autumn. I worked up a story’s opening and wanted it to be sad to the core. Yayy!!

To Miss.Autumn was all confessions and everything she knows and what he feels is the reason for her leaving him. It hurts when you know reasons, it hurts equally when you don’t know reasons. Either way, it does hurt. Let it hurt, then let it go. The guy started writing as he felt through writing he could let it go. To my Fall is everything that he wanted to tell her, almost everything. To my St.Martins Summer is self-realization. The hardest part to write down because telling yourself that everything that you banked on was a mistake is not that easy.

We drifted apart before that wave hit our sail.
Such shooting stars we were.

-To My St.Martins Summer

This is when reality got the better of me! I landed somewhere near the Writers Block. After a really long time ‘To Maple printed curtains’ and the one night that he could feel love run their clock of life and stand with them in spite of all the Irregularities. That’s when it hit him hard and locked him down. To Do List is something special because of its Meta-Poetry Nature. It’s in this work you see him along with his mind. I(not the character!) had to write down To Crimson Boulevard because man I was lost and it was so dark. I felt the more I embrace the dark, I’ll stop myself from getting back to reality. I needed to shed it out and bring some light to the words. This is when I thought reading can help me write and I read so much. Crimson Boulevard was a result of the reading. To Universe was the strongest in terms of the concept I had in mind. It still is! I’ll rewrite if someone really wants to know.

And the seven notes of this piece ended and Autumn became dry. There was no wind to move the trees. Did you note that I mixed up the Character with me all along! The character took over sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I went through this in life. I lived this on the inside.

How does an Octave look?     C D E F G A B C.

I’m down by seven and the last note C, the coda of this piece will come in sometime today. Autumn ends for now and its time to get the Salt-Sack ready because

Winter is Coming.

The final piece- To dusk

Did they get together? Why the fuck did she leave him?

Ok! Why do ‘you’ think she left him? Let’s start asking her!

I’ve linked all the poems in this Epilogue kinda post, Do read and let me know anything you feel. Thanks again to everyone who walked with me through this. You are all soooo cool! Words, Strings and White hairs are all I have. I’m giving it away. Wish me luck! And Cheers to the beginning!

Do drop any suggestions or advice or queries in the comments. I’d love to learn from the person who has read such a long post on my blog!

Auf Wiedersehen.

-(C) just Barath

The pen kissed the next paper. 
Its cruel to ask the pen to move on too.
Let the kiss last.

-To Do List

To Universe

Taken to a centre, by the universe
I looked up and down.
The universe was my ledge.
And her name..
Was Universe, the sledge.

I was not taken there to admire the ocean of cressons.
I stood first in line for my falling lessons.

The fall is not a thing to worry about. 
You know the fall never hurts.
Landing causes all the death,
Fall gets blamed when drunk journal blurts.

The centre of the universe is a paradise.
Only dead souls enter.
Living souls walk with the universe
Till, its time to enter.

So,
Love your fall,
Live on the wall
and hope this never ends.

It gives you art
And take this dart.
Hope, it never really mends.

just barath©

To Crimson Boulevard

Hey! I’m lost. Lost with this particular Autumn Series. The idea grew out of nowhere and just got fixated. The name ‘Autumn‘ however came from the character in 500 days of Summer. She hit me straight through the feels.

To feel for each sentence in these verses has been hard. I’m a fresher dude in this type. I never foresaw. Autumn’s been sweet and cruel and I think, might never end in my case. The one part that cries inside me asks for the season to end. The other part that wants to write, embraces the tears. Also, tears apart. And has given me the happiest blog moments ever!*smiles*

(A part of the text, here that was related to the title was deleted by the writer.)

It’s in between. It’s hard to write now, or ramble(Oh! Yeah) now. Bear with me! I’m looking for suggestions and help to get through this. Comments welcome(are much needed).

A writer I once knew
Asked me to write ‘hearts-out’.
The concept was always new.
Just, self-doubt.

I knew I was lost.
I blamed it on the dark.
I should bear the cost.
It was me, who missed the mark.

This is supposed to be 
Poetry of emotional dearth.
Under this tree
Only Shadows sing about mirth.

Heart and darkness undergoing a bout
My words never saw the light of the day.
To liberate ‘Inside Words’ is hearts-out
Rusting, I figured out. Well, that’s the pay!

just barath,

To Do List

The night lamp was turned on.
Our photo by my side was dimly lit but visible.
Moving on thoughts got carried away.

Left arm was not searching for her.
It dabbled over the glasses and the paper
“To Maple” was completed.

The pen kissed the next paper. 
Its cruel to ask the pen to move on too.
Let the kiss last.

To keep a journal is not my way
To forget happens all day.
To the first word of every line.
To memories, that I think are now only mine.

If you find sometime.
Help me forget you, us and all this

To the hours of us doing nothing…
Ok! Stargazing, maybe.

To the Tea-Bags and the Sugar-Cubes you are really generous about.

To the Laundry Days, I need to be around and talk you through, when you worry about the coffee stain on your favourite-tee.

To the ‘Bye’, ‘I am leaving’, ‘I am seriously going’ ‘Ok! Bye’ and kicking me out after ‘Should I really go’

To Waking you up after the Old Monk 
and lying that you were not creepy after the 4th round.

To responsible discussions where we convinced each other cleverly!
And we could never convince ourselves.

To the cozy blanket, that saved us from reality and where my words were prohibited.

To the Romantic Burgers and Double-Cheese One-liners.

To all the moments I forgot and you might remind me.

Drive me there.

I would tell
I can read maps so well while you are driving us.
I don’t care about how you drive
Because, I too don’t have experience reading maps
Its autumn.

Let’s get lost one more time.
Trying to forget
And remembering things more 
is not a crime.

“Sands of Time” denote memories.
Remember the beach sand that entered your shoe and never really left.

The crushed paper was sent to where it belongs. 
The thoughts could not be sent, because 
that is where the promises belong.
And we fail trying to keep up with promises.

-just Barath

To follow the other poems of the series:
1.To Miss.Autumn
2.To my fall
3.To my St.Martins Summer
4.To Maple

To Maple

We felt fountains of darkness flow on our bodies.
A state of challenging coldness,
Not the brain, but the mind got hypothermic.
It was a moment when love was the Only Light,
Every other second, love was that first apple.

Immortality at grasp, words became pawns.
Infinity for few seconds, all our remaining years were compensated.
Intuition was all lucy’fied.

To cafune.
To caress.
To lock.
To still.
To get out.
To live.. we decided.

It was outside the unity of time.
An A minor and an F.
An Alleregretto was overlooked and stayed away from.

It never marched to the unity of place.
This bed could have been the other side, I promised to meet her, last time.

It did not heed to the unity of action
We don’t believe in anything completely, ever.
All lasted, until the second, her hand hovered over my shoulder.
I believed in the ambiguity she was.

Electric impulses started trotting,
It was by the usual route
But, slower.

And what followed was the world’s most beautiful cliche..

This abyss
stripped us of our doubts.
What I couldn’t tell in light,
I stammered through all night.

We were lying.
We weren’t lying.

The curtains and spreads still hold on to that dark night.
They still howl it to us through the winnowing winds.

just barath

To follow the other poems of the series:
To Miss.Autumn
To my fall
To my St.Martins Summer

A person who writes 2

If only, life could be as real as a book

..

It would be so weird. Like, if it is any way lesser to weird, now.. Atleast, you would not be responsible for all the complications.

Please don’t be the lucky one who reads this post first among all other works of mine.

Disclaimer- “This is common. I am not the only person going through this It’s a common thought process that runs with my age, teenage breakdown, cut the crap, stop bitching about life, don’t be such a wiener, time to unfollow you, childish, immature” kinda post. I need to write down.

This post needs to be on the blog, as I need to look back at the things I have stoodby when I re-read it for the n’th time.

I’ve never wanted to write this way on this blog, my canvas. Making my writings, my vent of things would confuse people, firstly. That’s the reason some of my rants never make it out of my world.

I never want to get out of my fictions. my Duffer Diaries, Aval Peyar(Tamil series) or the Fall Series. But being pulled down by an invisible hand(or maybe an image I have created) I fucking lose my mind.

Reality sucks. You cannot better it out. People change, the change may not be on the lighter side for you always. Life wants to laugh at your fall. It wants you to learn, grow up. It makes you long and makes you fell desperate. It gives you few smiles and some comforting words in return for all these and completely comforts you for a short period. You play the Pharell Williams song and start walking the walk. I have some of those special people *sunshineeee*

You know what, I’ve written something similar on ‘To my fall’

“Minutes you crossed my mind,
Kept me alive to face the hours you weren’t”

Never mind.

If my blog becomes my portfolio.. maybe I’ll hide this post. But, doesn’t my employer need to know about the kid I am. Maybe I should not take this down. Let me decide that later. Or let me post so many stories *I wish* and make it go down my ladder.

As a person who writes I am sorry for such an unaligned piece of work. I’ll repost this in a better way soon.
And some poetry is coming out this weekend. Non-nonsensical stuff. Man! I am such a lazy, stupid wiener.
This be my ‘Diary of the confusive Wimpy Kid’.

I am clearly confusing you. If you are confused only a little. WELCOME TO MY WORLD, Old Sport. If you are a lot confused, don’t worry, there is always a next time. (This is my personal favorite line, an allusion to one of GVM’s recent Facebook Post). Last time, I suggested Fault in our stars, this time it is The edge of Seventeen

Well! This post is to me and the person who asks me to write something real..

To my St.Martins Summer

We were always ahead in time.

We were there in my dreams that I had after watching that movie.
A dream that I dont remember that much.
A dream where someone asked you “Who, he?

We talked to each other in our minds minutes before our eyes met.
A Random Sun rise.
Where love can never set.

We skywalked all the Roads of Frost,
The paper version and
Every signboard that asked for a Diversion.

We doubted us before the crisis even began.
We are nothing but a pair of Lunatics.
We should drop that book
Or set our thoughts on the silent brook.

We argued about oblivion when that leaf fell down.
Overlooking every single time..
Maybe, We should enjoy the moment and frown.

We drifted apart before that wave hit our sail.
Such shooting stars we were.

Momentary,
just for this galaxy.
Also Infinitive,
For we have not seen all the galaxies.

Ahead,
looking at the humane mess
Also lazy,
Two kisses instead of one
Could have saved us all the mess!

just Barath ©

P.s.- St Martin’s summer is
a period of unusually warm weather in the late autumn, especially early November.
Oh! Me and my muse are overlooking November by this month itself.

The next one-

To Maple