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?
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,
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..
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!
-(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
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.
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.
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.
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!
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 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
And what followed was the world’s most beautiful cliche..
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
I have always wanted a 3 AM conversation,
A 5 AM Good Night
and A 10 AM Office Check-In.
It happened in the movie that I watched with her favourite coffee,
her second favourite couch
and her memories.
But, then I got into this relationsleep with dreams about strangers!
Did you, for a second think
I would have the pleasure of having
Strangers in my dreams?
It was her, always
It would have.. But she never told me about that later.
How am I supposed to give her the right surprises
and go ring her doorbell twice, exactly when she needs me?
How can I find out the perfect gift, everytime?
How can I not lose to her when it comes to me showing my romance?
How can I not be the repaired toy?
How can my hyper-metropic eyes talk to hers, when the dumb mouth spoils scenarios everytime?
How can I sing when I hate my own voice? I surely do!
She already has a gift!
A skill that I used to envy
And something I am not supposed to now.
But, she knows things, that people have never heard of.
She knows that I’m the one who is trying to love her!
She knows that Cinema is my Shangri-La
She knows that my voice is that of a goat.
She knows that I have wanted to kiss her behind the neck.
She knows that
I’m not the fancy that poems are made of.
I’m the fancy that makes poems.
She knows that I am never perfect without a heartbreak.
Maybe, she decided that a perfect soul will only be hers to live by..
And that can be the only reason for her to have broken it and look into it
some random day,
by the Decay.
If her heart may
decide to sway
by Memories that lay
The next one-
“Chai, chai”, the dirty, uninteresting tea vendor was shouting by the Railway Station. But he was interesting to just one person in the entire crowd. One, one person. He checked his purse. Counted the last 2 rupee coin and it summed up to 17 rupees. He looked for the uninteresting tea vendor, who was long gone. Long gone into the crowd filled with many one persons, 17 rupees and black pens.
Little did his supporters realise that 17 rupees and unquenchable dreams are an irremovable part of him and his unique, impractical race.
They tried consoling him with words when only shoulders and lies can save him. They tried giving him luncheons when only spiral notebooks and Writing softwares can save him and Yes! By law of nature he knows he will consider it stupid in a few days. They tried making him joyous by appreciating every little step he took when only he could see his skill rotting.
He remembers lots of things, even things which he wants to forget. And that gave him Words (Fortunate or Unfortunate, his readers will decide!), and then started a War between his Heart and Mind, a WALK OF SOLITUDE to fucking Neptune.
And still he decided to walk with his 60-year old lean shoes, catching his Branded Low-hip jeans from going down, holding his shoulders high to get hit by every crafted entrances of rooms towards death and also towards his home as he finally bought a cup of coffee from another uninteresting tea vendor with his Ticket Amount. He wanted to write when he reaches home with a pen that he had to shake well in-between 27 words to be precise,,,
“©”(This is the funny bone’s work)
Yes! I’m actually writing you something. This paper would find a place somewhere in your closet or your drawing table or might be folded into two for saving the edges and kept inside your Journal. I don’t care about where this paper goes. I just am standing here, under this cloud adrift, with fear, not sure if I can send these words, and by words I mean its crux into you. For inside this ‘o’ I have hid my madness and how I exclaim for the mere sight of you, over the title of all the ‘i’ in this letter, my love is standing, surviving the cold of all lonely nights. Every single alphabet that I scribble is for you, and you alone. Just decipher it and wink _____. That is the only moment I can survive without looking at my distorted reflection in your eyes.
I feel so awk-word now. After hitting you with so much out of my confused heart, I am. For I am not the incessant muse kind or the Love-Quotes kind. I am just the Basic-Love thing, with one-off definitions of this feeling. Need I say more! Say “Yes” for I have got so much to tell to you and reimburse for the silence and seconds you have given to me, and also the seconds that I took myself. Bear with me babe, stand with me, walk with me, save me by leaning on my shoulder, feel the heat of my palm by placing yours inside it.
“Words can’t adequately describe love” they said. But words and thoughts about you are all I have.
I can’t see any Albatrosses, skylarks, daffodils, coffee mugs, mistletoes, lobsters or gods that can set my thought on sail. I can only see me! My distorted reflection in your eyes and its image.
It got me into way too many thought-cycles and art-blocks. And proceeding to the next words are getting tough now. This is something I foresaw. Stay with me, if you can. Hope this letter finds you in good health. And I don’t know when this is going to…
Happy Life, anyways…
Only Yours until Oblivion.
What am I doing? Why am I not publishing any posts on my blog? I am supposed to write, type and publish. But here I am typing out a reason why I have not posted any work on my blog. I’ve had the resources. A Pen (A Brand New One! Like that Matters a lot ), Empty Sheets, the Borrowed Laptop, my 2G Internet Connection and an Empty Mind. Still, there is something that prevents me from writing.
It’s like all the Rain, its noise on your roof, the drops that fall on you after it hits the window sill, the Hot cup of Coffee, the blurred Sight of your Neem Tree in that hustling Night, the smiley that you just drew on your window pane, the Uncomfortable Office Chair, a Slightly raised writing arrangement, no Mobile phones, no one asking you to go to the shop nearby, the messy room arrangement that helps you from not getting distracted admiring the wall or your Childhood Photo, the Nature’s Alarm that you did not set, a cool pillow for extra comfort when you lean, the sound of clicking the Ball-Point Pen(What do you exactly call that kinda Pen?), someone singing your favorite song from the top of a hill, the glasses that never let you sleep when you lean on your desk, the cool appreciation and advice you got from the people who mean a lot to you, an Award Nomination that you received from your blogging buddy about which you actually know nothing and your heart’s deepest desire which YOU now want to be only a memory could not get me write the first sentence.
For these problems, people might blame their mind for being so messed up with stuff ranging from exams to results to responsibilities, but in my case it was just my Stupid, Immature Heart. It controls my every Sub-Conscious.. Whatever you call it stuff. It’s just enjoying the rest I am giving it and never wants to get back to work even after I tell it “It’s not a Sunday Stupid!”.
Should I Continue Writ
P.s- The last sentence means that I have slept in the midst of this typing process.
Did you smile now (I mean an Angry Smile, at least?) If so kindly comment because, I could consider that my MISSION was just ACCOMPLISHED. The Rest of this post would be posted later Of course You’d have known what will be in it.
Hola! – ©just barath