My Words and I
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?blogId=121
In Conversation with My Self.
Pye2023-08-15T21:59:37ZFractured
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1836&blogId=121
<p>strange<br />how games <br />were played<br />numb<br />as i looked on<br />at my trust splayed open<br />at your feet<br />coloured blood-rust</p>
<p>strange<br />how screens<br />came up<br />wide<br />when i tried to see<br />through your lidded eyes<br />at your soul<br />peek-a-boo</p>
<p>strange<br />how talks<br />lost meaning<br />bland<br />even as i spoke<br />my voice echoing hollowly<br />around your head<br />walled out</p>
<p>strange<br />how lies<br />were told<br />fluid<br />but stuck in my throat<br />on the way down<br />to my heart<br />splintered dreams</p>
<p>strange<br />how fingers<br />probed flesh<br />feeling<br />for the fresh scabs<br />talons out<br />on smooth skin<br />rip, tear, gash</p>
<p>strange<br />how arms<br />shrunk back<br />detached<br />as i crumpled face-down<br />slipping unfeeling <br />to the ground<br />powdered ash</p>Poetry2005-05-28T00:11:08ZPyeAbyss
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1745&blogId=121
<p>Skirting around<br />the spaces between<br />Smoothly surround<br />the void unseen</p>
<p>Eggshells they are<br />emotions displayed<br />Pale yellow scar<br />where dues were paid</p>
<p>Evil intent<br />exactly we hit<br />Laying torment<br />making the split</p>
<p>Foes are we now<br />rivals tonite<br />Bitter words plough<br />garbed polite</p>
<p>What was it then<br />what is it here<br />What is it when<br />we polish the spear</p>
<p>Thirsting for gore<br />and wanting distress<br />We aim, we score<br />gleeful finesse</p>
<p>Skirting around<br />the spaces between<br />Burial mound<br />a macabre scene</p>Poetry2005-04-15T21:54:54ZPyeClose My Eyes & Die
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1570&blogId=121
<p>sure i'd live your dream<br />try hard to make it seem<br />like its what i want to do<br />but its kind of hard to fake<br />isn't it give and take<br />that's what they say is true</p>
<p>i want so hard to be<br />to make myself agree<br />to walk the path you chose<br />sometimes i wish i could<br />kill my thoughts for good<br />but then my pace, it slows</p>
<p>a tiny voice betrays<br />you live your life, it says<br />how many will you please?<br />they want a lot from you<br />they'll make you do it too<br />and bring you to your knees</p>
<p>sometimes it's hard to live<br />for others, hard to give<br />your all, and they want more<br />wonder if its right<br />give up without a fight<br />how much can one endure?</p>
<p>i want to be alone<br />with a heart made of stone<br />and if i listened to my head<br />then i'd do it all<br />from behind the mortar wall<br />around the heart that's dead</p>Poetry2005-03-01T02:24:20ZPyeLetting go
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1493&blogId=121
<p>It feels strange to talk to a half. When you've seen two people together for about six years, you get used to it. And then when I ask him how she is now, he says "We are no longer together." For six years I saw them, parts of them, all of them, promises, waits, fights, making up, sighs, smiles, tears - all that a relationship is. And now he says they are not together. I probe gently, not sure whether it will be welcome. It's been a while since I've talked to him. But the flat statement does not seem like it's over. It cannot be. The end of the love I was witness to cannot be so clinical - summed up in five words.</p>
<p>It's strange to talk to him. "It's only memories now," he says. And, "I'll be a guest in her wedding. I'm scared." Yes, scared is right. I am too, for him. I wonder what it is for. Is pride more important than happiness? He says it isn't, but then it is 'the right thing to do' - leaving her. Is it?</p>
<p>Ten years, washed away. Gone. But a lingering scent remains. Like old clothes taken out from an old trunk... some presence, an indication that something was here, where there's just this black nothingness now. It's apparent in his words when I talk to him.</p>
<p>Our conversation is full of trite phrases: 'It will be ok with time', 'Yes, it get's better after a while', 'If you're unhappy, maybe you should rethink', 'No, why stir it up. It's not going to happen...' It's sad that something so full of life and real should be reduced to this.</p>
<p>7 nov 04. 15:30</p>
<p><em>-for rv</em></p>
<p>
<hr />
</p><p></p>
<p>Times change<br />and so do we<br />From lovers<br />to friends<br />to awkward strangers<br />...now<br /><br />but i worry...<br />what will become of you?<br /><br />if not i<br />then someone who<br />earns twice as much<br />looks better<br />a different caste<br />or your father likes him<br />maybe...<br /><br />but someone who<br />loves as i did<br />makes you laugh<br />looks into your eyes<br />and sees your dreams<br />hopes, nightmares<br /><br />holds you close<br />wipes your tears<br />lends you hope<br />for days when no one<br />seems to be yours<br />listens, comforts<br />wraps around you<br />a soft eiderdown<br />blanket of love<br /><br />watches you soar<br />achieve the heights<br />you're destined to,<br />and smiles<br />seeing your success<br />as his own<br /><br />understands, at times<br />you have to be alone<br />knows that you need<br />love affirmations<br />and random hugs<br /><br />feels your smile<br />against his neck<br />your warm breath<br />when you whisper<br />I love you...<br /><br />...maybe not.</p>
<p>14 feb 05.</p>Poetry2005-02-14T20:42:43ZPyeArtifice
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1284&blogId=121
<p>how much do you know?<br />a layer or two<br />a half-baked assumption<br />without any clue<br />my image in your mind<br />spurious, untrue</p>
<p>why do you talk?<br />with words you don't mean<br />a lifelong pretense<br />from behind a screen<br />faceless masquerade<br />robotic machine</p>
<p>what do you care?<br />for the hurt you inflict<br />deep, hurtful words<br />the choicest, hand-picked<br />lay open the wounds<br />so carefully licked</p>
<p>when would you stop?<br />this amusing game<br />end the deceit<br />the shifting of blame<br />let me mourn fully<br />the girl i became</p>Poetry2004-12-24T10:09:59ZPyeeuphoria
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1223&blogId=121
<p>A handful of stars<br />tied with a rainbow<br />Dropped into my lap one day<br />I forgot the scars<br />my world aglow<br />With a piece of a sun's ray.</p>
<p>-22.08.04.</p>
<p>Felt like cheering myself up a little.</p>Poetry2004-12-11T00:44:20ZPyeEchoes in the Darkness
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=1093&blogId=121
<p>the off-white blankness beckons again<br />inviting the smoothened flow of pen<br />neat, lined, single-ruled sheets<br />waiting to absorb vacuous troubled state</p>
<p>frantic words,<br />poured out,<br />trip over themselves<br />scratch against the paper<br />in their haste to escape<br />from suffocating, constricting mind-brain</p>
<p>but it's been done<br />too many times<br />i guess i am immune to the cure<br />the unburdening on paper fails to soothe</p>
<p>the serenity i crave<br />remains imprisoned somewhere<br />behind the rib-cage<br />screaming fultilely, echoing the darkness.</p>
<p>-- written just now. <br />While I was writing this, I had the image of my mind being a closed place with pitch-black darkness, and my thoughts shimmering like ghosts in there... surrounding me, mocking me.</p>
<p>-- I read it over objectively and realised how totally depressing it is. But I cannot stop the craziness. It's like the fascinating absorption I had for staring at Veerappan's morbid bullet-hole-in-the-head photo on the front pages. Sometimes the mind is a sick place.</p>Poetry2004-11-02T06:35:16ZPyeHeaven froze over
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=950&blogId=121
<p>As I stood before the gates of heaven, I forgot all my doubts, all my misgivings. I shut off all those voices telling me I wasn't the chosen one. Looking upon those golden gates, the wonderful heaven within, I just couldn't wait to get in and sample my own private paradise. Once those gates were laid open, I wandered in, struck by the enchanting beauty, the unsurpassed exquisiteness of all that was offered. Time ceased to exist; my mind could hardly deal with the wondrous feelings flooding me. Nothing, I thought, could describe the sheer happiness that flooded me for those minutes, days, weeks?</p>
<p>More than the surroundings, the peace which filled every core of my being - the elevating feeling of tranquillity, satisfaction and completeness - that was overwhelming. I was so engrossed by the lovely serenity that I failed to notice the subtle changes. The cold winds of change that blew in from nowhere. A sharp chill suddenly invaded my paradise. I explained it away, like a few moments passing by. Little did I know that the coldness had come to stay, to mar my happiness and steal my comfort.</p>
<p>The change was gradual but increasing each day. The lush trees were stripped off their covers; the blooms wrinkled and fell to the ground. The birds stopped singing and the little animals disappeared. My friends, my mates in heaven abandoned me one by one --- and still I thought that it would pass.</p>
<p>I lived in this naive dream for a while before I came to a small bud. It strengthened my hope, supported my dream. I started at it, the light yellow base blending into pure white at the top. The lonely bud, struggling against a dying heaven. I stuck to it. I knew that until this bud survived, there was still hope. I shielded it from the harsh winds, nurtured it with the warmth of my body and the love from my heart... for an eternity.</p>
<p>But the end, when it came, was unexpected. Focussed solely on shielding the tiny symbol of hope I'd found, I had neglected the life-giver... the small sapling on which the bud was. One day, it withered and dried, signifying a sure death of my small, beautiful bud. Seeing the imminent destruction, yet unable to accept it; I sat with my hands cupped around the soft, fragile thing. For long hours, hope stagnant... and then when I finally opened my closed hands, I saw the death.</p>
<p>The end of everything, the final blow to my flimsy hope. My dreams shattered before my eyes and I could have wept.</p>
<p>How I wish I could have wept...</p>Poetry2004-09-23T22:26:33ZPyeJust once
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=783&blogId=121
<p>To live just once<br />Inside my head<br />Where darkness implodes<br />on itself... </p>
<p>Where I look closely<br />at myself<br />Hating the total<br />worthlessness</p>
<p>To see just once<br />Through your eyes<br />Where beauty reigns<br />absolute...</p>
<p>Where I fall in love<br />once again<br />With all that is<br />purely me.</p>
<p>Different points of view. Each person comes into a relationship with his own baggage, his own beliefs, values, confused thoughts and a unique combination of circumstances which make him what he is at any given point of time. To see another's point of view exactly as he sees it himself... is that truly possible? Sometimes it just is... and then you have to decide whether you like the view. Thinking... maybe you really are wrong and he is right. The maybes are tough. The thinking is draining. </p>
<p><font size=1>What <em>happened</em> last night?</font></p>
<p>Half-baked thoughts, these.</p>Poetry2004-08-17T09:55:27ZPyeOf You
http://blogs.fullhyderabad.com/showblog.php?op=ViewArticle&articleId=723&blogId=121
<p>Sifting<br />through what I have of you<br />Precious little, I realise</p>
<p>Two brittle roses<br />Red<br />long dead<br />Pressed into forgotten books.</p>
<p>My name in blue<br />On snowy white<br />inside a star<br />Surrounded by you.</p>
<p>A yellow scrap<br />of soothing feelings<br />naughty thoughts<br />and yearning wants.</p>
<p>And lastly --<br />Those memories<br />Pasted painstaking in the scrapbook<br />in a part of my mind<br />Constant. Comforting. Hurting.<br />Our memories.</p>
<p>Sometimes what we have of someone is so little, compared to what that person was, has been, will always be in our lives. I guess material things do not matter. This was meant as a dedication when I thought our relationship had come to an end. Now I wonder if it will ever end. Never seeing each other again, no contact... is that an end?</p>Poetry2004-08-07T14:02:05ZPye