Inner Persona


Kanal geosi va tili: ko‘rsatilmagan, ko‘rsatilmagan
Toifa: ko‘rsatilmagan


❝I'm mute, metaphorically❞
Do not copy and share my poems without my permission.

Связанные каналы

Kanal geosi va tili
ko‘rsatilmagan, ko‘rsatilmagan
Toifa
ko‘rsatilmagan
Statistika
Postlar filtri


My Muses From Graveyard

My muses sit in the graveyard
with their ghostly love-tales
turned into betrayal.
Twisted & rotten lies
hanging 'round their neck,
their chipped lips frozen to death.

They hide and hide,
I hunt and hunt.
They scream and scream,
I write and write.

My pen is a knife,
their blood is the ink.
I plunge out their heart
pressed onto the white pages,
stories stolen from their mouths,
voices are unmuted,
secrets are unveiled; tossed
into a whirlpool of wordplay.
Then I cleansed my knife
and left the graveyard
.


#haunting
#musing


I wonder what sea felt
as she kissed the golden,
tanned skin of the shore
and then the waves pulled her back;
I wonder if her thirst for eternity
was ever satisfied in just one kiss;
And I wonder, if I could ever be
satisfied just by knowing
your cosmic-brown eyes.

#ephemeral_love
#eternal_love


The war has never been about
‘right or wrong’ ,
the war has been
and always will be
about—
“who'll win and who'll lose”.


For a larger part of my life,
I spoke no language
other than silence
.



by admin.


My bones now lie porous
my optimistic soul thinned
and all the golden rings of hope
are now just loosened loops
.

—The Attack of Night


Content warning: Panic Attack

WAILS IN PANIC

Spare me once
from this mortifying ache.
Sickly, venomous pain
unfurling in my chest,
hot flashes drenching my skin;
suffocated,
as if the solid air around me,
itself, is strangling my throat.
Pain thumping in my blood,
in my ear;
my stomach puking the guts out,
the little life inside me slipping away
from my trembling hands.

Breathe in,
breathe out.

Minutes shaping into hours
clock tuning me into oblivion,
the cold blanket of panic attack
lulling me into another dream.


“A dream that keeps me awake
in all the places that hurt, that bleed me to death.”


Finally, I wrote a poem with science as a prompt!
This is about the tragic life (almost humourous to me)of an American chemist.


Thomas Midgley Jr. was a chemist known for his disastrous inventions— leaded gasoline and freon (chlorofluorocarbons), both of which had devastating long-term effects on human health and the environment.

*Leaded gasoline contributed to widespread lead poisoning, while CFCs played a major role in depleting the ozone layer.
Ironically, many workers died due to lead poisoning but he was saved as he got his treatment secretly in Miami.
His work highlights the dangers of scientific advancement driven by profit without consideration of environmental or ethical consequences, earning him the grim distinction of "the man who almost killed the Earth twice" [source: Internet]

You can know about his life and career through this video


Midgley's Effects

The ozone layer is still depleted,
all thanks to his accidental fate;
lead is still infused in the joints
of our bones,
all thanks to his corrupt mind.

Was it his bad luck or the karma
he bestowed upon himself?
Died of strangulation
by his very own invention.

He was charged as guilty,
hell was emptied for him,
the moment he said—
‘nonetheless, lead isn't poisonous
enough to cause the deaths’.
Hypocrisy, ought to be his last name,
for he, who treated his body
against the toxin back in Miami.

Billions were earned,
but mere thousands were lost.
In the power plant of poison,
souls were bet
for the roaring engines.

At his hands, freon was birthed
and ozone was sullied;
once again,
his fatal invention
was served on every table
with the morning tea.

“A man who almost killed Earth
not once but twice.”


●⁠SHAPES●

When happiness settles in my chest,
I become more of a circle,
rolling slovenly on grass field,
hitting a tree standing in my way
and making a return trip
away from the tree's shade.

When gloominess
wraps itself around my skin,
I turn into an ellipse,
my thoughts stretching far
from the centre of my desires.
Struggling to return as whole,
as a circle again.

Then the self-doubt reigns
and I adapt into a triangle,
a Bermuda Triangle,
attracting every sailing ship
of optimism.
A tangled mystery of my worth.

And then the greed for perfection
unleashes inside me,
shaping me into a square,
symmetrical,
every joint aligned with care,
carrying myself at right position,
at right angles.

I'm less of a mercurial man
and more like pleasant shapes.



#emotions
#shapes




Worth reading!
Source: Internet


The Silenced Ink

What do I write?
What do I write, today?
Nothing?

My pen won't spill
more of my secrets,
the white pages are
no longer welcoming.

Neither on ephemeral beauty
nor on illusive peace
and not on the blood-wars for sure.

I won't contaminate
more words
with my guilt,
No more brigade of soldiers
dressed in metaphors
to rescue me from my fears.

Today, I'll write
just nothing.


Why I Walk Slow?

I walk slow
as if my feet have sunken
deep in the flat road,
my steps small
like the silent murmurs of the grasses
I trod on.

I walk slow—
for the moss to creep from the shade,
for the demure leaves to find their voice,
for the fleeting clouds to build home inside me.

The journey that seemed to betray me
with each step I took,
but I found the treasure
as I walked slow,
the lonely rocks taught me to be strong,
the stars lent me their hope,
the furtive breeze told me to let go
and that's why I walk slow,
for what I seek
and what I learn
is all along the path
and not at the end.


Blindfold me,
uncuff my tortured hands.
I'll see you through my memories,
of a blood-war
where only I bled.
Your footsteps reeks of guilt
luring me to be your disastrous fate.

I'll chase your grim laugh.
Wait,
wait till I unscrew your beauty,
and puncture your happiness.
I'll gently tear your soul
wearing it as my comfort cloak.

Do not beg for my mercy,
instead call out to heaven
confess your crimes,
the atrocities you've done to me
and I might refrain.

Soon, my lullabies will lead you
to the prison of dreams,
I'll comfort you
with my gentle kisses
Until you wake up, once again.

—You called it upon yourself.




Grasses that bend

Teach me how to be forgiving
even to people who trampled on me,
tell me how to survive the strong winds
without breaking apart,
and how do I—
keep growing,
when the sky
that should have sheltered me
continues to rain hailstones on me
freezing my will to live.

~How do I do all these things
that you do so effortlessly?




I'm not pensive, I swear.
I don't ask my heart
why do you keep beating
even after all the accusations
you face, for being insane.
My mind, in no way,
suffers from a cataclysmic typhoon
of dern, gloomy thoughts
and my soul remains unscathed,
untouched by the trivial waves of emotions,
hence, it never aches.
As I said before,
I'm blithe and nonchalant.

I live today
only after forgetting yesterday
and bury no traces of it
that smells like regret.
It's all in their minds…
what a strange world I live in
and must I add, I say no lies,
NEVER.


#Irony


I never sleep.
I travel beyond time and age
in the labyrinth of my subconsciousness
piled up with dreams I unalived
and fears that grew taller than me.
Many rooms,
each door leading to a past day,
flowing like a river,
I can neither wash my hand in it
nor throw a pebble into it.
Like the sand grains of time
it flows into another hour, another day.

I never close my eyes,
aware and alert
of the passage of time:
unapologetic and cold
that soon pools in my eyes
and name itself regret.

My hands wetted with past
trying to build a sand castle for future.


My muse took all the words with him
leaving me with the bitter silence
to fill the pages.


#him

20 ta oxirgi post ko‘rsatilgan.