Duskha

Duskha, are you still awake?
Come closer, dear. It's cold
And our blankets are thin.

Let me hold you; come closer...
Let us soak in the warmth of our bodies.
Yes, it's cold but we'll make it through.

Duskha, are you listening? Are you still mad?
I can't make out your face in the dark.
Don't you want me to hold you closer still,
So close that only I may hear your soft breathing?

And as I lie in my cold grave,
I can only think how fortunate I am
To steal this moment.
In the brief instant,
When our bodies are entwined,
We find peace, solace and acceptance,
However fleeting that may be...

In the midst of the cacophony that
Permeates this indifferent universe,
We catch a glimpse of the meaning...
But the meaning of what exactly?
Just think how lucky we are, Duskha!
Most people go about their empty lives,
Unaware that what we have even exists!

But this is a all lie, isn't it?
You aren't even here, Duskha!
You are far away, somewhere much warmer...
Perhaps, trapped in someone else's embrace.
The cold conspires with dead memories,
And give rise to this phantom sensation.
The warmth of your body disappears
As my mind stirs into momentary wakefulness.
It's almost 3:00 AM; I turn over
And try to go back to sleep,
The four uncaring walls being
My only witness...

~ Noir, November, 2015.

I am not here.

I'm veering into an abyss.
Gazing down, I find comfort
In its never-ending silent darkness.
Walking along the ledge, I think.
I contemplate on what is and what could be.
My steps falter.
The Future lies somewhere covered in a shroud,
And I can feel numerous cold eyes
Locked on me, observing. Judging.
I stand exposed. I look down the edge.
Comforting darkness. Sweet Silence.
I can feel them gaining on me.
Suddenly, my head feels light, the lights flicker.
Giddy, I trip.

~Noir

Kindergarten

These kids, sentenced to grow up,
Start living out the rest of their lives
Plodding and playing with alphabets and blocks,
Singing rhymes and drawing stick figures with crayons,
Not knowing that this hollow world treats
Every spark of imagination as a mark of rebellion
That needs to be squashed and ironed out.
Doomed by those very people who bought them here,
Their promise of guidance leads their minds to the gallows.
Braised with hypocrisy, their creativity is stifled,
Chopped off in bits and served on a silver plate
To placate the devils that now live in their empty heads.
Praises of their mediocrity guide their complacent hearts.
Although tormented, they do not show any signs of discomfort,
Ritalin solves everything.
It isn't curiosity, silly! It's obviously ADHD.


~Noir

Rigor Mortis

In the void of an angst ridden mind,
Waves of disconsolate sentiments surge-
They only amplifie with time,
Forcing unkempt sorrows to unbind.
The eyes remain unfazed
And the migraine rages on.
Questions once answered
Now disintegrate and fume.
Somnolent eyes are stretched wide open;
And the rancid hues of untamed envy
Fuels the hatred of the fallen!
Deprived of glory, the wounded pride
Conspires with time.
~Noir
(June, 2012)