#pennedbyvaishdas

[pennedbyvaishdas]

Lethal path in the forest of fireflies carrying beguile light,

Steering the careless steps into the future

and the turmoils up ahead waiting for my arrival.

Blindly following the bulged light in the back of a fly,

Seemingly striving to earn attention, noisy,

Hitting the glass windows, leading me through the trees,

Leaving behind the scent of burnt and tore down silence.

The ground burns at my lousy strides,

Giving birth to a doubt about my survival, and

Bringing wreckage to the land of lives.

The flaming fire bulge flying in front carries the ruins of me.

The foot stings itches and bears the weight of the havoc.

Masked soul of serenity begs me to carry him as a bead.

Adorned in the white beads of eutony, the peace holds,

I drop the scythe, I had in the left hand gashing my own flesh,

Singling out the soul out of the torso, slowly.

The dark sky elicited a new dawn, paling out the fireflies,

We arrive at the doorstep of an old house,

Painted in glitters of white dust mirroring the beads hanging around my wrists.

Welcomes, the new birth of my soul, calm and nonchalant,

Unmasking the spirit, spitting out the image of me.

The fire lounges in the black chasm of my heart,

and the fly, it disappears into the thin air with the destruction behind me.

-@pennedbyvaishdas , Psychomachy

[pennedbyvaishdas]

I keep on checking my mobile,

Looking for your virtual presence in my life.

The movie behind my eyes

shows you walking towards me.

Even if the sky swallows the light,

it never fails to leave behind for me,

Your memories, treasured in the deeper pits,

dug under the crimson flesh,

at the tips of the ticks,

between the dancing hands of the clock.

-vaishdas

[pennedbyvaishdas]

I see my reflection,

In the broken hair strands,

Splitting half my soul;

In the eyes of people,

the pupil growing wide on me;

In the edges of my neatly cut fingernails,

gradually tearing more of my cells;

In a fed-up sigh,

ailing inside;

In the imprints of handwriting,

carefully carving down my perceptions;

In yellow, orange and red,

Sometimes in black and blue

Too rare to find in pink;

In the breaking voice between every word

that I have ever spoken;

In the forced smile

and unwilling consents;

In a wild-grown tree

Dressed in spider web,

Turning yellow and then brown;

In a brazen procrastinator

proudly returning to the void;

In cold stares and 

irking bad moods;

In the winged fairy warriors

holding dagger in their hands;

In the museless days

finding the meaning of life,

Covering my face with thoughts,

And I ask you,

'How do I look to your eyes?'

-vaishdas