Love is a four letter word, so is pain

Letting go will ease the pain, they say

Only if leaving would have been easy

Value what you have, cherish today

Everything past is history, future fantasy


To my dear readers, I will be out for few weeks on a trip and may not have good internet connections.  So till we meet again, Happy Holidays and here is to wishing you all a very happy New Year 2018 in advance.

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Cursed forever to a life wronged

‘Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.’  – W.B. Yeats

Thou shalt bear the fruit of love
Thous shalt bear the fruit of passion
Thou shalt bear the fruit of lust
Thou shalt bear the fruit of the demon
Thou shalt bear the fruit of rape
Thou shalt bear the fruit of incest
Gave her the boon of motherhood
And the strength to bear the pain
Took away her freedom, freedom of choice
One that cursed her forever to a life wronged
Must be the One created by man


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Nine

 

 

I have not changed

I have not changed
I learned to live
With a long list
Of unachieved goals
Ghost of accepting
The inevitable
Things that I can’t change
Does not faze me now
Hiding behind a mask
Of my own making
Tolerating unseen pain
Is no longer acceptable
I am free of the shadows
Lurking behind the veil
Not defeated
My soul is free
Garbage of the past
Unburdened
Forward to future
I have not changed

Choice

Choice to have a slow death
Lingering pain slowly sucking away
My last breath
While you rejoice
At the beauty of your lying creation
Of giving  everybody a free choice
You made sure that giving me
A choice I neither asked nor wanted
You and your cronies
Living in an alternate universe
Will line your pockets with riches
While I count my days
Burdened by your fake choices

Let me go in peace

Grant me the wish
To go in peace
To go in one piece
Not fragmented by
The hatred of
The mercenaries
Neither do I wish
To grow old such
That all pains are mine
And the doctors rich
Let me be in peace
If these old organs
No benefit to the living
Through me in the ocean
In death may
I be useful
If not to humans
Atleast to someone
Who will enjoy my taste