A Poet’s Tale

A poet’s soul, 

Is neither kind nor forgiving. 

We have been hardened by life,

And moulded by its strife.

These are things we are not born with, but acquire:

Eyes that reek of judgement,

Tongue bitter from the taste of truth,

And an imagination that defies gravity. 

These are things we do not dread, but desire:

Nights devoid of sleep,

Passion that burns a hole through your heart,

And a mind that obeys no one.

© Abirami

Triggered

It’s not about what you say, 

Or the things you do

Every second you breathe 

I am triggered by you. 

It’s either loving or hating 

There’s no in between 

I can’t live with you, or without you 

How can you be so nice, yet mean?

You’ve got my heart jumping ropes

You toy with my hopes

Then you sweep me off my feet 

Making this circle repeat. 

© Abirami 

War

Heroes speak of battle scars,

Knives and bullets that seared their skin,

The blood they spilled,

And the lives they lost. 

Little do they know about 

The wounds that words can cause.

They don’t know of all the haters 

The cowards behind masks,

And the sordid whispers they wield.

Lately, the battlegrounds have shifted

And wars are camouflaged in civilisation. 

© Abirami

Writing

Not knowing what to say,

Not knowing what to write. 

It has never been the issue.

Having too much to pour out,

That endless train of musing, 

It goes on a journey 

From too much truth to heartache. 

Putting pen to paper is like,

A vacuum to the heart. 

In the end there’s a dirty bag of poetry, 

And a soul drained of all emotions. 

© Abirami 

Complete 

Have you ever felt so complete? 

A heart so full that it could explode,  

Into little pieces of nerve wrecking joy.  

Sometimes it’s a good thing

To feel the weight of the world on your shoulders,

If it is your little girl asking for rides on your back. 

Sadness can be a happy emotion

When it is felt for the loss of a loved one

You are lucky to have loved and lost.

Shot up nerves is the rawest of passion

When you’re on that first date,

And you can’t get over his smile.

© Abirami
 

Inside Out

I write away my sorrow

It is the only way I know.

Spilling ink thicker than blood.

Leaving behind words in place of scars. 

They said, Be the change and the world will follow.

I pretend to be reborn.

I tell myself that I am the change.

And the world did follow,

On Instagram to mock at my expense.

Some people see a few familiar faces and call it home.

What if I need to look at hearts and not faces?

When I look through those chunks of rock

Will I still be able to tell them apart?

This mind of mine colourfully black and white,

Scatters them into piles of two

They all judge me for my depth

Some look at my pockets and some my poetry. 

© Abirami