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

Pills

Green ones for my head, 

Blue before I go to bed, 

The white one helps me see,

Yellow, keeps me buzzin like a bee. 

The black one, like my soul 

Has a stench so foul. 

All these pills inside,

They’ve got me bleary eyed. 

How much can they really do? 

But make you a little less you. 

© 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 

THE ILLUSION OF ‘BEING LUCKY’

This is the most relatable thing I’ve read in a while. Please visit their blog! 🙂 He has some interesting things to say.

The Motivational Blog

I have heard lot of people telling me
‘He is so lucky to get that job’ or ‘How lucky he is to live a happy life’ or ‘Wow, he is really lucky and that will lead him to success’. Honestly I don’t give a thing about it and don’t believe in this myth at all. It’s just rubbish.

How can you underestimate a person so much and believe that he is lucky ? That’s the most absurd thing at all. We have never been in his shoes and haven’t walked his life. Then how can we claim that he was lucky ?

The thing is this – there is no such thing as luck, believe me. It’s just a cooked up myth to protect ourselves from falling into the pit of guilt for not being to be an opportunist. Yes, that is what it is, opportunity. That is what makes…

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The Dream

Every night, we meet in a recurring dream.

Making new promises, to redeem.

Your eyes locked on mine,

Our fingers entwine;

Two hearts beat as one,

All the masks are undone. 

I couldn’t walk, but with you I fly. 

Amongst the stars setting fire to the sky. 

© 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