We Used To Be Strangers,

Her Life

Her laughter echoed the pain of her cries, The ice melted, she burned and tried. Happy face with empty eyes, Her smile depicted the pain confined. Her words reflected her past mistakes, She vowed to change her dying life. Bleeding by the cuts of their knife, She refused to be called futile. She decorated her old grave, With the ribbons of the broken ties. Rising from the ground once again, Her silence roared the goddess's might.

~ark

And once again, I endured the pain, I never caused.

~ark

Done being the PUNCHING BAG.

Some scars needn't be visible, they ache in memory.

The Dictum

I chose to stay silent,

I chose to avoid violence.

I chose to be alone,

I chose to remain unknown.

I chose to accept them,

The people who hid behind the mask of a friend.

I let myself suffer,

Welcoming the troubles

I cried considering my unfaithful life,

A dictum.

But in all of this,

How was I the victim?

~ark

There were two reasons I was scared to let people in; the damage they could do, and the damage they could find.

Chris Mc Geown

My Universe

During the explanation of the words written, Some slept, some listened. Some laughed, some dwelled in the imaginary. Being unaware of the worldly affairs, I was stuck in the interplanetary. As I blended in my thoughts, The colours of consciousness stood out. Even after I diluted myself in the tears on ink, I was caught by the paper, a culprit of thinking. The words written, the words spoken, Faded away as I tried to fathom them, The language felt alien to me, Maybe, it lacked the meaning I tried to find in myself. Hanging between the two worlds, I wanted to untangle the string that suffocated me, But what’s the point now? As I already found my own universe in between.

~ark

Either praise or curse,

I just wished for some words.

From your throat to my ears,

Something to know that you see my efforts.

The Frame

In the frame, lies the memories, The memories of my life, Still unsure, whether the frame, Would be hidden in the dust of shame, Or decorated in the honor of the same. It would definitely remind me of my life, Left behind, the one that gave me a new life. Still unsure, whether the frame broken, Would be repaired or thrown, It'll remind me of their last words, Their nature or true colors shown, Their happiness or fake smiles, I'll remember the old days, While standing in the old aisles. I'll still long on the memories, The frame will behold. With my eyes through which tears, Of relief or regret would flow.

~ark

This.

The Ashes of Herself

The relics of her feelings, The ashes of her burnt soul, Were locked in an old chest, Buried deep in her heart enclosed. The burden of those burials gradually, Outweighed her. She wanted to get rid of it, As the weight had been consuming her.

That day, The chest opened itself, And dissolved the ashes in the rivers of tears, After years, she felt relieved and alive. She could finally breathe with a pleasant sigh.

There kept a pen on the table, Staring back at her. It was time to write her life again. The droplets of tears fell like rain, Wetting the paper on which, She had to sculpt her life ahead.

She instead wrote everything about her past self, Burnt it, and dissolved the ashes of herself, In a peaceful river. She then wrote again, Looking at herself in the unbreakable mirror, Unknown to what would happen ahead, But known to what would never happen again.

~ark