#poetryclub13
Found amazing Spoken Word content on Spotify that I decided to make a playlist for it. Give it some love and appreciation.
What is worse than not being loved? Knowing that no one loves you.
I’ve never found sunsets to associate with hope, if anything they are the most depressing of the things.
The best love stories are the ones which lasts enough for you to love and find yourself and ironically they are also the worst.
The night I realised I needed therapy
It was 2 in the night, and I was watching
a reaction video on my phone. It was 2
in the night, so I let my mind go and let
it roam freely wherever it wanted to. It
had been on the leash the entire morning.
It was 2 in the night and I didn’t anticipate
what might happen.
I remember distinctly that I was breathing
fine. I was breathing fine, a moment and
the other I was racing along with my
thoughts. It wasn’t too late, and my body
started racing around my room too. It was
2 in the night, so I decided to not wake
people up. People, what people? I’m alone.
Sometimes I wish to sleep this feeling away,
but if I sleep now, I’ll be caged in my mind
where my sleep demon awaits my arrival,
and I am not ready for that rendezvous.
Hence, I’m awake. Trying to breathe, trying
to sleep, failing at both.
I clearly remember, meeting him, them,
when I briefly closed my eyes. It happens,
not a lot but in the night, when it’s 2, that’s
the only thing that my brain does. When I see
them, I don’t see colors, I don’t hear their
voice, I see them and I see myself through
them.
When I look at myself, through them, I see a
sack of blood and flesh, lying on the bed,
Immobile and frozen. I see a pathetic body
not even trying to fight it, using the 21
seconds rule as an escape to not move. It’s
almost as if she wants to stay in this state
forever.
When I see myself looking at me, I feel
frantic. I hate myself at that moment, but I
can’t, I just can’t move. I know if I stood up
right now, I’ll fight it. I’ll fight with everything,
I’ll run away, and I’ll be gone and if I lay there
all night, without moving, my judgement
would stare me down and leave me in my
misery.
They are getting closer with each thought
that chokes me. I want to break the barrier
and just hide in the bathroom. Why am I
resisting this? They are here, reaching out
to me and there’s nothing more for me to do
than join them and live in this vulnerability.
ज़िन्दगी का फलसफा भी कितना अजीब है शामें कटती नहीं और साल गुज़रते चले जा रहे है.
-पीयूष मिश्रा
Translation -
How strange is the philosophy of life, the evenings do not end and the years are passing by.
- Piyush Mishra
25. Anxiety
One moment you are sitting still,
the other you’re not. The worst
moment for anxiety to hit is
probably when you least expect
it. Can you expect it though? It
waits for you to be weak, or to
be your happiest self. It strikes
when you feel nothing and then
your whole world comes collapsing.
Anxiety, holds you hostage in your
own body. Sucks your soul and
keeps it that way, lifeless and
unattended. It’s the feeling of heat
in an air-conditioned room, the dip
in your heart while taking a dump,
the paralyses induced when you
hear about that one trigger that you
just discovered is triggering.
ANXIETY, the word is enough to
render you inactive, perplexed,
agitated, sad, and all the other
emotions you can’t name. This
blank document writing itself
and bringing within it the anxious
scrolling while the heart still dips
and beats in tones not understood
by me.
24. A paranoid hate poem
The walls piercing through their plaster,
as if watching me, mocking me, there
are four. I’m locked in a room and my
demons are feeding on my mind. The
bed shakes sometimes, and sometimes
it refuses to move, it holds me close
and screams that it’ll never let me go.
I’m locked in a room and my demons are
feeding on my mind. My bookshelf sits
there, waiting for me to run my fingers
through it like I used to, but I don’t have
that childlike enthusiasm left in me like
I had in November. I’m locked in a room
with my demons who never let me sleep.
I’m locked in this room with my demons,
and they are feeding on my soul. I’m
locked in this godforsaken room, seeking
an out and these demons are sucking the
life out of me. I’m locked in this room
awaiting my sweet release.
I know it’s a difficult time and a difficult world that we are living in. I hope you haven’t lost your hope. I won’t say that it will get better because I don’t know if it will but I’m certain that we can live this through, one day at a time. I hope you all the power and strength.
Love and prayers your way.
23. PSA
Breathe in……..
..2
..1
……..Breathe out
..4
..3
..2
..1
Repeat
22. To whomsoever it may concern
Can you breathe?
The air passing you by, the
moments too. The undesired
quest of knowing and not
knowing. The inability to rest.
Can you smell?
The bodies, rotten and dunked
in blood, with no one to pay
heed to. Then waiting in despair
with no one in the waiting.
Can you taste?
The salt in their eyes, the misery
imposed by the system. The
horrible, sour, bland flavor of
a failed regime.
Can you hear?
The screams, the wailing, the
howls, their cries. They are still
waiting and screaming. Can
you hear them?
21. Notes from the journal
For those who alone did trot,
waiting for a miracle to come,
they often are not looking too,
for a sign to pass them by. Done
with the world, evading their
shadows, holding it by the helves.
For they don’t need anyone to survive,
they are whole in themselves.
20. Incredulous
They tell me not to read mythology and
believe aimlessly what is forever told.
Of the formation of this universe, the
chaos that metamorphed into the sun,
the stars, the planets, you and me. The
violent rage and act of defiance by
Amnon and his death acting as a deterra
-nce, probably the first where the crime
did someone free. Did you know of all the
Greek tragedy, my favorite is the one told
bySophocles? It talks of love, honor, the
duty, oppression and tyranny as it unfolds.
They tell me not to read mythology and
believe aimlessly what is forever told.
I recall now that I once read, of woman so
strong, warriors she fed. Madhavi was her
name and she bore it with pride, she was
used as a fortune by them. Alas, it was
written by men. Forever, I did try to find the
genesis of his highness Macbeth or of
Sisyphus, who twice cheated death. If you
close your eyes, you can hear poor Orpheus’
lore.
They tell me not to read mythology and
believe aimlessly what is forever told.
When they ask me to believe, I do often
gather, the four horsemen making their way
to end the world, but I’d take hurricanes and
tsunamis rather. Fearless as they are, it’s the
women who call me from the narrative they
are written in, always longing to be at par.
The mightiness of the men, their heroism is
at what the story is often sold.
They tell me not to read mythology and
believe aimlessly what is forever told.
19. Questions unanswered
In the quest of knowing and not
knowing, the remembering is
what baffles me profusely.
For I shall never know
what it holds for me
and what it holds
against
my solemn
self.
18. Yugen
Can you hear the music
echoing in the streets?
There are voices too doleful
to take no notice of.
Can you hear them scream
and crying in the streets?
The voices now deafening
destroying the credence.
Can you feel their voices
calling out for help?
The agony, the distress
still calling, but now it’s too late.
17. We exist
I don’t know which type I am. The A
type which is always ready to for an
adventure, would want to talk on the
phone and not really on the message
Or the B type, the one who really lie low,
loves to be left alone with their
thoughts, just need a book and coffee.
I don’t know which type I am. I am the
one who wants to be there, always,
with my friends, having fun and seeking
adventure but not always, I carry my
favorite book to my favorite places
alone and in that quest, I start feeling
lonely, the kind of lonely that comes
when you’re surrounded by people. I
don’t know which type I am, I think
these types were created by us to make
the people conform to the set principles
and to understand ourselves the way
we perceive everyone else, ordinary and
vanilla. So, I don’t know which type I am.
I am the type who gets a bout of spunk
only sometimes. The kind of courage that
forces me to download a dating app but
doesn’t help in actually going out and
meeting people. The type that enables
my every act of sneering insolence and
makes me believe that I am a product
of these baseless by-laws, and I’m ought
to be like this and act like this. I don’t
know which type I am, but I know that
I am not what the world wants me to be.
We exist.
16. Welcome to my Ted talk
I’ve come to a halt. My body
doesn’t want to move, it is
breathing out air, inhaling and
exhaling but moving, no. It is
done, I am done, my brain, my
body, every nerve in my system is
done. I recently watched this
show called “Feel good” in hopes
to feel good myself, and it hit me
like an epiphany, how comedy
often masks the complexities
of nature, we call it mental health.
So, now that I’ve watched
something that was supposed to
be feel good, and I don’t feel good
after it, I think that the feelings that
are resonated by my mind, my body,
will go unnoticed. I don’t know how
to feel about it and whom to talk
about it. So, now, my body is in this
state of self loathing with an ounce
of anxiety because I wanted to watch
something that’d make me feel good,
but instead I watched something that
made me miserable.
Melatonin sets in
Like doves returning to nest
God sets them in motion
Circadian migration to circular paths
Not a musical but a solar dance
Blue orange black pink blue orange black
The moon and the sun choreograph
But why must we give the dark so many hours of ours?
Once I properly encounter Him I’ll ask
Why the rhythm of rest isn’t given the chance
To rest on an open eyed note through the night, once or twice
Without submitting eyes to substantial sacrifice
n.a.
under pressure
the sky had never seemed more distant and more welcoming
I tore my elbows open on the cracked ground
I laid my head by the metal-link fence and felt the cold brand my cheek
through the diamonds I watched them say goodbye
pressed against the ground I wanted
I wanted some helicopter to fling me down a line
and pull me off this earth
I was tired, goddamm tired, of being scared and bloody
come on! lower down! bring me up!
but I could never say the words or feel them but as molten weights
instead I curled up on the crushed weeds and waited for the blood to dry
to scratch off the flakes and walk
I walked to the end of the chainlink fence and could I go any further?
up above there was only darkness
and that had to hide whatever scream I have
music we small ones do not hear only the echoes, the thin wailing our ears too delicate sometimes we swim in infinite waters, reach out and hope for life above us
we, so small, the deep the blue the humpback so large, a shadow our smallness
crushed under the fathoms-weight smaller and smaller we miss the music we never hear, never hold not alive anymore
we would die before we hear