Sparkling Darkness

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“Are you afraid of the dark?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

“It’s all blank.”

“But does a blank page scare you then?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s white”

“And black scares you?”

“It’s not seeing anything that scares me the most.”

“But you can’t see anything on a perfectly white paper too”

“It’s different.”

“Tell me how.”

“White can take in colours, black, takes up the white. It’s consuming, it hides beauty. Like an eclipse.
White resembles peace whereas black resembles death.”

“But black is your favourite colour.”

“Because I couldn’t have possibly known how beautiful the sunlight can be. How, it’s so breath taking to finally see a full moon in all it’s glory. All the stars we so rarely ever see, would be of no use if there was no darkness.”

“But nights are not the only phenomenon one associates darkness with.”

“I associate secrets, love and demons with darkness. I am only tormented by my demons at night or when I am in a dark room or when I was drowned in the pool or when I was molested by my first boyfriend.

My deepest secrets only come out on my skin as cuts when it’s dark. I can’t see how deep they are how they are covered with blood patches at every inch’s gap.

Love is what I think of and wail at night, when I am in my hostel and the lights go out due to some electric failure. I wail at the thoughts of my incapability of reserving some love for me and showering it on the wrong people all along.”

“It’s nice that you can so expressively give words to your demons.”

“Nothing’s nice about this. I’ve mentally taken a note of possibly opening up to the wrong person again.”

“But, only this time, it’s not the wrong person.”

“That’s something I’ve heard on loop over the years.”

“But you are just sixteen.”

“The darkness of living doesn’t ask your age before engulfing you, it just does.”

 

 

 

It’s Us

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Who did this? I ask myself

Why is it that the beach is so lifeless?

Why is the water so still

So eerie, so stagnant

Why does it resemble the stillness on the sand

Is our stillness, our “not caring” calling out to us?

 

My eyes, now scornful

And disgusted

Want to look away, but

Will looking away help

It won’t stop the battles we so ruthlessly fight

Amongst us, the hollowness ensuing.

 

I walk down further, towards the shore

Towards the horizon.

In hope to meet Salvation.

In hope to never touch the lands again.

 

The Road by the White Flowers

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Dear people,

When you walk over me, please glance at my friend right at the window sill.

She’s very pretty and calm. And blossoming and fragrant.

She just looks over at me and smiles through the day when I am trodden on.

Sometimes, I think she laughs at me.

But mostly, I know, she just smiles at me and knows what it’s like to be trodden, or hurt.

When one of her petal is plucked away, I am hurt too.

But I can’t sway towards her to tell her I am here.

But she knows.

 

Hello everyone,

I know I am pretty and tiny and you like sway your fingers through my hair

But if you appreciate beauty so much, do look at the road you just walked up from.

He’s my friend, the unlikeliest one at that.

But he never smiles, I don’t know why. Maybe he’s just broody. And moody too.

I wish I could meet him once and talk.

But I do know this for sure, when a finger is tangled in one of my petals, he gets worried.

But just can’t show it.

Don’t know why.

 

 

Silly, how she’ll never bloom on him.

Sad, he always will want.