And if you are to love. Jasleen Kalra

Jasleen kalra And if you are to love. And if you are to love, Love as the moon loves. It doesn't steal the night, It only unveils the beauty of the dark. And if you are to love, Love as the rain loves. It doesn't wet the bodies, It only washes the sad dirt of the souls. And it you are to love, Love as the wind loves. It doesn't drift away, It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore. And if you are to love, Love as the sun loves. It doesn't radiates heat, It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way. And if you are to love, Love as the star loves. It doesn't delightfully twinkles, It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts. And so forth, if you are to love Love as the whole universe & not just a part of it.

GOLDEN TEARS

GOLDEN TEARS

My golden tears flow, flow quickly
like flames in a drought-
spreading in gathering fury.
Sinking like rainbows in the sea.
My golden tears last a lifetime,
but bring no wealth to me.

I grabbed gold from the sun
one day and concealed
it in my brain. its 
light created ectasy and made 
me insane.

I took it out periodically
and admired it, lying supine
in my hand, the gold
would spin around both
shrink and expand,

but the gold although it glistened brightly
brought no love to me,
dripping like shimmering lava
circling and encircling
it hardened before my sight
growing harder as it cooled
it only revealed the night.

I loved it like sculpture, like beautiful paintings
on my wall,
I touched it as it shone,
as it took me for a fool. 
I wiped my eyes with its fury
my eyes resembled tears,
golden tears that flow so quickly
down, down the empty years.

PRETTY BOY

PRETTY BOY

I crept into my soul in the profoundest night:
where spectral owls honked and hooted in fickle fright
and tongues rasped out sihouettes-
deepening shadows crawled from dirty mouths,
and love slunk around tattered skirts
in imitation of fungi growths:
paper covered me from head to shin
when I let the shadows thin fingers in!
words assembled like building blocks
men in high-heels/boys in frocks.   
                         In the morning, the sun
scoured my skin. I leant on the devil, standing alone,
                          he flipped me a coin
like he'd just tossed me a biscuit and a blood-red bone,
               as I whimpered into the mirror's torn
shimmering shafts of innocence, where beauty assaulted the black-eyed crone
for salutory afternoon tea,
the pretty boy charging the ugly boy an extortionate fee. 

and the devil sang in the metronomic gloom
of departed joys.
I returned to my room, 
playing with the boys-
coming intensely as the ice displayed
the solitary if fashionable route to Hades.

medicine

idk medications I stopped writing. Not because I fell out of love with it... My emotions just seemed to disappear. I started a new medication. The doctor said it would help my panic disorder, and it did. I took that pill, like my mother talks to God (every morning). When I went back to the doctor she said we had to up the dosage because apparently having 2 panic attacks a week still isn't okay. I told her that when I woke up this morning I got out of bed without crying, but she didn't consider that as much of a victory as I did. When I was put on a higher dosage, my emotions shut down. After a few weeks I stopped crying, my OCD got better, my panic attacks were gone, and I could even go into the student union of my college campus without my heart trying to win a race against my thoughts. I could breathe. But, I also stopped having fun. I felt like a stranger in my own body. My emotions found the exit on the plane and jumped, never to be found again. Since when did being able to breathe require me to feel like this?

screaming sheep

The day is done, the flowers have folded, the light faded
the screaming sheep are jumping across the corpse
the trees are lurching........................................................

the creeper pees into the stream, his leer
harder than stone, his fingers
touching captive flesh.....................................................


capriciously he crawls into the sea
dragging his poisoned soul like a shattered vase
his mind locked into darkness........................................


his captive looks into his blood-boiled eyes
and smiles, his reflected reddened
sockets his own...............................................................

OLD MAN

The old man looked up
into the rain-swollen, cloud-broken, time-tossed
sky. 
Sitting down again on the park bench
smoothed by a million previous 
lonely, plump backsides-smoking a joint,
thinking of a riotous past he stared
at his memories-

a jocund boy, a quiet teenager privately lusting,
years like trailing smoke-
a husband, family man his worries growing into 
deep-set wrinkles fashioned on nothing-
the sun leaning on him, the moon smiling cynically,
as he dwindled into dust.

Who did he make love to? Why did he? Why did
he bother? the thick bloated flames of fickle loins
and trophies for his mind. 
Nothing in the shaded recess, nothing looms,
in his pirate's, crow's, magpie's soul-
an old man in his final hour
beating around for husks.

Burnt Fingers

written by: Hannah England

@workinglife2016

My fingers are burnt. I saw their tips blaze white, then watched in fascination as the red halos began to circle the tissue that had been healthy until minutes ago. The smell was confusingly unmistakable; when had I ever smelled human flesh burning before?

The warning signs had been there, mine to ignore. I had climbed onto that rollercoaster and pulled the faulty restraint down over me, knowing that it could never protect me from the impact. I could see that I was heading for disaster, yet I did not want to get off before the ride began.

My mother had told me he was no good; too old, too rough, too free, for me. But I thought I knew what I was doing. He loved me and that was all the proof I needed to know that we were right for each other. He lived alone in a grotty bedsit, and here I fed off his freedom and bathed in the lack of rules. I borrowed his wings and flew beyond the barriers of my horizon. I befriended his friends who were fascinating and terrifying at the same time; watched as they drank, smoked and found release in each other. I saw the emptiness in the girls’ eyes, and the darkness in the men’s. I felt safe for a while and then saw the edges of the cliff begin to crumble beneath my feet. If I faltered just slightly I knew that I would fall a hundred feet to the foaming waves below. I pictured my matted hair and bloodied body crashing against the rocks at the will of the ocean, and wondered who would find me.

And although I had been willing to risk it, I didn’t slip or tumble from that cliff face. Within three months, he was gone from my life. He had found what he needed in the expressionless eyes of another girl, his own becoming darker and glazed. His veins coursed with chemicals that my own body would never know, and he began to inhabit a different world to me.

I walked back into my teenage bedroom, and tried to fit back into a life that had once been mine. It now seemed childish and boring, and I could not see how I had once been content with it. I heard what they were saying about me; the writing was on the wall, of course it would end in tears, no surprise she got hurt. But I have been without him for as long as I was with him, and my mind is still raw. My heart had beat only for him. So as I brought my finger tips down on the hot ceramic plate, I wondered if the pain could restart my broken heart.

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