Poetry: Selections from Sparsh Paul

Forlorn Flowers

 

We were instructed to follow a structured design,

Rise with the orange ball, rest with the setting sky.

You and I? We're wilting sunflowers feeling dead at night.

Swaying in synchronous sorrow and revealing our darkside.

 

Darling, I'm happy that we'll die soon.

A double homicide by heartbreak's tune.

And trust issues? You're not the only one.

Can we burn our darkness under the sun?

 

I'm trying to keep my inner demons at bay,

Withering away alone, haunted everyday.

I know you too have infinite hellions in your head.

That's why your red lingerie matches my black bedspread.

 

I've seen all your trauma, and the buried skeletons in your closet.

My heart is a blackhole, absorbing your pain as a one-time deposit.

Drenched in divine darkness, your allure is apposite.

You're art, I'm an artist and our love is composite!

 

The ravens will stop singing when I lay my thoughts bare.

I'll peel off each layer to reveal displeasure and despair.

Desperate to meet sleep's cousin Erebus, just finish us off, my lord!

Make us taste the nectar of death, and butcher us with your flaming sword.

Vest of Darkness

 

If not black, the skies in my heart are always overcast.

The Sun does rise sometimes, but the light will never last.

Seas of souls pass through mine, eating away all my hope

The knots in my being tighten, is this the end of my rope?

 

I try to breathe in the orchestra, but the symphonies won't reach my mouth.

My lungs are leaking as the Adriatic storms take me south.

Far from home, I was never someone you try to save.

Cover my eyes and lay me to rest in a nameless grave.

 

The Sun is leaving the horizon,

The albatross won't sing anymore.

The sailors have left the high seas,

Maybe, it is my time to fade away too.

 

And when I finally decompose into the Ragusian mountains,

Don't drape my lifeless body in our nation's flag.

For I am no hero, the cowardice is mine to bear.

Just let me rot away in this vest of darkness I wear.

My Body is a Vanity Cabinet

 

It feels like I'm stepping on shifting sand

The core of my being is hidden in the mist

The road to forgiveness is wavy at best

And the rivers of rage pull me under their spell

 

My rhymes are marching towards the piper

I wish my fears followed the same tunes

A voice in my head comes alive with daymares

The fears and regrets are crosses I must bear

 

I do not fear failure or the colour of the unknown

It's the comfort of familiarity that haunts my soul

A gentle reminder to ignore the inner dialogue

Hello mother, my epitaph is ready for tomorrow

 

Loving son, but distant sometimes

Loving partner, fearing his demise

A lucid dreamer, a hungry poet, angry quite often

Burn my weary soul, but save my body a shiny coffin 

Infinite Lies

 

The mirages of progress float nearby,

to form the outlines of your burdened soul.

There's a minefield in your poisoned heart,

And many have lost their will to live.

.

Listen to me, soldier! Give up your trigger hungry arms.

And your heart to something that truly matters.

If pain is your power, then are you really alive?

And if vengeance is peace, then are you really at rest?

 

Do you see the eagles in the desert skies?

Feeding on carcasses made of infinite lies.

Your psyche is tortured by all the late goodbyes,

As you bite the bullet with tears in your eyes.

Plagued By The Pentagram

 

When I look at you, 

My vicious reflection burns like a flame in your eyes

A murderous beast, butchering bodies and hearts alike

Devouring every soul I hold dear

Skinning them alive while smiling ear to ear

 

Abysmal thoughts and darker deeds 

Paint my world brushstrokes of red

A thousand demonic voices ring inside my head

How can I love thee and long to be free?

When all the demons I see are manifestations of me

 

On every full moon's eve, I make a gentleman's deal

My body and mind take a backseat, 

The werewolf at the wheel 

Damned to this life, this guilt

My soul shall bleed

Plagued by eternal damnation, never to be freed

 

So run away love from the wolf man,

Hiding hopelessly, howling uncontrollably.

Pentagram seared into your palm, the end draws nigh

Demonic darkness doesn't die.

Sparsh Paul is a poet, writer and hobbyist musician based in New Delhi, India. He actively immerses himself in the practice of shinrin-yoku and is known to indulge in bird photography while hiking to recharge his soul. His work has been previously published in the October Hill Magazine.