what terrible malaise is this
that paralyses my being,
robbing me of my will to live
and negating all feeling
give me fire and brimstone,
ignite my placid heart,
set ablaze my satisfied soul,
let it shower down in sparks
let me howl in agony
let me scream in rage,
for living without passion
is a fate worse than death.
love doesn't belong
to you or me,
love exists for itself.
we are just wind-blown leaves
and random bits of paper
fallen in love
caught in its meandering flow
sometimes rushed,
sometimes slow
you and i are prisoners
of its eddies and currents,
its whims, its fancies
you get snagged, i float on,
you get free,
but i've moved on...
one thing is certain: the ending:
we all sink
from the weight of our expectations
and love?
with or without us,
love goes on.
as beautiful as a dream by sublime-ape, literature
Literature
as beautiful as a dream
"The woman of my dreams"
And you (choose to) forget that the dream dreams you,
not you the dream
"Living a dream life"
Yes, you are the hero, but not yours the script
And you don't know how it will go,
nor how long it will last,
nor how it will end
"And then I awoke"
With only a fleeting memory fading fast
like wisps of smoke from your grasp
"So beautiful it made me cry"
And though the tears are of joy,
All you are left with is despair.
A shudder passes through his body, and she hugs him harder.
"Let's stop and take shelter somewhere, or you'll catch a cold."
"Hah! I've ridden in far heavier downpours than this. This is nothing."
Forced bravado, and he knows it. It's getting icy cold, and they've been riding too long in the rain. His hands are frozen and the shivering becomes uncontrollable until he can no longer hide it.
"Please let's stop. Look, there's a tree. We can stand under that."
The worry in her voice makes him stop the bike. He parks it at the edge of the road, and they stand under the tree, drenched to the skin, dripping wet. The foliage above doesn't offer
Moving, moving, moving, the world is swinging, swinging, swinging in rhythm with his walking, walking, walking. The buildings are bowing, bowing, bowing, the lampposts are thrumming, thrumming, thrumming, the sky is swaying, swaying, swaying, the earth is humming, humming, humming.
The world is swinging, swaying, dancing in rhythm with his steps.
"Watch out!"
A hand roughly grabs his shirt from behind and pulls him onto the sidewalk. A bus roars by so close that he can feel the wash of breeze left behind by its wake on his face, and his shirt flutters in the wind.
"Didn't you hear it?" asks the man who has just rescued him from certain de
The voice on the other end by sublime-ape, literature
Literature
The voice on the other end
"I've seen her. She's one ugly cow."
He scowls at the crass colleague who has made the comment, and keeps scowling until the crude man slinks out of the room. Then he turns back to the phone and takes the call.
"Hi, good morning."
"Hello!" comes the high-pitched voice. "Good morning, how are you?"
"Fine. And how's the day treating you so far?"
The girl's voice at the other end goes on to tell him how she got stranded in traffic and that it caused her to be late to the office. Thankfully her boss is a sweet man, and didn't complain. And so on and so forth.
He's not listening to the words she says. He is entranced by the sound of her voic
I woke up dead.
A crow flew down, hopped about, and settled beside my head
Feast, my friend, I said.
He cocked his head and looked at me with a suspicious eye:
Why?
Eat, I said, before larger birds descend from the sky
And deprive you of your share.
Why do you care?
I believe it's only fair, said I,
That every creature gets its due:
Be it eagle or hyena
Or an ordinary chap like you.
Oh? And what about the worms? the maggots?
Certainly, I meant them, too:
All are equal in my eyes.
He seemed to ponder gravely,
Then said: You are indeed wise...
A rare condition for a man who thinks he has died.
What do you mean? cried I,
Do yo
progression of a successful love story:
stage 1 : innocence / blind faith (kissing the frog with the belief that there is a prince under all those warts)
stage 2 : revelation / disillusionment (finding out he is actually a warty frog under the human skin, after the transformation)
stage 3 : maturity / acceptance (what the heck, he is a lovable frog despite his queer taste for insects)
what terrible malaise is this
that paralyses my being,
robbing me of my will to live
and negating all feeling
give me fire and brimstone,
ignite my placid heart,
set ablaze my satisfied soul,
let it shower down in sparks
let me howl in agony
let me scream in rage,
for living without passion
is a fate worse than death.
love doesn't belong
to you or me,
love exists for itself.
we are just wind-blown leaves
and random bits of paper
fallen in love
caught in its meandering flow
sometimes rushed,
sometimes slow
you and i are prisoners
of its eddies and currents,
its whims, its fancies
you get snagged, i float on,
you get free,
but i've moved on...
one thing is certain: the ending:
we all sink
from the weight of our expectations
and love?
with or without us,
love goes on.
as beautiful as a dream by sublime-ape, literature
Literature
as beautiful as a dream
"The woman of my dreams"
And you (choose to) forget that the dream dreams you,
not you the dream
"Living a dream life"
Yes, you are the hero, but not yours the script
And you don't know how it will go,
nor how long it will last,
nor how it will end
"And then I awoke"
With only a fleeting memory fading fast
like wisps of smoke from your grasp
"So beautiful it made me cry"
And though the tears are of joy,
All you are left with is despair.
A shudder passes through his body, and she hugs him harder.
"Let's stop and take shelter somewhere, or you'll catch a cold."
"Hah! I've ridden in far heavier downpours than this. This is nothing."
Forced bravado, and he knows it. It's getting icy cold, and they've been riding too long in the rain. His hands are frozen and the shivering becomes uncontrollable until he can no longer hide it.
"Please let's stop. Look, there's a tree. We can stand under that."
The worry in her voice makes him stop the bike. He parks it at the edge of the road, and they stand under the tree, drenched to the skin, dripping wet. The foliage above doesn't offer
Moving, moving, moving, the world is swinging, swinging, swinging in rhythm with his walking, walking, walking. The buildings are bowing, bowing, bowing, the lampposts are thrumming, thrumming, thrumming, the sky is swaying, swaying, swaying, the earth is humming, humming, humming.
The world is swinging, swaying, dancing in rhythm with his steps.
"Watch out!"
A hand roughly grabs his shirt from behind and pulls him onto the sidewalk. A bus roars by so close that he can feel the wash of breeze left behind by its wake on his face, and his shirt flutters in the wind.
"Didn't you hear it?" asks the man who has just rescued him from certain de
The voice on the other end by sublime-ape, literature
Literature
The voice on the other end
"I've seen her. She's one ugly cow."
He scowls at the crass colleague who has made the comment, and keeps scowling until the crude man slinks out of the room. Then he turns back to the phone and takes the call.
"Hi, good morning."
"Hello!" comes the high-pitched voice. "Good morning, how are you?"
"Fine. And how's the day treating you so far?"
The girl's voice at the other end goes on to tell him how she got stranded in traffic and that it caused her to be late to the office. Thankfully her boss is a sweet man, and didn't complain. And so on and so forth.
He's not listening to the words she says. He is entranced by the sound of her voic
I woke up dead.
A crow flew down, hopped about, and settled beside my head
Feast, my friend, I said.
He cocked his head and looked at me with a suspicious eye:
Why?
Eat, I said, before larger birds descend from the sky
And deprive you of your share.
Why do you care?
I believe it's only fair, said I,
That every creature gets its due:
Be it eagle or hyena
Or an ordinary chap like you.
Oh? And what about the worms? the maggots?
Certainly, I meant them, too:
All are equal in my eyes.
He seemed to ponder gravely,
Then said: You are indeed wise...
A rare condition for a man who thinks he has died.
What do you mean? cried I,
Do yo
progression of a successful love story:
stage 1 : innocence / blind faith (kissing the frog with the belief that there is a prince under all those warts)
stage 2 : revelation / disillusionment (finding out he is actually a warty frog under the human skin, after the transformation)
stage 3 : maturity / acceptance (what the heck, he is a lovable frog despite his queer taste for insects)
my body is the
abandoned bank
on main street;
my body is the
burnt hull of an
apartment complex
only now in repair;
my body is a
feeling of shame,
a pungent rot,
a score of roadkill
in half decay.
my body is migratory:
a flock of wearied birds,
a search for belonging,
the fat on my hips.
with too few windows
and a steep indoor climb,
my body is home.
he asked her if she loved him
and she looked at that golden boy
with a bumblebee smile and sad veins
like good champagne leaking onto the stars
only a million words were left unsaid.
i have lots of words
sitting just beneath me
twisting around my veins
and making lines in my hands
if you look hard enough
you can see the faint text
writing stories onto the inside of my skin
like i’ve got typewriter veins
eventually the words all become so clear
you can read full fragments
of people and poems and paragraphs
and that’s when i have to write them down
if i choose to ignore them
more and more words will pile up
then it will all turn to ink blots
and i’d have lost those wonderful words
and that’s just something i cannot do.
“the fault, dear brutus, is not in our stars
but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”
i can feel the stardust coursing
through out my tangled veins
it tickles the underside of my skin
and it gives me goose bumps
it’s painting my insides rich
with peach tea and possibilities,
when everyone else is colored with
denture cream and low self esteem
and sometimes the comets leak
through my teeth, making me say
things that sound like soap bubbles
in callused and cupped palms
so i must be destined for something great,
because the galaxy’s got itself caught in me
things to do after happily ever after by saltwaterlungs, literature
Literature
things to do after happily ever after
run away to a small town
make sure everyone knows our names
be a part of a book club with all of the town’s ladies
watch you play football with the guys
walk into cafes and ask for the usual (and get it!!!)
paint our bathroom butter yellow
have a giant library just for us
fly red kites in our backyard
watch clouds on a big grassy hill
name all of the stars from our porch
bake cookies on Sundays
grow a giant garden
sit at the park and eat cupcakes from the local bakery
be one hundred percent happy
she snapped all of our daisies’ stems in half
ripping up the plants by the root
then kissing each of the flower’s wounds
whispering soft apologies into them
later when i asked her why
she told me with the world dripping from her eyes
that the only way wishes ever came true
was if you hurt something precious
"i'm sorry, Daisy."
I think I'm turning into Nothing
There is a black hole in the pit of my stomach
Slowly sucking me into myself
And after its all over, I'll become what I feel: Nothing
But I am not a black hole, I am a girl
And Nothingness is the definition of impossibility
Because a black hole is still a black hole
Even if it feels and has Nothing
Or maybe I'm so many God damn things at once
That my brain can't even comprehend or decipher
One feeling from every other feeling I have
So it takes the easy path and tells me I'm Nothing
Is this what being God feels like?
Being Nothing and Everything at once?
Meaning Nothing to some and Everything to others?
Bec
i’ve wrapped up silly things in my heart
like pictures and scribbles
old scarves and poems
songs and magazine snippets
typewriter fonts and skeleton keys
favourite pens and flower petals
droplets of tea and cookie crumbs
gritty bits of sand and popsicle sticks
and you,
you’re there too.
i wrote it down, and it got published: http://liquidimagination.silverpen.org/article/mother-subhankar-biswas/
it's a very short one, if you're interested in reading.
i've wept.
i've laughed like a madman.
i've stood in the rain for hours and talked to eagles.
i've fallen in love over and over again.
i've rediscovered parts of me i'd thought i'd lost forever.
i've become quite ambidextrous.
i've written a book.
i've thought about you.
i've loved you.