beyond the silver lining

astronomy clouds dusk hands

She is soft like petals and butterfly wings,

Her eyes could hold your stars,

You want to reach out and touch her,

But she’s a faraway mirage.

 

Her skin holds secrets deeper than the ocean,

Her eyes glisten under the rain,

But you don’t think you know her, do you?

Until you touch her and feel her pain.

 

She has constellations painted on her soul,

And stardust running through her veins,

But you can’t hide behind your visions,

You have to free her of those chains.

 

You only see the silver lining,

Not her dark, heavy clouds,

Within her, there are darker shadows,

And her soul screaming loud.

 

You are deaf to her cries,

You don’t see beyond her skin,

While her heart is nestled into the corner of her lips,

It’s too late now, there’s nothing within.

 

~ Asmita

 

 

 

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reality

red rose and green leafed

this is reality,

not poetry or art,

hidden behind beautiful words,

to create flowered meanings.

you can’t hide behind them forever,

you have to face the raw reality,

you have to feel the peeling of your skin,

to reveal your iridescence,

to reveal your insanity,

to shower you with the truth;

we are all the same inside.

~ asmita

anxiety

open glass window

my thoughts are louder than my voice,

they’ll soon take over the throne,

it’s getting harder to breathe,

i am losing my empty soul.

 

it feels like the walls are closing in,

and there’s no way out,

i’m trapped in this endless maze,

with a mind that just won’t stop.

 

don’t tell me to stop feeling,

you don’t know the raging storm inside,

it pulls me under the waves,

i’m drowning in my own mind.

 

i want to scream into a void,

yell until my lungs give out,

because my mind wants silence,

but silence was a killer too.

 

~ asmita

from the other side

down angle photography of red clouds and blue sky

Maybe the grass is greener on the other side,

Because it’s always raining there,

And ones who always smile at us,

Have nothing left to spare.

Where the ones who have the bravest hearts,

Are immobilized by their fears,

And the ones who have the biggest smiles,

Have pillows wet with tears.

People seem to have perfect lives,

On the other side of the earth,

But you don’t see, that beyond their smiles,

Lies a broken heart that always hurt.

Where heads are brimming with lies,

Calloused hands, they plead,

Where purpose is lost,

And solace is all they’ll ever need.

Maybe the grass is greener on the other side,

But they’re only concealing the truth,

However, from the other side,

Your grass looks greener too.

~asmita

moon drunk monster

silhouette of man during nighttime

He is a moon drunk monster,

So shackles of gold bound his wrists,

As he howled in his melancholy,

He hit his head hard against his fist.

 

If you happen to meet him at midnight,

In the forest of your dreams,

You could make a fire and count his stars,

As he howls and shimmers in the trees.

 

Through his soul set in darkness,

It must rise in perfect light,

For he has so fondly loved the stars,

To be fearful of the night.

 

The moon was so beautiful that day,

The ocean held a mirror,

Was it the mirror that held the truth,

Or a mirror that merely glimmered?

 

~ Asmita

 

different everyday

I’m a different person everyday,

I leave worlds behind,

I’ve wanted to stay spring forever,

But today, I changed my mind.

 

My leaves may fall and wither,

As the air around me chills,

But change is every man’s dying wish,

To start anew and rebuild.

 

Today I could be broken,

But tomorrow, I could yield the stars,

Become someone’s universe,

And travel worlds afar.

 

I’m more like the moon,

Glistening, full and bright,

Or sometimes dark and hidden,

When my sky holds no stars in sight.

 

I’m a different person everyday,

I leave universes behind,

For no one can remain spring,

When seasons change with their minds.

 

~Asmita

Moulds

2018-06-23 12.14.37 1.jpgFrom the second you enter this world,

They tell you what you cannot dare,

They twist you into their perfect moulds,

They promise it’s not a nightmare.

 

On the road they paved for you,

They threaten to push you along,

Not sparing you a second to think,

If it’s where you belong.

 

It’s time they realise;

We are NOT poetry or art.

Meant to be perfect,

And do what is told,

We are humans;

Made from broken moulds.

-Asmita