To Be Admired

Identity

Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?

How do I relieve myself of these emotions, If not by bleeding myself on paper? How do I express myself to the world, If not by baring myself for everyone to see? What is my comfort, if not being vulnerable with words? Where do I go, if not to pen and paper? To whom do I share my happiness, sadness, My sorrows, and guilt? Where do I let out my anger, Before it turns me cold and sharp? Where do I pour out the storm, Before it drowns me? Tell me, what do I do, If not write?

Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?

©Pen_Pain_Poetry

What else should I say?

~ark

I Must Be

I have to be relatable to be seen,

I must feel the same to be heard.

I have to be patient and listen to their empty words,

I must be caring to make them feel like home.

I must remain unknown to make them known.

I have to make them feel happy,

I must compliment their flaws.

Standing in the courtroom,

I must face a trial for breaking the laws.

I should have a bad memory,

Forgetting everything

And move on,

I must apologise for not becoming their lifeless doll.

~ark

I expected the whole world, But now, I have accepted my own world.

~ark

The Unread Files

As I open the cupboard of my life,

A mountain of files crashed on me.

The number was infinite,

I tried to organise the unopened files.

Wiping the dust off them,

I started keeping them inside.

But as time ran out,

I shoved them recklessly in the night.

The cupboard remained closed,

Opened sometimes.

But the files unread,

Exposed the cowardness I tried to hide.

Now I wonder when I take my last breath,

Would I be able to gather the strength,

To read those unread files?

~ark

The Crack

The crack on the wall, I saw that day, Said something much deeper that words can’t convey. The lightning that struck upon it, Painted a ray. Divided by the misunderstandings, They drifted further away. The birth of hatred, Murder of hope, The wall, once considered sacred, Was now held by a weak rope. One wanting to stand alone, The other trying to find a way to escape, They were united by the ink of trace. Needing each other to outgrow the phase, The canvas of peace reflected the colours of mistakes. They stood together at the same place, Bleeding by the broken pieces of the trust’s vase.

~ark

Free

I walked on the wet path, While the earth pulled me close. Splashing my face in the water, Its stillness reflected my unfulfilled vows. I ran far away, To be free and fly. I broke all the barriers, I thought held me back. But I realised, I was a kite, Taking a directionless flight, I broke the string of my life, Thinking I would finally be alive

Diminishing Hope

I let myself suffer,

With intentions that were never pure.

Standing at the piedmont of growth,

I felt my feet frozen, unable to move anywhere.

My eyes scanned both the ways,

Walking onto which, my survival would be declared.

Afraid of the extremes,

I chose to never try, I turned away with shun ears.

Lacking the courage to fight for my life,

I stood freezing gradually, I faced my fears.

Melting by the newly found energy,

I became essential, drops of water to be shared.

Known to the fact of being fatal,

I returned from my illusions unreal.

In the diminishing hope of reality,

My pain defined me,

The master of my endless prayers.

~ark

Her Tears

Under the dark sky, She looked up with her eyes. She smiled wide when, The rays of light and thunder echoed through the grey. Knowing that the storm emerging slowly, Would destroy everything that will come in its way, She still stood there while her hair curtained her face. Droplets falling gently, She could breathe the sandy air. Uncovering the invisible layers, She rose above all her hidden fears. Forgetting all the mortal ties Throwing away her disguise Listening to her soul for the first time She could finally cry drenched by the tears of the immortal sky.

~ark

Maybe they were better without my helping hand, Sucking on my feelings, I became a barren land, Maybe for them, I was never more than a friendship band.

~ark