Faded Mask

Beneath her shady excuse
There lay a world of abuse
She knew that she can’t hide her face
Beneath this mask of disgrace
She wondered if she would ever be brave
Brave enough to speak her mind
She had to behave
Though she wished she could rewind
Rewind the last fifteen years
Try to avoid all the tears
The tears of frustration
From the rifts with her mom
The tears of revelation
When figuring what went wrong
She had lost all her friends
She doesn’t know where it ends
She prayed with all her heart
For the strength to live a life apart
Amidst the bustling crowd
She wanted to shout out loud
That she was all alone
That she didn’t want to go home
For she would have to return to the pain
Her tears mingling with the rain
She thought of why she needed to live
Why she would have to forgive
The answer was clear
She would have to live for the fear
The fear of being selfish
And to live with her one unfulfilled wish.

If

If I could catch a rainbow
And put it in my pocket
Look at the face
That fills this golden locket
If I could have you love me
The way I love you
If I could find a way to believe
That all this will come true

The angels that make you divine
That toast your life with wine
Gave me reason to believe
That you and me can be
Am I a fool to want
To believe this unseemly dream
Why would those winged creatures grant
Such a wish to me?

Wrong Right

All the words I want to say
Come out as tears at night
This is why I am afraid
To wrong this right
You’re a thousand miles away
When you’re lying by my side
You say I make your day
But forget me by night

Right is what is left to me
Wrong is what I got to be
If I want you in my life
I say sorry and lose the fight

You say that they’re our friends
Yet you stand so far
Alone you hold me oh so close
With them, not even in your heart
I need a guy that flaunts me
Yet I’m in love with you
Always been too blind to see
All you say to me isn’t true.

Right is what is left to me
Wrong is what I got to be
If I want you in my life
I say sorry and lose the fight

But now…

Right is what is left to me
And that is what I want to be
I don’t need you in my life
So forget the sorry and end this fight.

True Lies

Looking down the dark alley
She thought of the serendipity
The chance of meeting HIM
Here in this dark alley
She looked at the crouching figure
While he was waiting to pull the trigger
But she felt no nagging fear
Nor did she shed a tear
All she did was wait
Leaving her life to fate
She closed her eyes
Waiting for her well deserved prize
As she waited in the dark alley
She suddenly felt her knees give away beneath her body
Her eyes darting about, her head moving unsteadily
But the irony was that she fell
Not because of the bullet
But because she knew she was going to hell
Because she hadn’t cleared her debt…
She knew she deserved to die
She knew she shouldn’t have lied
For what she did was unforgivable
And now he was unstoppable
There in the dark alley
She lay there with not a stir

As she felt the walls close in on her

Just one of those

The wild search for eternal bliss
Found in the depths of a passionate kiss
Lost in this world of insensate things
Love is like a lapwing without its wings
For centuries man has craved
Many wars he has braved
To be an element of this vicious cycle
Called Life, outlined by many an oracle
Looking past the dreadful deeds
The tempests into which it leads
The earth’s most emotional being
Lives for that euphoric feeling
Found in the wetness of a happy tear
One that’s dark though crystal clear.

An Atheist's Heaven

The dictionary definition of Heaven : "the abode of God, the angels, and the spirits of the righteous after death; the place or state of existence of the blessed after the mortal life." This doesn't indicate that an atheist, a non-believer cannot experience a thing called heaven. Everyone has their own heaven but it doesn't have to be up in the sky with the angels. And you definately don't have to wait till you die to go to heaven. Heaven is a place on earth. For a beggar, luxury is heaven. For an insomniac, sleep is heaven. Heaven can be sight for a blind man, music to a deaf man, the first breath after nearly drowning or the first bite of food after days of starvation. The conception that heaven is for those who've done right and have managed either to never commit sins or have redeemed them all is false. To savour the simple pleasures of life without hesitation or doubt, to give into temptation once in a while and to succumb to our deepest desires can welcome us to the pearly gates of heaven, and to enter all you need to do is know how to live with a smile in your heart. I want to paint the walls of my heaven and i'm thinking blue :).

Perfect song

I'll be the song that gets you straight in the heart
I'll be the lyrics forever on your lips
I'll be the tune you whistle while walking down the street
The rhythm, that makes you move your hips.
Let me be the note perfect for your voice
The tone that echoes in your eyes
The beat that matches your heart's song
The melody that has no name or price
Just for you
Just for me
Our song
We'll sing perfectly.
(Dedicated to blue)

Ten

There are many things that make you deliriously happy. The smallest to the biggest. But here are ten things that make me happy:
!) The first rays of the sun in the morning that fall on my face with effortless warmth.
@) The feeling I get when a baby grasps my finger in it's tiny little hand and smiles a toothless smile at me.
#) The feeling I get when I'm freezing and someone puts their warm palms on either side of my face.
$) The way my heart does a flippy thing whenever I see that a special someone is calling me.
^) The way I get goosebumps when I think of a particular memory.
&) The first bite of your favourite chocolate that you haven't eaten in ages!
*) When i realise that my favourite movie is playing on tv when i'm ultra bored.
() The tingles I get when the person I like tells me he likes me back.
)) And lastly when i catch the boy i like staring at me when he thinks i'm not looking. :)

Tiny palms

Tiny hands working to feed
Belonging to kids, who can barely read
Slaving, when supposed to be playing,
Bleeding, when supposed to be dreaming
Cursed to be born poor
Education just a myth and lure
Risking lives, over deadly fumes
Places of pens, being taken by brooms
Months at end they work to make
The few hours of pleasure that crackers take.
Limbs and lives lost
At such a feeble cost
Every time you light a cracker
You make a poor child’s life darker
So help save a childhood
Let a child have a future, like it should.

One room.

We've all been in this one room, with four walls but none that restricted our minds. One that's big enough to hold all our dreams and small enough to make sure that no one feels left out. There's just enough space to dance, to think, to scream and to make and break hearts. We've molded each other like a potter with his clay and we weren't afraid to get our hands dirty, our knees scraped and our hearts broken because we know we have each other to put the pieces back together. The walls have ears but they'll never betray our secrets, just like we wouldn't. Every step we take forward, there will be people pulling us back. But we've held our ground, fought our fears and won our battles, together. And today this room has a door for each of us, leading us to where we want to go. Leading us in directions opposite to the other, onto roads that might not cross. But let's all remember, you can always come back through that door and you'll find us all here. This room is our solace, our sanctuary and now it will be a compartment of our nostalgia.
- To the Class of 12 Arts ( 2007-2008)

Why not?

I love the way you're always gone
Brimming with excuses,never just one
No this time it's not your fault
But it doesn't hurt any less
Looking forward to broken dates
Broken before they're made
Waking up feeling good
Sleep after losing a part of me
Everyday this is the drill
Unbroken spirit, Strong useless will
I still love you.
But why?
Disclaimer: This content is not directed at any one individual.

Everyone looks for a fairy tale end.
I just look for a start.
I'm sorry i love you.

Sixth sense

Voice: To be mute is liberty. With it comes expression without words and communication without language. Although being able to speak gives you freedom of speech, the contrary of which gives you freedom from speech.

Sight: To be blind is sanctuary.

When you're enveloped in velvety black you yearn for sight.

When all you see is darkness you hope for light.

But drowning in the depths of nothing

Saves you from seeing the dead, living

After all of man's heinous lies and crimes

You wish to hear but not see the chimes.

When you SEE a bleeding wound you cry. But when you feel it with your fingers all you feel is the wetness of blood and skin, not a reason to imagine pain.

Smell: To not smell is immunity. It's the key to satisfaction. Most things in this world are shunned because their odour isn't preffered. What you can't smell has more potential for satisfying you than what you can smell.

Touch: To feel is a curse. Never mind all the pleasant feelings aroused by a single touch. If one person can't feel pain it's price is equal to a hundred feeling pleasure.

Sound: To be deaf is a privilege. There are things you wish you'd never heard.The sound of laughter is remembered... for only a few moments. But the sound of a mother wailing, the sobs of a dearest friend, the screams of a tortured soul are the sounds you take to your grave. So if you can't hear, you sleep peacefully, six feet under.

The Sixth Sense is to be deaf, dumb, blind, to not be able to sense or smell and yet... live.

...

What makes a guy perfect?
Nobody’s perfect that’s what makes them human. The more human you are, more perfect.
If a guy’s good looking it’s more attractive if he’s dignified about it not egoistic. It’s even cuter if he’s drop dead gorgeous and completely unaware of it.
He holds your hand, not limply but firmly, like it’s going to take something miraculous to make him let go.
He should like you for how you look – Pretty, chubby, short, thin, tall, wide, ghastly or even downright ugly.
He should call you cute when you’re immature, pretty when you’re dainty and beautiful when you’re…you.
He should make as few promises as possible because there’ll be that many less broken.
He should respect your decisions, questions, space, ideas and even your lack of all these.
He should be chivalrous but not patronizing, polite but not impersonal, close but far enough, intelligent but not cunning, good looking but not arrogant, sensitive but not weak, strong but not cold.
He should stand behind you if you fall, beside you to hold your hand and in front of you so you can check his ass out :P.
Last but not the least he should be your best friend first :)

Little drops of torture

Rain has always had a romantic connotation to it. One that i could never understand. Besides it's usefullness to us, i can hardly find anything remotely pleasant about the clouds leaking. Little drops of torture i say. The faint drizzle when it's just started raining and not quite pouring is the most irking sensation to be experienced. "Oh i just lovvve the rain! It's so romantic, it just makes me want to curl up with a nice book, all nice and warm." The reason you want to be warm is because it's cold and it's cold because it's raining. Is it impossible to curl up with a nice book without water splashing on your windows and droplets making bullet-like sounds on the glass?
Ever gone outside right after a downpour and stepped in a puddle? Romantic really. And the smell of charged ions is enough to put flowers out of business. In case my sarcasm has flown over your head, i HATE the smell of rain and the mess it makes. For all us girls, who walk out in suede shoes, a white shirt and freshly styled hair and the worst thing that could happen to us is the rain. It's god's (i'm athiest but i think this should get the message across) time for practical jokes. He gets real kicks out of embarassing us, he does.
Get a plumber to fix the sky.

...

C-HARLOT-TE

The shard of glass lay on the shelf
Shining ruby red, all by itself
The jagged edge gleamed, to me
It seemed, teasing maliciously.
Like a child with his crimson paint
Streaking the canvas without restraint
Like a butcher looking down at his palm
At the scarlet with an acquired calm
She looked down at the pool of red
Slowly forming beside her bed
And in it she could see
Things that made her sad with grief
Her life at the slowest pace
Flashed before her grimaced face
She would have wept but her tears were dry
The bitter wetness she was denied
Her fingers searched the unfamiliar face
The slightest brush set it ablaze
She traced the unseen scars, until
Her features froze, deathly still
A gasp left her parted lips
The soft skin that had never been kissed
Her body shook with filthy grace
Her only tool of sexual trace
Then the life left her, like
A wounded soldier, giving up the fight.