Broken stories

bhartibansal Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   8 months ago
My dreams haunt me with the faces I left behind I cry and demand explanations


My dreams haunt me with the faces I left behind

I cry and demand explanations

Only to get a smirking smile and unspoken answers

That I try to decipher after waking up

I wonder where did I go wrong

As I see people moving ahead with the speed of escalators

While I struggle to build my own staircase

For an infinite stories of a building

Every room of which has self made wallpapers of exquisite metaphors about how I suffer inside my own mind

And keep doing so or else I will lose the purpose,

That sadness brought to me on my platter,

As I sat on my bed contemplating laughters of people,

Who once promised to hold on to me

Like a kite thread which is cut now.

So I fall aimlessly

Until I land in the backyard of a stranger,

Who has deserted his home for months now,

Yet I scream for help from bricks and branches and that garbage bin.

All of them lie fallen on the ground,

I find it hard as the wind blows and the rubbish flies over my face,

As if I once belonged to it.

Where is my redemption if not in sleep, I ask myself,

When dreams were supposed to be escape and not a web woven by the eight legged reality which stings.

My poetries carry the words "regret", "guilts", "loneliness",

Like a three meal which is important for nourishing my so called art .

I am scared to close my eyes,

For I will see my friends I miss sometimes,

But just like my chemistry teacher, I was a substitute too,

Till they met their desired kind of people.

I sit with phone in my hand

Tears in my eyes

Words in my mind

And that burden on my chest

As I see them making memories

And like a heartbroken lover convinces myself about why didn't they deserve me.

But everytime I drown myself in the memories

Without flapping my hands ,

I allow those memories to sink me inside this whirpool

Which takes me back to past

Where things were happy and calm like a lake on a mid summer day.

I eat the laughters from my childhood

Till my stomach hurts

And realise how certain pains are good.

I drink away the non existent sorrows

When the only misery was those small fights

Which were resolved before lunch breaks

Because sharing better food and better memories

Were far more important than sharing egos and

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