Writhing of the Writers Vol. 1

Like knots in my throat,
Engraved on my stone
An eternal curse
Lodged between each dusk,
Dreams turn to dust.

And then leave
On the parchment—
Stains of blood,
Trust and wanderlust.
Echoes never heard
The whispering.

On the flames
As I go,
My feet tremble
On burning coal—
Yet I move on.

Someplace with angel face
But devilish within,
I pray.
With each rising day,
I begin to erase
Just to fill the page
Emptiness, false modest
And undying rage.
True and honest
Like moulding clay.

I stay again.
I build my home.
With each dying cry—
Heaven give me strength,
For my love overturns
Left in dust to be forgotten.

Words hide,
Walk around in my mind,
Like rats,
Sealed and concealed
with all that is yet to be believed.

But now I’ve chosen to surrender
To the feelings that
Resemble that of gods.
Set the stage.

I need that door
To walk out past my pain
Past the world and its alignments,
Past the unanswered questions.
I need that window,
Past everything I don’t need to know.

Fly me away.
Set me free.
Let the world see
What I can be.
A beautiful chaos.
A rhythmic mess.
I let the world see
Through my eyes, God bless.

Photo credit: https://pin.it/1RdhEw4

7 Comments Add yours

  1. Manoj Mehra says:

    I can relate.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Anchal Sethi says:

      I’m glad you could. ♡

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Charu says:

    It’s amazing

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This is excellent! 👏😁

    Liked by 1 person

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