Children of Autocracy

Demi
was her name,
lesser than in full quantity.
Discussed over toast
through times in the past,
between gods and men.
Is it half full or empty?
Is it not half at all?
Is it an offspring or entity?
Born of delusions in fall.

Autochoris
be he named.
Born with a disconnect
Borne in confusion.
Disparity between self,
needs and desires;
Unknown to humanity,
affluent in charity.
A want passed as luxury.
A need masked in reality.

Requeis
The daughter of rest.
Repose was her chastity,
brought up in leisure;
A dream called destiny.
Festivities and endeavours,
Exhaustion by turmoil.
Lessons in great labour
Emotions riding high,
In the past of exile.

Identity

Free spirited.

Spirit lost in the years
When i revisited
They became so real.
The vulgarity of dressing
Putting up appearances
For I had put restrictions
Face first, falling in the den.

I don't like my exterior
As they eye my posterior
I don't know where to shift
Whether to send her the gift.

To be able to express me
The repressed me
The now depressed me.

And that is why the crisis
And the scream to be free.

Below Anxiety

3:27
Insecurity
Within my own home
Beside my own hearth,
Warmth refuses to reach
The bottom of the soul.

I keep counting my fingers
Easier than it would
To make it just go away,
Worse still when I stood.

Hidden in another world
The stories untrue
Give me reprieve
Of real life and strife.

4:20
Dependence
On an idea to walk around,
Of love and of sound.
To read and to reflect
To refuse to deflect.

Occupation of agitation
Written in words unknown.
Run by autopilot
On functions predefined.

On misspelling and struggle
To tell the difference from
Wrong to right to both,
The dignity of calculating bright.

7:35
Hunger
A grumble deep within
Ignored by the din
The thoughts and the speed
Hurtling all out of reach.

There is nowhere to be
Nowhere to be determined
Of the need and speed
The games of the mind.

The innocence of age
Wondering if it were a trick,
Of writing on the walls
And of making blue pain.

8:48
Exhaustion
Of times not revealed
Of rest disappearing
And relinquishing
In a gust of the breeze.

Of cold in the bright sunlight
Of lenses which collide.
Knowledge of the ABC,
Written within the country.

Leaving behind premise
Neatly folding things twice,
Obsessions of unknown
Leaving the most prized.

Anxiety

It creeps when not in need
It reads out many things to me.
It has been wanting to subside
Call out deeper and deeper inside.
I am not a butterfly
I am just a small tree,
Which has roots deep within
The soil I stand beneath.
I read out to me
I read out to them all.
I am scared of the rise
As I am equally of the fall.
To have written to me
To have passed through me,
My courage has taken its toll
To the destiny of me.
I beg for some comfort
I plead for vicinity
To the oasis in the jungle
To the leopard behind the tree.
They walk in hand in hand
Leave a scratch on my brand
They dig deeper within
Manage to reach below the skin.
My fear does not subside
Now it is not just inside.
I write to set it free
I wander around the tree
The tree now is outside of me
As a bird I want it free.
I sit, I peck, I pluck
I was meant to sit atop.
The tree looks up at me
I think this is its destiny.
They who had left a scratch
Had taught not to attach,
Now when it is ready
It refuses to host the birdie.
This one not willing to peck
Just build a nest for its eggs.
The tree soon violently rose
Detached its roots
So the bird could not dose
On its branches and build
A haven for her own guild.

The elephant in the room

I remember the letter he sent to me
I remember the slight knock on the door
I remember the hollow sound from before.
I remember waiting on the grounds
Sitting as a car pulled up after the next
I remember asking for him.
I remember continuously looking around.
I remember nothing was found.
Sitting next to the door
I leaned against its sturdy frame
I closed my eyes and drifted in sleep.
When came she to take me away.
Cradle me in her arms to sleep.

I slept peaceful in her bed,
But to the memories of the letter awake.
I look around and under my pillow
I run about to the swing
I look under and above.
I run to the toy train,
Did it have a paper signed "with love"?
No sign of it at all I see.
I stop looking all around
I repress memories of things found.

No more knocks and hollow sounds
The letter that never arrived
The car that stopped before my door
Taken me in and then for a ride
The driver had changed masks as before.
I remember the letter he never sent me.
I remember for she had written in too
Every letter I remember
Was addressed in the same lettering blue.

I remember the letter she sent me
I remember the slight knock on the door
I remember the paper that slipped through
I remember it said,
"I didn't know what else to do."

Mine

They were never mine.
They were barbarians
They were ancient Romans
They were fanatic fascists
They were the rulers
Where I was the men.
The women I wasn't
For it was written
In the history of counting
Not to go below 10.
I wore a craft
I had learnt it at home
I hid the number 8
I had printed within.
I was beautiful
Those were days of glory
Men ain't beautiful
I was taken to theory.
I was the written
The conquered 4
I was the zenith
Behind that closed door.
I was taken to be a slave
I was beaten even today.
I wrote this on the wall
Please let me go
All I knew was
He would have his go.
Within and without
Over and above
Between the beyond
I knew no love.
I stared in the blackness
Not of the room alone
My insides weep
Every time i close the door.
I was not hiding
I was not scared
I was just insane
For none was fare.
I left the door unlocked
That other night
And as the light put off
I leapt from sight.
I left through a route
Not known by some
I left no tracks
For there was none.

Towards the Bygone

The repressed fear of gratitude
Slowly creeps in
Accredited with solidarity
And the serenity of the kin.
The time of a century
Has moved towards
The need of the throws
Of incalculable love.
The doors to the present
Stood behind the wall
Breeding heroes
And some known trolls.
He lugged and lived
In the time of chivalry
Coy as a cat
His skin was on a tree.
Put out to dry
And hung waist down
She made it impossible
To weave the crown.
The growth around it
Was slowly fading
The green was more
Towards grey bleeding.
She used a red
Against the blue sky
And still the clouds bled,
Bled the earth dry.
The heart then opened
To the one ignored
Thoughts revolving
Around that tiny door.
To pry it open
Each needed a tool
Chosen at random
It refused to brood.
He chose to walk down
The flight of stairs;
He chose to keep
The humming bee.
She fed on the sound
She broke the water bank,
Soon the home flooded
While both sat and drank.