House of fear

By Pooja Arora

Being told the truth, the realm for I have no courage; for velvet lies are no false

That what I imagined love was like, wouldn’t be met with anyone; that all love shown here is shallow, insatiable

Of innocent trust to extent that I lose myself in this age of vice; to be dissolved in acid or being left in isolation, bereft of raw emotions or being used & thrown. I fear believing

Not of walking on fire but on carpet of roses; suspicious of what must lie beneath because I no longer believe in something good happening, even the blessings scare of evil curses out of jealousy that’s hidden in them, for I found prayers spoken out from lips and the genuine coming from the heart were all opposite than they so seem

Of my broken pieces being brought back together; when people heal and not watch wounds bleed for I suspect some ulterior purpose from these ambitious personalities. Where I have to keep away from someone who cares, stay sweet & clean; that selflessness doesn’t exist. That the sky or the atmosphere are fake glass ceilings who would tend to charge my soul for things that they pretended to lend for all this time.  I fear all flowers, lilac & laces to be symbols of fake in this reality. Living in a place where the sun burns my skin and rain deprives me of my colors & steal my heat and even wind rewinds to memories that cause pain

Being allowed to speak on my own not knowing what my words may bring out; scared of being outspoken

My imagination of the real faces behind the mask of my close ones

Falling in love with the pain so much that I believe smile & peace aren’t real anymore

My nightmares being a part of my past

That I belong to a world which is not my own, because my mind here isn’t without fear, head isn’t held high and heart refuses to believe in its existence; death doesn’t scare me, life of suffocation does

That the fact that my realm is the reality; that the world is no more a safe place to live, a place of hunger & famine where hope doesn’t exist and the only passion is destruction; where war never ends, cause it never began

That I’ll not be afraid of being afraid and that is the reason I’ll not be myself anymore.


2 comments

  • Brilliant poem. Loved the ending. Keep writing!

    Divya Mondal
  • I will quote, " the thing about pain is that it demands to be felt".
    I felt every line of it.
    Excellent poem.

    Anisha Bajaj

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