Who I Am

Maybe they were better without my helping hand, Sucking on my feelings, I became a barren land, Maybe for them, I was never more than a friendship band.

~ark

I wanted life to fill me,

to make something of the hollowness I carried.

But life was demanding—

it asked me to fill it instead,

to give my all,

to talk more than listen,

to be seen rather than simply see,

to laugh more than savor the moment.

I drained every bit of myself,

trying to stand at the forefront

of my life and that of others.

Until every bit of life was drawn out of me.

I was meant to be a simple soul,

finding joy in whatever came my way.

I don't know why the world

was so desperate to make me the engine,

when all I ever wanted

was to be a floating boat.

From hollowness to hollowness, I returned,

but now with a deeper yearning—

a longing to exist

without judgment,

without scrutiny,

without every step carrying consequence.

Now, I want to do things for their own sake,

to walk for the journey,

to breathe just for the next moment.

To let myself be filled of life,

Of the moments that don't carry meaning,

Just peace.

Areeba

Identity

Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?

How do I relieve myself of these emotions, If not by bleeding myself on paper? How do I express myself to the world, If not by baring myself for everyone to see? What is my comfort, if not being vulnerable with words? Where do I go, if not to pen and paper? To whom do I share my happiness, sadness, My sorrows, and guilt? Where do I let out my anger, Before it turns me cold and sharp? Where do I pour out the storm, Before it drowns me? Tell me, what do I do, If not write?

Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?

©Pen_Pain_Poetry

Once Again

There I stood,

Realising I repeated that once again.

No matter how hard I tried,

I still saw it returning from its exile.

My memory seems to disappear at the time,

Reappearing after the end.

I sighed pitying myself,

While I suffocated in regret.

I don't know what to do next,

I lost both energy and time.

Putting up my best smile,

I witnessed myself,

Missing my life's target,

In the process of erasing its lines.

~ark

Her Tears

Under the dark sky, She looked up with her eyes. She smiled wide when, The rays of light and thunder echoed through the grey. Knowing that the storm emerging slowly, Would destroy everything that will come in its way, She still stood there while her hair curtained her face. Droplets falling gently, She could breathe the sandy air. Uncovering the invisible layers, She rose above all her hidden fears. Forgetting all the mortal ties Throwing away her disguise Listening to her soul for the first time She could finally cry drenched by the tears of the immortal sky.

~ark

With a glint in her eyes, hungry to be heard and loved, looked around herself, she was all alone, all by herself.

She had no major problems in her life nor did she want all eyes on her. It was a search for a pair of eyes, deep as an ocean, for she could drown in them and vanish.

With stories unwritten, she remained responsible, priorities remained unhinged. But it was there in her mind somewhere, to weave a beautiful story once, from her memories and not from her imagination.

The Ashes of Herself

The relics of her feelings, The ashes of her burnt soul, Were locked in an old chest, Buried deep in her heart enclosed. The burden of those burials gradually, Outweighed her. She wanted to get rid of it, As the weight had been consuming her.

That day, The chest opened itself, And dissolved the ashes in the rivers of tears, After years, she felt relieved and alive. She could finally breathe with a pleasant sigh.

There kept a pen on the table, Staring back at her. It was time to write her life again. The droplets of tears fell like rain, Wetting the paper on which, She had to sculpt her life ahead.

She instead wrote everything about her past self, Burnt it, and dissolved the ashes of herself, In a peaceful river. She then wrote again, Looking at herself in the unbreakable mirror, Unknown to what would happen ahead, But known to what would never happen again.

~ark

Alone

All the answers known, I still chose to stay silent. Although I needed someone by my side, I chose to remain on a barren island. All the truths uncovered, I chose to act unknown, My true self drowned in the ink of guilt, I was ashamed to be shown. Descending in the darkness alone, Forbidden from the feeling of ‘home’. I was a stain for the eyes, That was meant to be on its own.

~ark

The Unread Files

As I open the cupboard of my life,

A mountain of files crashed on me.

The number was infinite,

I tried to organise the unopened files.

Wiping the dust off them,

I started keeping them inside.

But as time ran out,

I shoved them recklessly in the night.

The cupboard remained closed,

Opened sometimes.

But the files unread,

Exposed the cowardness I tried to hide.

Now I wonder when I take my last breath,

Would I be able to gather the strength,

To read those unread files?

~ark

I expected the whole world, But now, I have accepted my own world.

~ark