Day Fifteen- The Man Who Was Poetry 

Day Fifteen- and big news! My first book is finally close to completion. Stay tuned for updates on The Man Who Was Poetry.🙂 
And I need lots of advice from those of you who have published already. Tips and suggestions are most welcome! 

Love, 

Your Yusra Cookie ❤️

Malediction- A Four Year Anniversary Curse

I am told he had ink in his veins
And she, suffered unspoken miseries
He had his heart crushed to pieces
She lived in a cottage by the sea

He walked barefoot, searching, learning
She wrote each day a different song
He grappled his whole life with intoxication
She? Delighted in being considered wrong

He was a man of a different kind
She was a girl with a bent, touched mind
He refused to conform, his will was rebellion
She had left all societal norms behind

At least, these are the reasons I could find

I have none of these, and yet all of them
Writing demented, born of a whim
Compulsion, impulsion, imprudence beget
Some reasons I cannot, some more I forget

A common disease, this malediction, this curse
To sit and remember what never occurred
Distort reality, fever blind wide open eyes
Scratch and claw paper with ink wounds incurred

Till the fit passes, and the inspiration fades from sight
We have our demons, and our redemption-
We write

 

 

Malediction

©CM
15.01.2017

 

My reasons for writing may keep evolving, but that’s alright. As long as they never run out… 🙂

 

Four years at WordPress. four  years of Calliope’s Lyre. I can’t fathom what directions my life would have taken, had I not had this blog to fall back on mentally, at so many points.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. It goes up and down but I promise, the excitement never diminishes. And as the great man said, we have miles to go before we sleep.

 

Stay tuned, dear Readers. I have just started telling my stories to the world.

 

Love, light, and monsta-sized hugs,

Cookie ❤

Lessons In Fall

Pink, velvet soft, blushing, misbegotten
Dirt stained, so many flowers lay
Forgotten
The sidewalks were carpeted, the
Alleys were filled
Rosy teardrops strewn
all over the world
For whom have these flowers blossomed?
To be thrown away,
what have they sinned?
Why did they grow, so painstakingly slow
To be this chagrined?
Were they for us? Did we forget
To witness their beauty, before age and neglect
Set in?
Or am I seeing this the wrong way
– could it be
We owe it only to ourselves
Not for the world to see
It doesn’t matter who
turns away blindly
But
We all grow, so painstakingly slow
We are
Alive, and warm, and dirt stained
And I bloom
Only for me?

©CM
11.01.2017

‘Allo peeps. I’ve been away wayyy too long. Got some stuff sorted out, got some more sorting out to do- but I’m back! There’s a Cookie dispenser in ye corner, and a stack of poems over ye, and free hugs right here! ❤

Libre

d

I drank a glass full of light
It was cold, bitter even
There was something in it
So unforgiving
A lingering aftertaste
Of truth, I suppose
Harsh
Seared my throat
as I swallowed
It burned
But the enlightenment left me awake
And weak
Limbs trembling in realisation
Sudden and bleak,
That I’d been altered permanently
And eventually, I’ll be alright
But I’ll never be able to go back
To drinking sweet lies

Libre

©CM
02.12.2016

To A Kind Man

 

A man walks past a child, and
Smiles down at it
That is softness
Another stops his day to console a friend
That is benevolence
But there is a man, who sit miles away
From the object of his attention
And ceaselessly radiates hope
Warmth
He gives freely his affection
And words falter when faced with
Such kindnesses
To him who spends so lavishly his love
In such excesses
I don’t know what to say
I cannot thank him enough in any way
Because I am that corner
Where the sun doesn’t reach
But love does, and I receive
It in such intensity
That eclipses are dwarfed
By the immensity
Of that kindness
And I turn to that radiance
When mountains loom, when
the monsters of the mind hold sway

And I will confess
I aspire to be you, to
Someone who needs to borrow light
Some day

 

 

To A Kind Man

 

©CM
02.12.2016

 

 

Kind men. The world doesn’t have enough of them. Blessedly, I do. People who stop by with love, with comfort, who have no self serving reason to do what they do, but they do it anyway. Ashish, Don, Hershel, Furqan, Samee, Sharath– Thank you for helping me, and thank you for supporting me. I am grateful to you and for you.

Pathological Hope

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I suffer
From pathological Hope
Disappointments are bad enough, but
What makes them even tougher to cope
With, is
This nagging uncertainty
Wishful thinking, or just stupidity
That there might, there might just be
Something better for me

I suffer
Because I can’t stop believing
And I may be stubborn, but
Life, is unrelenting
I try not to, but
I keep bending
People crush me, and walk away
And I raise my head yet again
Too hopeful to accept that
There are no fucking happy endings.

(c)CM
26.11.2016

Anorexia 

Anorexia 

Thought starvation, for a period of time
Doesn’t do me any good
The pathology’s the same, like the stomach
The brain too needs its food
Denied a victim, the gastric acid
Into its own walls leaks
-similarly, a concentrated vitriol
An empty mind keeps

Atrophied ideas, dessicated hope
But what’s a hungry girl to do?
When muddied flirtations blend into one another
Faded bruises written black and blue
When nausea becomes a sentient sensation
When you’ve cauterized your heart with self wrought ablation
What’s a girl to do?

I thought too much, now I want to be thin
Your beauty’s enough for both of us, who
Cares about my within
I’ll be like you, just words and skin
Hollow cheeked and empty eyed,
But it’ll do
Hungry, but
Just
Like
You

© CM
21.10.2016

I learnt that being hungry for love is nothing compared to being hungry for respect.  There are some things that just strip you of your dignity.

I don’t remember the last time I felt this small. I think I need to take a break from everything. I might be offline for a few days.
My love to all of you,

Cookie