Love For Antiques Gone Dangerous

It's funny how she still likes antiques

When in him she knows not his heart, but his money

His slicked hair bothers her eyes

His hard heels keep her careful of not falling asleep too close to him in the night

It's funny how she still likes antiques

Her living room is a ballroom from the 1920s

And secretly she hates her friend who sits in the armchair classlessly

But thank God for her friend's grey hair that keep her feeling like a winner with lustrous brown streaks

It's funny how she still likes antiques

Knowing of which, her mother bought her a vintage timepiece

But she cringes when mother straps it on her wrist

Ageing mother's rough fingers bother her skin

It's funny how she still likes antiques

Her partner and her friend feel alone in her company

They secretly spend time tending trees

She comes to know of their waltz around trunks, and sets them free

Boiling with venom inside, she smashes her expensive antiques

Who she is starting to lose interest in, rapidly

Her ailing mom calls to see her daughter one last time

But she forgot all about how she taught her to use the spoon when her fingers were not so fine

So she refuses to see the sight of a wrinkly lady who is a mother, divine

Her partner and friend lay her mother to rest on 14th of December in daylight

She gets to know of the little union and wails herself to sleep, which lasts no more than an hour's time

Her heart now runs high on meth, and, on what it could have been if she had stayed with the light

She now has no admiration for, or, sense of antiques.

-Ananta

One of my many crippled attempts

when you curl up in the bed of spring leaves
and God obliges you with half sleep,
somewhere in darkness of your wild dreams,
you find an eccentric relief.


your mama didn't tell you about your dad,
he suddenly disappeared with not a penny to spare
you looked for him at places he never went,
in sharply lit dungeons, you catch his essence


oblivious to your presence, he woos the maiden with maroon 5
you look at him from behind the blinds in despise
a year ago, he bought home a dream car
today he roams around in it without you or mama, but a cigar

a dreary silence crawls up your skin
when mama, who you left moaning, can't be seen
a note from a stranger is kept underneath
a cup still brimmed up with hot tea
next destination- hospital at the neighbouring Mark St.

The Other Side Of The Sadist Sun

I lay dead with emotionless eyes,
But my heart didn't give up and gave me a shiver of sweet ache,
So I curse the Sun for it now took you away and made me realise,
It is yet another battle day.

The shine now blinds me,
So I frantically collect and cover our dreams,
Feeling the burning pain rise up,
I squeal out to the sunny stream,
"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SEE TODAY?"

The drat doesn't answer my frustration,
But sure mocks my situation,
For now I have to labour again,
Of carrying the gut-wrenching pain.

I walk to make money,
Listening to music to live, until death calls out to me, 'oh, honey,'
And soon my heart trails off to your street...

Oh sweet, why did you let me fall for you?

For I wanted to rise with you like those times when...

I could never wait for the darkness to clear,
Because you came with the Sun, my dear.

Afraid, I run back home to get under the rug,
Shut out the maddening world for hours couple,
Search out those dreams that had you and me,
And hope for the moment to freeze right there,
As I vent my prayers into your ears,

Please! oh, sweet, jump out of my dreams,
Come to me tomorrow when I walk under the same sunny stream,
Catch me off guard,
Pick me up so my hair can drench in the light,

Make me love the Sun again for real this time.

-shetoldme