Raw

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Unknown Artist

 

 

 

Have you stayed raw lately
With your flesh still clinging to your soul
changing skins
For every excuse and rationalisation

Raw is denied, raw is abhorred
Raw is uncomplex, naked in all senses
From raw we escape
And raw we want to seek

And no, it’s not a necessity because
Sometimes you’ll pause and stare
For you’ll forget your real one
With all the masks you wore

You’ll often call the false one your own.

Until it will give an itch
And crawl up under your skin
Infect your heart
And murder your soul

You’ll realize you’re sick
Struck with a terminal disease
Life will become a nauseous ride
And plenty of time of endure

For I am raw.

 

 

Sukanya.

Vase.

I imagined myself as a solid vase,
having a set of true colours,
and the strength to contain
the secrets of the world.

But I am still a piece of clay,
gyrating in the hands of people
disguised as potters.

Each running a hand,
skilled or unskilled,
giving me a shape,
and a direction to incline.

Fingers are those which make me,
and break me.
Some pointing at me,
and some pointing away from me.

Unaware of my outcome,
and frightened by the potters,
I do as they say.

“Of course I¬†cannot sculpt myself,
it’s foolish and daring.
I will rotate until
they are tired of playing.”

I contemplate.
I feel the joy of admiration,
and nightmares of crashing.

Can I be a vase?
Or is being a vase
the potter’s false dream?

 

 

Sukanya.

A woman.

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“We All Fall Down” by Aykut Aydogdu

 

Her beauty lies within the petals,
Of her nasty talks,
Her constant nagging,
And her unaccountability for things.

Her beauty lies in
her diligent persistence,
her sincere affection
her calloused hands,
and her war with herself.

She smells like soap and scent
She smells like hardwork,
she tastes like lipstick
glazed with yeasted sweat.

Her swollen joints are painless,
her womb is numb.
Her bosom is a mere show,
to which her vulnerability succumb.

The baggage under her eyes
is heavier than her burden,
and deeper than
an ocean of sorrows.

Delve deep into them,
and you can swim inside
her vast mind, and her
endless presumptions.

She can never be a equal to man.
For man cannot compete
with this bizarre creature.
He will be left behind.
She is a senseless hag
for finding joy in sacrifices.

She is a woman.

 

Sukanya.
©reserved.