Falling down an abyss
Bottom unknown
Falling in a blackness so thick
Screams cannot penetrate it
A hand catches.
A faint suspended hope
A momentary lecherous security
Before the fall begins
A hand catches.
A frantic hope
A fool’s grasp is never secure
Falling again
A hand catches.
A daring hope
A willful hand lets go at whim
Air rushes. Screams unheard.
A hand catches.
A hope that declares itself nonexistent
Exists to declare.
Hoping is all hope knows to do.
A cautious grasp
This time she lets go.
Christina De Silva
14 November 2009
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Leaves
Daddy, oh Daddy?
Why do the leaves fall?
Where do they go?
Are they angry with the tree?
They look so happy to fall
Look at them leaping from
The branches they once clung to!
Daddy, oh Daddy?
Why do some fall sooner than the others?
Why do they fall at all Daddy?
Why do they change colour?
I really don’t understand.
No my love, they aren’t angry
They aren’t happy either
The leaves change colour as they grow older
And they have to fall
To make room for the baby leaves
Some fall sooner because it’s time for a new leaf,
Or simply because they just don’t fit.
They don’t really leave the tree
They fall to the ground at the roots
And become one with the soil
That nourishes the tree.
It’s a whole new adventure for these leaves
Jumping off their comfort zone
You wouldn’t want a life without adventure, would you my pet?
Christina De Silva
12 November 2009
Why do the leaves fall?
Where do they go?
Are they angry with the tree?
They look so happy to fall
Look at them leaping from
The branches they once clung to!
Daddy, oh Daddy?
Why do some fall sooner than the others?
Why do they fall at all Daddy?
Why do they change colour?
I really don’t understand.
No my love, they aren’t angry
They aren’t happy either
The leaves change colour as they grow older
And they have to fall
To make room for the baby leaves
Some fall sooner because it’s time for a new leaf,
Or simply because they just don’t fit.
They don’t really leave the tree
They fall to the ground at the roots
And become one with the soil
That nourishes the tree.
It’s a whole new adventure for these leaves
Jumping off their comfort zone
You wouldn’t want a life without adventure, would you my pet?
Christina De Silva
12 November 2009
Waking Up
The alarm went off at six o’clock. It had an insidiously annoying tone which went right through your head and woke you up in a few seconds. Still very drowsy with sleep she groped around under her pillows and finding her iPod hit ‘snooze’. The ringing stopped and in the silence that ensued she vaguely heard the sound of birds tripping over the highest notes with unimaginable ease, making impossibly intricate, yet somehow simple melodies. She turned and hugged a pillow, pulling the warm quilt tight around her, snuggling down deeper in its familiar warmth. Shifting sunshine through the glass balcony door beside her bed fell on her cheek, leaving traces of warmth, a peachy smudge. She thought of him. A happy smile brightened the peachy smudge as she unconsciously whispered his name, savoring the sound.
Suddenly she remembered. She opened her eyes. She struggled to breathe. The pain she felt was as if though someone held her ribs in a vice which tightened, splintering bones, puncturing her lungs.
‘This isn’t working out…I’m just not happy with you…I want to end this…’
How she regretted those careless words contained in the impulsive text she sent him the night before! She blinked hard, kidding herself that she wouldn’t miss him. A tear escaped. She sat up in bed, her head throbbing. Suddenly the sunshine seemed cold and indifferent, the quilt suffocating.
I’d rather be a little pissed off at your seemingly indifferent ways, a little discontent at being left alone than being completely miserable by not having you as my very own.
She realized that she liked him way more than she had thought she did.
Christina De Silva
25 July 2009
Suddenly she remembered. She opened her eyes. She struggled to breathe. The pain she felt was as if though someone held her ribs in a vice which tightened, splintering bones, puncturing her lungs.
‘This isn’t working out…I’m just not happy with you…I want to end this…’
How she regretted those careless words contained in the impulsive text she sent him the night before! She blinked hard, kidding herself that she wouldn’t miss him. A tear escaped. She sat up in bed, her head throbbing. Suddenly the sunshine seemed cold and indifferent, the quilt suffocating.
I’d rather be a little pissed off at your seemingly indifferent ways, a little discontent at being left alone than being completely miserable by not having you as my very own.
She realized that she liked him way more than she had thought she did.
Christina De Silva
25 July 2009
Love, my emaciation
Every time I fall
Every time I trust
Every time I let my defenses down
Im hurt
Heartbroken
Crushed
Wounded
Like a soldier behind enemy lines
In an infinite war
Shot while a white flag flutters in his face
Like a turtle who has been coaxed out of its shell
Frightened and threatened
It will retreat to the dark recesses it calls home
Not reappearing…for a long time
And only when it really needs food
I don’t want
Hugs
Kisses
I want your time
Is that so hard? I thought you care?
Your time is my senses
Without time spent with me, making me feel you care
I am blind to the charm of your smiles
I am deaf to your declarations of adoration
I am insensitive to the tenderness in your caresses
I can not smell the sweetness of your perfume
I can not taste your lips on mine
Diamonds are dust
Roses and rocks
I don’t care what you give me
You can be a pauper
But if you give me your time
I will love you like a king
You ask my why I don’t respond to your hugs
A mannequin in your arms
I’m protecting myself
I don’t want to base my affection on
Hugs and kisses which can be empty
Devoid of all emotion, stemming from lust
Mannequins have scars, did you know that?
From all the people who handled it rough
It comes to pieces if you handle it wrong
‘I wont come see you, I miss you’
I laugh at the paradox of it while tears spring into my eyes
What is this ludicrous farce we call love?
That has the power to bring a woman sobbing to her knees?
The power to ruin the greatest man?
And like an eagle in flight
Be the wind man and woman soar on?
The true tragedy of life
Is not sorrow or suffering
It is that we have an imagination
The power to think and illusion ourselves
Every tear makes me stronger
Every heartbreak, number
Every disillusionment makes perception sharper
Very soon I will be
A romantic, wounded soul hiding
Within an armored , numbed body
What will happen when true love
Falls on his knees before me?
What will this deaf, blind, insensitive carcass do?
Love, my emaciation.
Christina De Silva
13 July 2009
Every time I trust
Every time I let my defenses down
Im hurt
Heartbroken
Crushed
Wounded
Like a soldier behind enemy lines
In an infinite war
Shot while a white flag flutters in his face
Like a turtle who has been coaxed out of its shell
Frightened and threatened
It will retreat to the dark recesses it calls home
Not reappearing…for a long time
And only when it really needs food
I don’t want
Hugs
Kisses
I want your time
Is that so hard? I thought you care?
Your time is my senses
Without time spent with me, making me feel you care
I am blind to the charm of your smiles
I am deaf to your declarations of adoration
I am insensitive to the tenderness in your caresses
I can not smell the sweetness of your perfume
I can not taste your lips on mine
Diamonds are dust
Roses and rocks
I don’t care what you give me
You can be a pauper
But if you give me your time
I will love you like a king
You ask my why I don’t respond to your hugs
A mannequin in your arms
I’m protecting myself
I don’t want to base my affection on
Hugs and kisses which can be empty
Devoid of all emotion, stemming from lust
Mannequins have scars, did you know that?
From all the people who handled it rough
It comes to pieces if you handle it wrong
‘I wont come see you, I miss you’
I laugh at the paradox of it while tears spring into my eyes
What is this ludicrous farce we call love?
That has the power to bring a woman sobbing to her knees?
The power to ruin the greatest man?
And like an eagle in flight
Be the wind man and woman soar on?
The true tragedy of life
Is not sorrow or suffering
It is that we have an imagination
The power to think and illusion ourselves
Every tear makes me stronger
Every heartbreak, number
Every disillusionment makes perception sharper
Very soon I will be
A romantic, wounded soul hiding
Within an armored , numbed body
What will happen when true love
Falls on his knees before me?
What will this deaf, blind, insensitive carcass do?
Love, my emaciation.
Christina De Silva
13 July 2009
Butterflies
The little girl danced capriciously into the lawn
And twirled, her hair glistening in the morning sun,
Her radiant smile in harmony with her laughing eyes
She stopped. Motionless, with a look of intense concentration.
She had spotted a butterfly.
Enraptured by its graceful beauty
Her light feet mirrored its erratic flight.
Its blue-tipped wings evasively, out of reach
A butterfly coloured in brilliant red flitted past
And with a gasp of wonder she started the chase
But soon found her dithering between the two.
Very soon, several butterflies flitted around her
Following their own pursuits;
A whiff of fragrance, a soft petal…
Utterly oblivious of the confusion
The delicate fluttering of their wings
Whipped up in her.
She ran after one, then another,
Her eager hands closing a second too late.
Finally, hot and exhausted, she sat
On the grass dejectedly.
She closed her eyes.
A playful breeze ruffled her hair
Cooling her hot cheeks, tickled by a strand of hair.
The incessant tickling drew her attention
And she discerned tiny feather-like pricks.
She opened her eyes.
In the soft evening glow she saw
To her intense delight
A butterfly with liquid wings
Perched with calm audacity on her cheek.
Christina De Silva
02 July 2009
And twirled, her hair glistening in the morning sun,
Her radiant smile in harmony with her laughing eyes
She stopped. Motionless, with a look of intense concentration.
She had spotted a butterfly.
Enraptured by its graceful beauty
Her light feet mirrored its erratic flight.
Its blue-tipped wings evasively, out of reach
A butterfly coloured in brilliant red flitted past
And with a gasp of wonder she started the chase
But soon found her dithering between the two.
Very soon, several butterflies flitted around her
Following their own pursuits;
A whiff of fragrance, a soft petal…
Utterly oblivious of the confusion
The delicate fluttering of their wings
Whipped up in her.
She ran after one, then another,
Her eager hands closing a second too late.
Finally, hot and exhausted, she sat
On the grass dejectedly.
She closed her eyes.
A playful breeze ruffled her hair
Cooling her hot cheeks, tickled by a strand of hair.
The incessant tickling drew her attention
And she discerned tiny feather-like pricks.
She opened her eyes.
In the soft evening glow she saw
To her intense delight
A butterfly with liquid wings
Perched with calm audacity on her cheek.
Christina De Silva
02 July 2009
Tell Me
What do you do when it hurts inside?
What do you do when you cant talk to the people close to you
Cause you just cant put the pain to words
And you’re scared they’d scorn the pain real and alive to you?
What do you do when you cant tell people how much you really need them
For fear that it would overwhelm them and walk away
Like people tend to do and leave you a crumpled mess
Cause you stood with their support?
What do you when you have no choice but to
Fight the attraction simply cause you’re scared?
What do you do when people don’t understand why
A needle stabs like a sword?
What do you do when you plead with your eyes
But they only see your face?
What do you when pride wont bend your knees
Cause you’ve refused to acknowledge His presence when the going was good?
You think you can handle it, you think you can figure it out
But you cant
And you’re lost
A bleeding soul trapped inside a body ruled by pride
Pride, man’s crown and also his noose.
Tell me, what do you do?
What do I do?
Like a porcelain doll with a dazzling smile painted on its face
A flawless face to hide the hollow darkness within
Cold ceramic, numb to the pain, its own and others
Infuriating them with that never changing smile
Cold ceramic defenceless, vulnerable to every blow, however slight
Shattering.
But can ceramic bleed?
Christina De Silva
02 July 2009
What do you do when you cant talk to the people close to you
Cause you just cant put the pain to words
And you’re scared they’d scorn the pain real and alive to you?
What do you do when you cant tell people how much you really need them
For fear that it would overwhelm them and walk away
Like people tend to do and leave you a crumpled mess
Cause you stood with their support?
What do you when you have no choice but to
Fight the attraction simply cause you’re scared?
What do you do when people don’t understand why
A needle stabs like a sword?
What do you do when you plead with your eyes
But they only see your face?
What do you when pride wont bend your knees
Cause you’ve refused to acknowledge His presence when the going was good?
You think you can handle it, you think you can figure it out
But you cant
And you’re lost
A bleeding soul trapped inside a body ruled by pride
Pride, man’s crown and also his noose.
Tell me, what do you do?
What do I do?
Like a porcelain doll with a dazzling smile painted on its face
A flawless face to hide the hollow darkness within
Cold ceramic, numb to the pain, its own and others
Infuriating them with that never changing smile
Cold ceramic defenceless, vulnerable to every blow, however slight
Shattering.
But can ceramic bleed?
Christina De Silva
02 July 2009
Trapped!
A caterpillar imprisoned in a glass jar
Would be quite content
As is it its nature to be
Satisfied with a plentiful supply of leaves to munch
And not being very adventurous and demanding
It would perceive no difference
Save the absence of the dangers of the wild
Which it would be oblivious of
Sheltered and naïve as it is.
But what happens when this
Fuzzy green caterpillar,
Rather plain and uninteresting to the eye,
Wraps itself in a cocoon and
Metamorphosises
Into a breathtaking butterfly,
Alluring in its vivid colours?
What happens to this butterfly,
Fluttering so gracefully, unconscious of its charm?
Its romantic soul, etched in liquid lines
On its tissue-like wings,
Yearns to be free.
Will it exhaust itself with futile attempts;
To break free of an invisible barrier;
Synthetic material incomprehensible to natural cognition;
And drop dead, within its glass prison?
Will it perch complacently on a leaf;
Barely managing to stretch its wings in its confinement;
And once let loose
Fall. Since it never learned to fly?
Or, will it bid its time,
Wings trembling with the passion to fly,
And defy the hand that held it captive,
Flying away never to come back…?
Christina De Silva
04 July 2009
Would be quite content
As is it its nature to be
Satisfied with a plentiful supply of leaves to munch
And not being very adventurous and demanding
It would perceive no difference
Save the absence of the dangers of the wild
Which it would be oblivious of
Sheltered and naïve as it is.
But what happens when this
Fuzzy green caterpillar,
Rather plain and uninteresting to the eye,
Wraps itself in a cocoon and
Metamorphosises
Into a breathtaking butterfly,
Alluring in its vivid colours?
What happens to this butterfly,
Fluttering so gracefully, unconscious of its charm?
Its romantic soul, etched in liquid lines
On its tissue-like wings,
Yearns to be free.
Will it exhaust itself with futile attempts;
To break free of an invisible barrier;
Synthetic material incomprehensible to natural cognition;
And drop dead, within its glass prison?
Will it perch complacently on a leaf;
Barely managing to stretch its wings in its confinement;
And once let loose
Fall. Since it never learned to fly?
Or, will it bid its time,
Wings trembling with the passion to fly,
And defy the hand that held it captive,
Flying away never to come back…?
Christina De Silva
04 July 2009
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