Mir

Mir walked slowly, every step sending a strained message to his brain. To stop. To lie down. To give it a rest. It had been a long day, like every other. Mir should relax.

The saner, wiser part of him argued vehemently against those pleas. If he stopped, he wouldn't be able to get back up. And then a kind villager would have to carry him to his shack. He wouldn't be able to bear that sort of humiliation again.

Connecting...

'Freud's Psychoanalysis', I scrawled on the magnificent ruled paper, and paused to allow myself a moment of self-pity. The scrawl looked incredibly ugly on the white sheet, and I almost convinced myself that I shouldn't study. Freud frowned up at me.

The reason behind the 'almost' was the dishevelled creature in front of me, who snapped ferociously if any one of us so much as yawned. Zeenat(as her name suggested, albeit in a different sense altogether), was someone to be handled with care.

You

You're the scarred soul and the blistering body,
The blood that shimmers inside,
The sweat that glistens violently,
As you stoke your demonic light.

You're the speckled sky,
The constellations floating in a queer dance,
The brilliance of the afternoon stupor,
Lit by your inner suns.

A Lament

Seas trembled and writhed in dismay,
The flames shed a single tear.
Rock withered and sky staggered,
The murk dissolved, stale but clear.

Splotches of red stained the whispering snow,
A frown creased the brittle heat.
Clouds burst forth in a reckless rage,
Pooling round the tempest's feet.

The errant mob behaved itself,
Rivers stiffened and ceased their flow.
The dead heaved an expectant sigh,
Machines skidded to a halt, wiping their brow.

The world slowed down, panting,
Time itself caught its breath.
Chaos went numb and silent,
Lamenting the poet's death.

The Noose

Crowded, suffocating,
The air now closing in.
I feel the urge to escape,
Escape away from this din.

The Fall

I stared down the blackness, my feelings a mixture of queasiness and exultation. The void seemed almost impenetrable, as if it were a veil, a barrier instead of empty space. The breeze blew past ever so slightly, brushing my cheeks like the tender hands of a lover... a lover.
The moon was at its full, shining benignly down at the scene, casting shadows wherever the trees behind me cut through its light. The faint smell of wet mud hung in the air, stirring up memories of childhood. Everything looked beautiful, breathtaking, as if in mockery of my plight. An excellent place to die.

Song of the Faithful

I just met a non-believer,
Ah, the same old tiff again.
It has dragged on for decades and centuries,
Not a suitable place for the sane.

What has religion given us,
but war and blood, you say?
We'd all be machines with gears gone awry,
if it weren't for the beliefs that still hold sway.

The Lark

When I was a child, I was friends with a lark. It was no ordinary bird, for it could talk. And by talk, I mean human speech. This isn't one of those stories where in the end, the narrator turns out to be an animal or some inanimate object.

I was speaking about the lark, yes.

A Waking Dream

Who dwells in my waking dreams, my sleeping thoughts, The nights asked with a troubled sigh. The words fumbled to speak of her Who haunts the shadows where my demons lie. Where do I begin? Of those eyes should I confide? Seemingly fathomless and churning. Where anchors flounder and storms take flight.

Keep the flame alive

You're an ignorant child who has yet to see the myriads of trouble and dismay that life has to offer. You live protected behind a veil of happy and gaily songs, woven with trifles that have your highest priority. Where the hardest thing is getting rejected by your crush and breaking up with your love of adolescence... where you cry when others fail to wish you a happy birthday.
You are a child of spring with sweet coying flowers that bloom anew everyday, where the night's dark is kept at bay by ever-twinkling stars and the soft moonlight. You haven't experienced the cold, biting frost that gnaws on men's hope and souls. Savour the joy of innocence while your ignorance lasts. It is said that ignorance is bliss. I would never know if that is true. But you would. 
When the icy claws of the monsters under the bed grab for you, only then will you realize that monsters don't exist, but humans do. And that is a terror of a different kind; the kind that makes you rear with its justice, that disgusts you with its mercy, that makes you shiver with its touch of compassion. 
You may have read many inspiring sayings, even jotted down a few in that little diary by your bed-side stand. Hear this one. 
You are alone, surrounded by chattering wisps of people who are too engrossed in their lives to pay you any mind. They'll chatter away happily when the dark creeps forward. Many will flee when the shadow so much as falls upon them. A few will remain beside you, but swaying like the flame of a candle in the breeze. When the dark grows strong, when your own shadow abandons you, they'll flicker and scatter away, too. You will be distraught, your heart will shatter. And this is when it all matters. You won't remember those motivating quotes then. It'll just be you. And when you hold yourself together in that darkness, when you keep the flame alive, that's when you'll come into your own. When you'll finally know yourself. 
The winds will blow, relentless. The dark will engulf you, ruthless in its mercy. 
The trick is to keep the flame alive...

Conflict

It hounds me day and night,
the damned question that wears me dry.
There is no mercy and no respite,
from this conflict of...
Who am I?