Friday, 4 April 2014

4/4/2014. The Story I Am.

You construct every sentence of my life,
sentencing me to a life of your choosing,
I am losing a battle with every demon you have penned,
penniless within my soul,
sold to the devil so long ago.
I am a story with so many commas
I pause for effect,
cause and effect are illusions, delusions
you have formulated in the mind of man
lest he ever doubt the freedom he thinks he has.
Everyone else keeps moving on,
they are gone before I can blink,
no time to think which road to take
for you write my decision before it is made
and I am saved from the perilous evil of peace.
I am but a character in the twisted plot
a melting pot of emotions and illusions
burning in confusion
and seclusion, is all I ask of you.                                     
hanging off cliffs in every chapter
you wrote no rescue from my captors,
enraptured by the thought that there is some better future.
You have scrawled me onto every unknown dark road,
and I crawl, crying over cobbled stones, alone
uneven paths that last for miles, never reaching home.
And every door crossing my sight, invites  me in.
The hope of freedom is a craze, 
this maze is never ending.
I am trapped, I am caught,
I don’t why I hold on to the thought that the salvation I sought
will be sent, by the author who dictates my destiny.
The intricacy of this realm you have inscribed,
I cannot describe in the mere words created by man.
I am not more than I am. I began in an imperfect land
with no plan, a chewed ball of flesh, the daughter of man.
You gave me the gift of life and of words
but with each gift came a trial to wipe the smiles
and remind me happiness is as short lived as the shortest of miles,
but still worthwhile for the refreshing peace it brings.
The refreshing pieces of serenity that make my heart sing;
but the moment dies before my eyes.
I so despise the sorrow
of goodbyes.
each story has an ending.
Though spending every waking moment pretending I know it is useless.
I cannot expect it, so must accept it can come quicker than I know
or painfully slow, when I'm begging to let go
or caught in the flow of a- 

Sunday, 15 December 2013

15/12/2013. Awakening.

I am regaining consciousness
rising from a coma where I heard nothing,
besides the nattering of my own self-doubt.

I am awakening
from the restless slumber which took my sleep,
and tangled my days into nights without a care.

I am returning
to the body, which had remained for weeks, an empty shell:
living, yet not alive; nor wishing to be.

I am resurfacing
from the depths of a confusion that would drown me.
Gasping; breathing in a sweet lungful of hope

And I resolve to never return to that pit
in which I had flung myself.
And to climb mountains, one step at a time,
not complaining for the hardship that would take me higher.

And I resolve to be honest with my own self,
for a heavy heart is a difficult load to carry, on the journey up.
And I resolve never to forget;
for looking down reminds me, of how far I have come.

And I resolve to never lose hope,
despite the clouds that may obscure my goal.
And I resolve to remain humble, for even at the highest peak,
I shall never touch the sun. 

Thursday, 12 December 2013

8/12/2013. Slumber.

Drifting into slumber,
my head clears,
my heart wanders, unchained from the distractions of the day.
And I am frightened awake by the whispers of my dormant soul.
Tears stream like molten lava,
from the depths of a place I dared not venture.
I squeeze my eyes,
trying to physically plug the flow of thoughts
tumbling to the forefront of my mind, unchecked;
In my desperation to stop this dive into the void
I reach out,
screaming in silence.
And you hold my hand, for the briefest flicker of time.
There was a comfort in the contact with another soul
who knows the pain of a hollow heart.
And yet it was gone before I could swallow the lump in my throat
rising like bile
choking me,
choking on the pleas for forgiveness I could not voice.
And again I was alone
in the darkness of my own making.
my vision clouded,
my demons crowded around my ebbing hope.
I should just give in.
For in a world which has lost its colour
who would notice another soul slip into the black;
another meaningless shadow in the darkness
who failed to find
its purpose.

Sunday, 15 September 2013

15/09/2013. Human.

Billions of atoms,
coming, yet going,
turning, unturning
still- and spinning,
moving in time and space.

Pieces of stardust
and dirt,
harmonising in a moment;
the conception of mind from matter
simultaneously conscious,
and unconscious,
subconsciously longing to exist.

Dying from the moment of conception
a constant paradox,
done and undone,
by and of itself,
and themselves,
and ourselves,
and I.

Searching for the meaning of being
when being itself
is a perplexing impossibility,
or improbability
so probable that the game of chance
has gambled into existence
each unique one 
of a common billion.

I am
or are We?
Billions of atoms:
coming yet going,
turning, unturning,
still and spinning,
moving in time and space.

amina bhatti

Friday, 13 September 2013

13/09/2013. Monsoon.

The monsoon pours heavy,
coldest of cries
these raindrops weep
from the swollen skies
lightening flashes
and the softest breath
of September sighs.

The rain is relentless,
soaking my hair,
it is a comforting cold
it pours and it pours,
a rhythm unfolds
dousing every flame,
except in my soul.

Where are you, so far away?
And why?
Answer the questions
that dampen my eyes,
the thunder roars
remembering goodbyes
the monsoon on my face,
my tears disguise.

And oh, the healing
of a rain filled morn
wash away the pain
of a heart forlorn,
with distance and sorrow
every love is adorned,
for even the sweetest
rose has its thorn.

amina bhatti

Sunday, 16 June 2013

16/06/13. Guilt.

Apologies rattle in the dungeons of your mind
Trapped, unsaid,
Echoing against the corners
Of the darkest places.
How can you utter the words ‘forgive me’
With the same tainted lips with which you tell
The reason you need to be forgiven?
With the same lips that snarl in disgust
At yourself,
Tell me, how another’s forgiveness will change anything
If you cannot ever forgive yourself?
You are wrapped warmly,
In the coldness of your selfish heart
In a blanket of shame.
But no amount of self-reproach could rectify
This sin.
Remorse cannot undo the damage
Nor slow the decay of the heart, touched by deceit.
Once the slimy tendrils of treachery take hold,
You cannot ever hope to wipe clean the slate.
No, there is no pardon for the likes of you,
No absolution for the wicked.
For what is done is done,
And regrets prove nothing,
Because where was your conscience
When you leapt into the fires of hell
And embraced the flames?
No amount of virtue will rectify it,
For how can you balance the scale
When the weight will remain
forever heavy upon your soul?

Monday, 10 June 2013

10/06/13. Be.

They say I'm wearing rose-tinted spectacles
but I take them off
and nothing's changed,
we are still ourselves
and each other.
There is no need to think twice
and worry about every last detail,
of the past we can not change
or the future we do not hold.
Who are they to try and warp
our minds with their doubts?
To try and cloud the sun
that shines within us?
Because there's no harm
in just being happy.
So I don't think long
on why I'm smiling,
or in fact, why I shouldn't,
because I have, and always had,
all I need to be content.
Despite its complexity
life is simple
and we can just,

amina bhatti

Monday, 3 June 2013

02/06/13. Fireflies.

We are fire-flies
trapped in glass bottles
glowing in the darkness of our own minds.
The universe beyond us holds,
in the cradle of its great vastness,
more knowledge than we could ever hope to find here,
basking in the warmth and comfort of our own glow.
There are those who refuse to believe
that anything more radiant than ourselves
could be.
But little do they know that we,
we are but the smallest of flickers
amongst the fires of worlds,
held in a cement unknown,
Because we are trapped in our glass bottles
boundaries of our own making
within our minds.
But then there are those curious few
Who close their eyes to the lights which blind them,
and in that moment
they may see, without seeing,
a radiance in the distance-
a fire.
Setting alight not their burning bodies
but igniting their souls
with a desire,
with a hunger to escape.
And which crude restraints
of glass or ignorance
can ever confine such a spirit,
seeking the truth in every plane,
ablaze with hope, and wonder.

amina bhatti

Saturday, 18 May 2013

18/05/13. Old Photographs.

I look back at rusting photographs
dusty smiles of happy days
on glossy paper,
where youth is eternal,
and there are no worries beyond
who can do the longest handstand.
Now I'm standing years ahead in time,
laughing at the girl who I used to be
yet missing it all at once
because things could have been done differently.
But, I guess if that were so
the Me now, would never know
how far it was, that I had come.
The circles my thoughts ran in my head
have shaped me into who I am,
for better or worse
every hardship, a curse
in my eyes
but a blessing in disguise
the skies were always blue
behind the clouds.
These pictures of friends,
Those I loved and lost
those I found again,
to me they've showed
that along lifes road
we change, and become old
but even the memories we don't remember
allowed us to grow.
Old photographs
keep us humble
for no matter how far we have come
or how far we have yet to go,
they remind us of where we began
and how we couldn't have made it alone

amina bhatti

Sunday, 12 May 2013

11/05/13. Independence.

Slowly your crutches have worn away
and slowly your supports have left
you whimper, feeling weak, abandoned,
you don't see this, as a gift.
You must rise strong and independent
standing firm on your two feet
learn to ride the untamed waves
learn to take the heat.
Be grounded in your beliefs
don't forget from where you came,
but know where it is you're going
and don't be held back by your shame.
Don't be led by others,
for you always have a choice
True strength comes from within you
so trust your inner voice.
Don't lean upon another
on them you can't rely
the wings grow on your own back
only you, for you, can fly.

amina bhatti