VEILSCAPE AND FAUXSCAPE

It was written on a gloomy day when trials of self-existence and its unwelcomed gesture of truth started to display. The way my mind works is confusing. Have I ever imagined myself as my own, or am I still learning about my existence? Partially speaking, Do I exist? I am unaware of my speech. My actions are mine. A puppet who is writing just because a skill exists with no use or value. What is my value? My worth?My existence reason? Am I immortal or mortal? Are the speeches I speak really mine? If it is true, then why do I change with emotion and speak sometimes against my will? I am still searching for things that are or aren't concerned about mine.

 

It is shocking to know the soul I call mine was never once mine

For the string to align with the desire it wished I am just a mere puppet aligned

My skills, hobbies, and characters all remained to remind

The existence of this mere soul has no control from divine

 

The soul that wishes to break the chain free

Is still a part or a bit of the divine?

Though the thoughts, wish, and feelings I consider were found to be never mine

The desire to hold the shackles and become a leader was demised and shut my eyes becoming blind

 

When quantum physics enters the chat

I can mark my story within the prideful hat

And so, the believe in psychology and science

Has led to believe my existence as a lie

 

I still wait for the people and the right time

When someone can come and open the rising eye

Then can I enjoy the lemonade and lime

The beauty is also mysterious hidden within lie

IMG BY: Alexia Anonima

Img:  A girl with guitar attached at the back

Text: A poem about psychological confusions

FROM: ADMIN journeytopoetry@gmail.com

JUST A RANDOM CONSCIENCE LANTERN

 

Written to express trust and its betrayal, just like the lock and key provided among multiple individuals about secrets. It represents the fragile nature of trust. Who should be trusted? Maybe it is situational or a change with the drift of time. It also expresses the pain of bleeding using papers, unsure and confused whether it will ever see the light or reach the world. The symbolic relation of lock and key expresses loyalty and bonding deeply. It shows that trusted individuals are given keys, but the game begins when you can trust and remain free. Even the bonding of the lock is confined, and it can create fears of uncertainty. It represents the bitter truth about trust and partially about the nature of empathy. It expresses the pain hidden in every action, the minute melancholy is expressed even in great times. It's subsided due to the grand opening ahead, but still, that emotion is also validated.

 

I am inking the paper with poetries

The swift movement of the pen is what remains free

Just like the doves given wings and directions set free

As soon as the autumn sheds tree

 

The pens are dropped, wings are locked within confided locks

Then the days spin, nights ring winter begins

The papers are locked left over in stocks

Every little thing from synchronizing beats are kept in box

 

The change of season is very fast in here

But the emotions are scattered in it is what I fear

The ones who could decode and peek into deep layers

Are the keys I want to hide from I am scared

Just like those keys made Kafka's writing flare

But I'm still confused partially was it in his prayer

It was a piece he didn’t wanted to show hidden in layers

Out there are lots of keys who don’t care

 

 They just want to understand and give hopes isn’t it trespass, won't you fear?

Just because he is dead doesn’t mean your authorized to share his works, I think the soul will bear

Now tones of people will tell me it isn’t right, cause his works flared and is shining bright?

For I am not concerned with his success and fame after life cause I believe there are lots hidden when he was alive

The piercing fate is what lies

No one was there to share his cries

After his death everyone lured and tries

Well it was his dream he could have raised high and fly

IMG BY:Bored Panda

Img:  A girl is a lock in her back with key in hand

Text: A poem about trust issues

From: Admin journeytopoetry@gmail.com

TO THE WORKS NOT HEARD

Written to collectively promote and support individuals and their skills despite their destiny which plays. It expresses the melancholy and pain when you write not to impress but to express. The individual piece of creation of one's own feels a burden when compared and disclosed. However, it gives a turn of heads and minds when you write to exist, be it in this century or any other, where destiny takes shakes hands and plays with the rhythmic beat. It stretches it's arms until it reaches but alas doesn't confirms will you be there to even peak? Or Will you be the search and the missing piece waiting to flare your own writing?

I just wanted to be heard

Not remembered

I bleed with my art and passion

Just to let them know I exist

 

I want to leave my marks on land

So that when someone shuffles the deepen sand

They will remember me with my work of hand

I know it's not that big or grand

 

Out when the wind blows

Hoping the time slows

All the paths my life rows

It remains as my memory flows

Covered up in the graveyard

Remains all the death cards

The floriculture began to grow

After the demise works lays low

 

Just the thought everyone around have /had the skill   

Shouldn’t have let me down when my arts fill

I should have remembered out there are people who would hear

Be it now, another century or decades and I shouldn’t have fear

 Img by:Samantha Mathews

 Img:  A glimpse of a girl running

Text: A poem about creative individuals

 FROM :ADMIN journeytopoetry@gmail.com