How can broken things be mended?

How can broken things be mended?

She has been living off the edge.
A ghost in the land of living.
She is a memoir,
Of the past.
Her body has scars,
And wounds from yesterday’s wars.

Grey ghosts peep from her dark eyes.
They have a story, unsaid and unheard.
The demons under the bed,
Are real.
She has seen them.
Yet no one believes.
No, she is not going crazy.
You haven’t lived her life,
Or else, you would also believe.
That broken things,
Could never be mended.

Is it easy,
To see your loved one’s hands,
Behind the dagger,
The finger which pulled the trigger.
Is it easy,
To have hope,
When everything is hopeless.

Everyone kept telling,
Not to be afraid of dark.
But they haven’t seen,
The shape darkness takes,
When it creeps in a vacant room,
And the claustrophobic feeling,
Of being trapped in a glass cage,
And feeling fear,
Such that voice chokes in her throat.

Trust her when she says,
Healing is a lie.
Scars never leave.
Trust her when she says,
Broken things,
Can never be mended.
©Namitaajayan

Love? It doesn’t seem so anymore.

Somewhere on my left breast,
I still carry the bruise,
Of your kiss, branded on my skin,
Like a sinful tattoo.
I’m ashamed to show
What I know.

Our fingertips touching,
In the darkened room.
Dead roses, sweat and perfume.
Love? It doesn’t seem so anymore.

And I know,
I’m a psychotic mess now,
Looking for love,
In every vacant face.
Im just a girl, a naive,
Prisoner of my own mind.
And my love smells like
A graveyard.
Dead, rotten and broke.
And somewhere on my left breast,
I still carry that bruise,
Of your kiss, branded on my skin,
Along with the terrible lies and one broken grin.
©Namitaajayan

The winter of 2014.

Remember the winter of 2014?
You were standing in a black hoodie.
You had a cold smile and husky voice,
And that irritating habit of ruffling your hair.
Oh boy! You were everywhere.

Winter was your favorite.
You were laughing with your friends.
Your laughter echoed in the empty hallway,
I was watching you,
And you never knew.

It was the last time I saw you.
You carried on with your life,
And today, 5 years after,
I am still standing here,
Again in this empty hallway.

Perhaps last time was a goodbye,
But, to my heart, how can I lie?
It was in the winter of 2014
That I realised I love you.
And here we are,
5 years later,
In the winter of 2019,
And I still love you.
But yes, you never knew.
After all, I had been watching you.
©Namitaajayan

The person I once used to be…

I have looked for you
In every city I went,
In the black coffees,
At midnight.
Even in the lonely streets,
In winter nights,
When the city sleeps.
I have searched you,
In every stranger’s eyes,
And in every man’s lies.
In every books you read,
And between the lyrics
Of your favourite songs.
And just when I was
About to quit,
I looked at the mirror,
And found you there,
Beneath the masquerade
Under my put on facade.
From behind my eyes,
I saw you staring at me,
The ghost of the person,
I once used to be.

©Namitaajayan

Trust me, I did not die.

The roses on my grave,
Lay faded, wilted and dead.
For the funeral is over,
And life moved ahead.

I stand beside my ghost,
And the wind began to howl.
On this cold December midnight,
As I say my eulogy to my departed soul.

I am not here to weep.
The night is long and I am asleep.
The happy life has come to an end,
And I don’t have to amend.
If the end is legitimate,
The days of life don’t count.
Because the sins, lies and disguise,
Are burried with the goodbyes.

On this cold December night,
When the winds began to howl,
I sit by the fireplace in hell,
Listening to my death knell,
I am a little high on life.

The hell is empty,
All the demons were burried beside me.
I am not here to cry.
Trust me, I did not die.

©NamitaAjayan