The Red Rose – story of Ora

The Red Rose

When spring blossoms in the atmosphere, new life nurtures.

Various colours, shapes and sizes,

All special in their own way.

The most beautiful rose in town,

The crimson colour of red it holds.

The sweet smell captured in the finest mixes of scents,

Each coil reveals a story.

The red rose

As perfect as perfection could be,

Till the day a petal sheds,

Then more…

The beauty is no longer admired with such ore’

Life can sometimes feel like that : the red rose with its lost beauty.

The red rose

Having shed the few petals makes the difference.

People no longer want the red rose in their perfectly manicured gardens.

Have you ever admired the red rose ?

I have

I am the red rose”

Yet I believe and know;

I still hold the beauty within my cuts and creases,

As pretty as I once blossomed, opened each coil, flourishing making the earth pretty.

The red rose still captures the sweetness of nature

-A.P-

Adrift

Adrift I am away from thoughts that conquer my vision,

Adrift I want to remain for ever from those locked away moments,

I do not want to feel fear,

I do not want to feel pain,

Forever afloat on cloud 9, shall I remain.

Adrift I am from those noises that break my peace I usually meditate to.

Adrift I am from the rest of the world full of glam.

I feel love,

I feel passion,

I feel warmth

Adrift I am …

The Dark Room

This is a very special piece for me to express the emotions and situation that one can almost never delete from the brain and please do read it as it will hopefully help someone one day. It took me a lot of courage to put this together .

The Dark Room

The dark room

The clock ticked in my brain ,

I’m sure and definite each second was a minute,

Each minute was an hour ,

And each hour was a day,

And each day turned into days.

The dark room

My vision was blur,

In and out of consciousness,

The memory cannot recall anymore.

The drugs didn’t help, legal and illegal.

Mercy was all I could seek for at that very stage.

The dark room

The woman in me,

In fact the human in me died sometime amongst those moments.

Those very moments stripped my soul of life,

Raped my innocence

No light , no air, no hydration nor nutrition,

My body went into Autopilot mode,

Survival instincts kept me breathing and nurturing my body, to keep wishing for the last breathe not to be the last one.

The dark room

Faith had reached it’s toll,

No other thought crossed my central nervous system other than to beg with my voice, that was merely heard.

Or maybe it was never voiced

The dark room

The dark room became home to my soulless body, naked, cold, and bruised, for those days , hours, minutes and seconds.

My bare body was in excruciating pain, almost to the point that the fight flight reaction didn’t even kick in.

Beating after beating,

Negative words, pure evil surrounded me as I lay emotionless , dead to the world.

The dark room

With no life left in me, the Dark room killed the person I was once,

That girl is buried under the grounds of the dark room and she shall never live again.

That very day I Died

In The Dark room

A.P.

Fathers Day… How much I miss you

Two decades ago, I lost the most beautiful relationship I once had, the void that no one will ever fill.

How much I miss you dad

Now looking back, oh how much I miss you so.

On a day like this; memory lane takes me back to when dad used to hold my tiny fingers as he guided me in the right direction,

To keep me fearless of the world,

Keeping me tucked under his angelic wings.

How much I miss you dad

My moments with his so sweet, and memorable,

Oh how I wish you were here right now to show me the right path in the maze I live in.

Those moments when he wiped my tears,

And give me cuddles,

Nothing ever felt wrong,

The teachings were always so humble,

To never give up on myself, and fight my way through.

How much I miss you dad

Those memories are not faint, yet so fresh, so surreal.

Fathers day has always been a reminder of the innocence of my past.

Never take your loved ones for granted, as tomorrow may never be… Oh dad how much I miss you so.

I will live the days with the memories I have in my heart and forever hold you close to my heart

I love you and will till my last breathe.

Happy Fathers Day.

-A.P.

The other side of the fence

The other side of the fence

It’s not always greener on the other side

Now when I look at it,

It can be as dry as this side.

Dealing with the low moods,

No smile to respond to

No normal feelings like the other,

No gratification

Unless you aren’t on the side you will not know.

Yes, it’s not always greener on the other side

When there are tears they don’t know how to wipe them,

Thus anger and frustration a result.

When moods are low, jokes aren’t funny and that leads to suspicion.

And when nothing works, even a raised tone of voice to the dead mind seems right to them.

It’s not always greener on the other side

When I glance at the paddock and hope I was the one giving empathy, I realise that I may not have been the right one.

The other side is as dry as this side,

Rarely will there be one that wants to jump this side, its all a delusion that this side is greener.

The other side of the fence,

Is as hard as it is to live on this side.

-A.P.

The Reach… In hope of

The reach… In hope of

My fingers tremble, as my hand reaches out,

I keep that surreal look to my mind,

In some hope of touching the untouched.

The season of spring brings some glory to my hope.

Life had turned anti clockwise.

My fingers tremble,

My soul keeps trying,

As the physical body is on its last drive,

I feel the attempt will fail me yet once again.

The winter cold makes me shiver,

And the storms try and fight me.

Each look towards pure innocence seems so unreal.

Oh why do my fingers tremble.

As nature strips the tress and hope of life in Autumn, I await with my heart clenched in my throat.

My fingers tremble.

Minute after minute,

Hour after hour,

Day after day,

Week after week,

Month after month,

Season after season,

Year after year,

I do not give up

In hope of my journey to end,

Achieving success.

In summer the sun burns each layer of me,

I still reach in hope…

My fingers tremble.

There is a cycle I am locked up in and all my withered body knows is that I’m reaching out in hope.

My fingers tremble.

-A.P.

This picture is painted by Mayhem”

Thank you for sharing it with me

And the writing is based on the painting

Scars

Scars’

Not only a mark, a reminder, a memory, the ultimate playback to what was once the moment you just wanted it to be over…

Scars don’t traumatise me anymore,

They make me strong .

Scars make me realise why”

Scars make me proud that I lived the moment.

The moment that life could have either taken a U turn, or the moment life could have hit the ultimate decision point .

Scars are your achievements, they are your character, they are your inner realisation to reality of that’ one moment

A.P.