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-

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.

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.

World War 1 or was it …

Gunshots so loud it still echos in my reincarnated life,

Each night I see the shots being fired lighting up the night skyline, just like the fireworks do now for the New Year’s Eve.

It’s that very image I jump awake to each night, the silence still echos, screams , machine guns ….

There are many dug out dungeons.

My hair so sleek pinned back in a perfect bun,

The dress pressed to perfection, the collar and cuffs as white as snow,

The choice of material was serge, and held the colour of the sky; blue.

Kerchief wrapped around the head to give the final touch.

I was dressed to precision.

Along side where my helpers , one screamed “Maitron! , I can’t keep this one going”.

The odour of boric acid and sodium hypochlorite so potent till this day, it reminds me of than.

“Let’s just sedate with chloroform!”, I yelled, in hope to keep him going and rest at a lower heart rate.

Blood oozing from many wounds , my sterile apron obviously not sterile anymore.

The camp fire lit very dim, to not attach too much attention.

The opposition are moving in closer each day,

All men sleep deprived and many malnutritioned despite all the volunteers serving the best in such a situation.

My dress tethered, the rain has washed all the blood off my open wound.

I’m breathing so heavily I can almost count each heartbeat in my mind.

I feel the lack of oxygen and I’m clearly hyperventilating.

Will I be able to get back to camp site ?

Who are these men ?

What do they want ?

Do I know something that will caused destruction ?

At the camp I find causality number 112.

After the chloroform had done its job, I sterilised my scalpel on a burning fire,

Cutting away the tissue around the 2 wounds, now hopefully the debridement will keep infection away.

Done !, methylated sprite than soaked the would , causing the casualty nil pain, thank goodness!

I than bring together my sharp tools to seal up the wound.

TBC

A.P.

The Dark Knight’

The Dark Knight’

Introduction

Is the story of a Princess who once made a mistake; the one that cost her ,her Smile

The Dark Knight

Shining armour,

Sword sharper than the mighty Pen,

Bright, almost as the strongest rays of the sun reflecting off silver,

The Dark Knight stole my Smile.

Colours, once so warm, lit up my path,

yellow, red and blue’,

The Battle fields were lit up,

Roaring with grief, once mentioned in the Mahabharata,

As old as Sanskrit (Language or ancient India),

Thats how vague the memory is to me now.

The Dark Knight Stole my Smile.

Vultures now guard my kingdom,

Where I now reside, high up above,

So high, almost away from humanity;

Rustling old leaves, now far off photosynthesis are the only sound that replaces the sound of my hearts beat,

Creeky doors, that were once galvanised, replace the dream catchers bells,

And the Hooting Owls, the sound of the golden Harp.

The Dark Knight stole my Smile.

The shackles are really heavy, giving away the smell of rusting iron.

They almost feel like my glass Bangles I once wore.

No features on my face are the same (not that I can see),

No features on my face Feel’ the same,

They once contained my personality.

I have no mirror, the only close reality to one are the tear drops I shed,

The Dark Knight stole my smile.

A.P.

Once upon a time… MAYA

Once upon a time,

Far away in the serenity of the universe,

Tucked away in a little miracle word, in her little castle full of happiness and glory,

was a little girl,

her name; MAYA.

Maya: The power by which the universe becomes manifest; an illusion

 

Once upon a time,

So innocent of the world and its powers,

Little maya, would spend hours in the the most glorious forest reins,

Flowers, Trees, Earth all succumbed to her beauty and innocence.

 

Once upon a time,

when Maya giggled, the Earths creatures all danced along in glory,

when she opened her eyes the breeze would guide her way,

The rain would keep her purity

The clouds would protect her Aoura,

 

Once upon a time,

Maya too was warned of the forbidden wild ivory,

the depth of the lake,

And the big bad wolf….

 

Now,

Where is Maya? What is Maya?

Maya is scared of her voice,

her eyes try escape the glare of daylight,

The breeze feels like a whirlwind, so strong, it almost hurts.

The rain washes her wounds away, yet not entirely

And the clouds follow her like a dark nightmare.

Now,

Maya has seen the big bad wolf,

possibly touched a poisonous Ivory,

or simply lost her way back, or is it just an illusion Maya cannot escape

For year she has not been back,

The universe misses her, the wild animals mourn, the trees sway side to side in a never ending the search of pure Innocence.

 Innocence; Maya

A.P.