Meenu Syriac

Meenu Syriac Dec 2015

We are what the silence makes us,
As trembling hands hold our hearts.
The noise is within us,
In our minds,
Our fears concur.
Should our faith and gallantry
Wear out
As stars fall out of the sky,
Should our lives be filled
With a void, so unspeakable
That our dreams can no longer exist,
I fear, then,
We are no longer human,
But a destitute without a soul,
Wandering the waste lands,
Without hope.
We are searching, contemplating,
Forever indebted to the scars
That have left their mark on us.
We love to be loved,
To forget the loneliness.
The noises become louder,
The chaos begins to unfold.
The biting cold, the icy wind blows,
And our names are but whispers
Lost in a whirlwind of emotions.
Rid us of this evil plague,
The mental calamity,
This direness of our toxic minds.
Leave us with a hope,
Maybe let some light fill our lives.
Oh how I pray,
That tomorrow will be kind.

©Meenu Syriac

Meenu Syriac Aug 2015

Starting Fires

I know not, how often
Have I smiled with tears in my eyes.
Silently watching as
A quiet calm throws a veil over these lies.

Still waters, bequeathing,
A sense of hope and longing.
These dire days, I pray,
May one day be forgiving.

And I have kept my heart locked,
Dark and protected.
Once so welcoming to the world
Lo! The pain to which it was subjected.

Now as I gaze back,
To the storms I have braved,
Demons tamed,
With dreams, my dearest, I had paid.

I look into your eyes,
There is warmth, beckoning.
I have come so far,
Wished on stars afar, for this tale that is unfolding.

I know not, what tomorrow holds,
Thorns, nay, wild flowers.
But I know now, for sure,
*That even love can start fires.

©Meenu Syriac

Meenu Syriac Aug 2015

Whispers

It was maybe just a whisper.
You and I,
Sitting by the window
And waiting for the sun to burn.
Watching as the wind blew steadily
And the leaves fell to the ground.
And this whisper,
As soft as it was inaudible
Became a voice.
Something distinct
Yet residing in the background.
The skies were turning grey
And there loomed this morbid
Atmosphere of unfortunate misery
Mingled with a sense of lost cause.
We sat by the window
Waiting for the sun to burn.
And this voice became louder
And no more singular.
It was no more a hallucination
But rather a collective conscience.
And our thoughts became one
Cradling our sense of union.
That flame we never blew out
Became the wildfire within us.
And now sitting by the window
Listening to the world sing its one song
Here I am, with you
No more in a blazing inferno
But a raging fire of change.

©Meenu Syriac

Meenu Syriac Jul 2015

A Sunday evening and a bottle of wine

A faint glow of light
Casting long shadows in the corridor
Dust gathering,
In this house riddled with secrets
Lurching behind the curtains.
Time, stands still,
As these walls seem to breathe
With their eyes watching me.
In this endless solitude,
I've found my solace
In this madness,
I have begun to revel.
Intoxication finds me hospitable
Blankly staring at the photographs
Hung up high on the wall.
And I whisper into the growing darkness
An unsolvable equation to my insanity.
I have lost myself within these hallowed halls,
Built a temple around my being
With my inebriated dreams.
I fall deeper and deeper
Further away from all that is real.
Oh how comforting,
This swirling blackness,
Ushering me in to the unknown.

©Meenu Syriac

Jun 2015

Vamika Sinha

English Class

Their poetry imperceptibly
slipped
into the first person.

Neither of them noticed
when
'he and she'
became
'you and me'

Let's analyse that, shall we?

#words #writing

Meenu Syriac Jun 2015

I Am Not A Poet

I am not a poet
But when thoughts, like rain,
Drench me in my solitude,
Words, they flow like a stream.
I am not a poet
But how can I see
The simpler joys of life,
And not create a song to be sung.
I am not a poet,
Nor an artist.
I am myself,
And you are my masterpiece.
I am not a poet,
If you are not the dream.
If I am a poet,
*Then you are what sets these pages on fire.

©Meenu Syriac