Depression: Not Just a Loss Of Bliss....

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It is a boulder,

Intrinsically pieced on me, by me.

They thought it's a stone

That I could kick ahead to,

A nothingness I cried waste to.

It was, but, a singularity,

Forcing me to a void abyss.

Not mere unhappiness,

Not just a loss of bliss.

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It was guilt, of I know not what.

It was anxiety, and I was left to rot.

It was isolation, from myself.

It was my despise to self.

It was pure despair.

It wasn't fair.

It was……

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Maybe I need repair...

The Night Is Dark...

Nights are beautiful,
They are dark,
Just like life, a stinging mark.
A bleeding spark, a completed arc, to disembark.

They're painful, but the pain bundled,
with a tingling pleasure, a humour,
That the day hides with its light.
Only to be reversed by a carbon night.

The night is a mystery,
Asks which is needed to be,
A question forever unanswered,
One among the countless each moon.

It is lonely, silent,
Yet an unbearable pitch,
Comes from inside, who knows?
Perceive the shrieks of infernos.

It is cold, chilling,
Blanketed shivers down the spine
It's not the weather,
But flashes of the time together.

The night, the night it is,
A dark beauty, a paining glee,
A silent scream, an iced mystery.

One night, the night shall never cease,
That night'll be the night
Of my peaceful decease.

- By Aditi Shahdadpuri and Shourya Shrivastava

Poem: If In My Dream I Die

To the seashore, stood the silent surf,

The waves were still

As a body dead and nill

Had encountered the depth

To the ocean's breath.

From to the scout lost,

In those universal sands, in the bald lands.

Like a drop in the unceasing sea,

Unified was he to thee.

In the mysterious alcazars,

Of spirits and visions revenant,

Of figments of imagination

And of dark dangers imminent,

I intuited a phantom lingering,

Famished for a soul, it held me fearing.

The witches' place and oils vivid,

To gladiators with builts rigid,

Falling into the abyss void and mystifying,

A collapse to death yet remaining undying.

They say the dreams do come to light.

I hope not for I have meager might.

To brave through storms, I dare not try.

Better if it's in my sleep I cry.

                 If in my dream, I die.

Poem: The Noise Of Silence

The deafening noise of the sea,

A glee yet melancholy.

Like the false friend with a false smile,

Victimizing the chosen juvenile.

Pulling the strings, unknown, in dark,

The blaring silence, paramount guile, paramount vile.

The night black knocks on your door,

So do phantoms drowned in the core.

As tears of past shroud your eyes,

The silences arrive as the lone wolf cries.

 Like the void poem on a poet’s mind,

The exit you could never leave behind,

The words that could but be spoken,

The shrieks, the lies that left you broken,

The silence shall not heal, your wounds, your ordeal.

Unspoken for, but speaks within every man,

Unadorned but still embellished,

As ear-splitting as thunder can.

It’s a hidden art, concealed behind a wrath, a rage,

Else a disgrace, guilt, your morbid dread on stage.

It’s a truthful deceiver in a tranquil presence.

How shall you then, ahead of your last breath, your death,

Shall know how loud is the noise of silence, the very noise of silence.

Poem: All About The Stars

It’s all about the stars,

That starry dark sky.

It's all about the stars,

As novas cry, the nebulae die.

It's all about them,

When they glint starlight.

And then it’s about them,

That aesthetic night flight.

Those stars steer me through the lonely space,

Those which lend in wailing phase.

Those stars that hold until death does apart.

For those stars, I do cross my heart.

Those stars that illuminate the very black with shine

Those stars which create that heaven which is mine.

For these are the stars, I shall carry to my shrine.

Do keep those stars which shine ever so bright,

For if it weren’t for those,

What good is the light?

What good is the night?