A part of me feels as if I will move the Himalayas,
My woes, my shrieks, my despairs would ruin the greenery,
as if I am capable to dangle the corpses or be the one instead,
chimes me, inviolably threatens me,
Questions my ferality,
I stood there.
You had to leave, like the previous ones,
you could have left, but you decided to ruin first.
And yes, it is another poem about you.
My side tells me to wage a war against you,
To ask you further, thrash you openly,
Question your appeal to me for forgiveness.
My love is pure. I am pure.
I know me. I consider myself sacrosanct.
I live in an irreparable guilt cycle.
I seek mutiny to not be embarrassed again.
My every emotion is pure.
So FUCK YOUR IDEALISM!
Fuck you and your allegations.
Fuck your filthiness where you think you are on the top.
Fuck about the kindness and humanity you thought you presume.
Fuck the time I wished it to stop as we were kissing,
Fuck you, because you won’t have me anymore and yes, for I am someone with my own entity.
My anger, My vengeance, My guilt is as pure as my love is.
‘You are loved, Love will be loved.’
Mahadevi Verma mentions how ‘only the weak people hate’.
I will not hate you but still consider myself weak as I will never forgive you.
For I love you and seek revenge.
So I wish, you a beautiful job and a life full of all the desires.
But all the desires turned sour.
Wish you a life with good people,
But all the time you are hurt.
Wish you a beautiful home,
Where you die alone, unhappily.
My love is pure, so is my vengeance.
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