Category: Poetry

Cemetery for Life’s Moments

Wilted flowers, empty alleys, pilgrim winds and grey tombstones
Holds the hidden cemetery for the melancholic soul.
‘Here lies Peace—the one I last felt on the 23rd of March.’
‘Here lies Laughter—died of fear when I cared what others thought.’

‘Here lies 21st of August—when I faced my fear of heights.’
Each tombstone carries a story which the mark of time’s survived.
‘2016: June, 2nd’ and ‘July, 12th’—engraved,
‘2012,’ ‘2011,’ ‘Greece,’ ‘Freedom,’ ‘When I was late.’

‘2017, Last summer’ and ‘That time when I was bold,’
‘2017: The sunset which gave hope to my lost soul.’
‘Airplane trails,’ ‘Confidence,’ ‘Family,’ ‘Falling stars in German fields,’
‘Travel,’ ‘Courage,’ ‘Summer sadness,’ ‘Erasmus,’ ‘Iulia,’ ‘Denise.’

‘Here lies August, 31st,’ and ‘Cycling on warm, summer nights,’
‘Crickets chirping on another night of freedom and delight.’
‘2019: June, 11th,’ ‘Self-reflection: August, 23rd,’
‘Camping,’ ‘Road trip,’ and ‘Depression,’ ‘Anthem of the souls who weep.’

‘7th grade,’ ‘Betrayal,’ ‘Sadness—when you saw that side of you,’
‘Guilt for not standing up for others,’ ‘Outsider,’ and ‘Friends I choose,’
‘Insecurity—mind, body,’ ‘Stretchmarks,’ and ‘Snow covering me,’
‘Caroling,’ ‘Togetherness,’ and ‘Self-empowerment,’ ‘Naivety.’

Memories kept there forever, buried in the living mind,
Far away or close to the present. All by whom the soul’s defined.
Numbers growing every moment, until only one remains:
A large tombstone for the person will have all others replaced.

– Patricia

Cemetery

Wilted flowers, empty alleys, pilgrim winds and grey tombstones
Holds the hidden cemetery for the melancholic soul.
Memories of passing moments are engraved on each tombstone
For the person who revisits, feeling evanescent, null.

He travels the world forgetting some of them, but he returns.
Every now and then, he visits and remembers who he was,
What he chose, what he experienced, all the people whom he met
And that’s when he stops. He feels like it all was yesterday. 

He looks at them with mixed feelings: happiness, sorrow, regret.
When did they all turn to cinder? Nostalgia. And something else.
Realising what they’re made of, he feels powerless. For they
Are all dust—just like his being. Might not see another day.

Crestfallen, he starts to ponder on his life and what he is.
In the silent cemetery, lonesome winds scatter dead leaves.
Cemetery for life’s moments—numbers growing every day,
Until only one large tombstone—with his name—will take their place.

– Patricia

Remember that Promise You Made? It’s High Time You Kept It

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It’s time I sat down with myself
And had a chat before the dawn.
So many troubled thoughts compiled
And I’ve been running for far too long.
My life’s a mess and I am lost,
Grabbing onto whoever comes
To tell me who I am. Regret
Holding me back. Hungry for love.

I sit down and I think about
All the decisions I have made,
And all the problems I have caused
Simply because I only wait
For someone else to save my soul
Instead of being strong enough
Like I’d vowed to myself I’d be
Not long ago—five years have passed.

I had decided I’d be strong,
And yet somehow along the way
I lost myself again—felt cursed
To struggle just like this in vain.
My fears are tearing me apart,
As I turn nightmares into life.
Crippled and terrified by fear,
I can’t go back. There’s no fresh start.

But finally, something inside
Gets tired of the role I play.
I am the damsel in distress.
Okay, now also save the day.
“Stand up and save yourself right now.”
I hear a thought deep, deep within.
And finally, after so long,
I choose to listen to its voice.

I make this choice still feeling lost,
But I’m determined—I’ll hold on.
I’ve made myself so miserable
For far too long. Now I’ll be strong.
And I’ll be patient—I need time
To heal and to learn to love
All of myself—broken and numb.
I’ll focus on personal growth.

I’ve made my choice. I go to sleep.
And I sleep well: peaceful, content
Like I haven’t in so, so long.
I go to sleep before the dawn.
And I wake up determined, strong:
I have myself. I get to work.
It’s tough, it’s hard, I feel confused,
But one thing’s clear: I’m my own song.

– Patricia

On the Run

I gasp for air as I emerge from cold and shallow waters.
Drowning in fears—so powerless—I forgot the word called “courage.”
And all I want is to escape, to never know those burdens.
No, I don’t want to face those fears which have become my demons.

I blame myself, for I am weak, a coward and a traitor,
For countless times I have betrayed myself in the face of hardships.
I desperately try to inhale the air that gives me solace,
But muddy water fills my lungs—the pain: excruciating.

I could stand up and get through this, I could face all my nightmares,
Yet I still choose to drown down here, where I can run from problems.
I gasp for air and drown in fears, succumbing to my demons.
They are too powerful for me. So, I choose to be breathless.

– Patricia

Tell Me Now, Young Soul. Does It Hurt? Being the Outsider?

It’s okay, I’ll be the outcast
Once again.

And I’ll be fine. 

I’ve been there so many times and
I can do it one more time.
It’s my fault. Oh, yes, I know this.
I always push them away.
While they laugh and have a great time,
I lay bricks and raise my walls
Higher, higher, all the way up.
I choose this. I’m fine. I’ll smile.

My heart aches. Lumps start to gather
In my throat. I’m not okay.

Yes, from time to time I choose to
Take a peek through my grey wall,
Throw some words and try to take part
In the warmness they all share.
 
But these baby steps are never
Quite enough. They’re far away
And I’m far behind, no matter
How much I try to catch up to them.

It’s okay now. You can do this.
Toughen up. Smile through the pain.
You’ve always been the outsider,
What’s the difference that another
Small brick would now truly make?

Childhood Home and Summer Nights

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I hear the crickets chirp and I
Know that I’m home again.
Cycling on peaceful hills—so green—
I remember who I am.

I feel the moment—future, past
Don’t cross my mind at all.
I live in the now, so free and calm,
Nature—so beautiful.

The bright full moon governs the night,
Shining so close to me
Against the darkness of the sky;
I thus now feel at ease.

The scent of freshly scythed grass
Gives me forgotten peace
And I can feel that once again
I’ve known eternal bliss.

The night—so quiet and so warm—
Promises freedom, dance.
I had forgotten what was home
And now I have returned.

I feel alive and know myself,
Here on the peaceful hills.
This is the world I’ve always loved,
The world of real dreams.

– Patricia

Anthem of a Generation

We could be outside in the lovely green meadows,
Enjoying the bright morning sun.
Yet we choose the path that leads us to darkness,
A world for us to sulk and be sad.

We could be outside—and we are. Don’t you see us?
We’re stepping right into the light.
Yet darkness we choose and we offer it shelter
Into our weakened hearts and our minds.

And some of us have all the reasons to smile,
And none to be sad, none at all.
And yet this is what we have always been close to,
Anxiety ruling our minds.

Depression and sadness—we’ve known them forever,
We choose their familiar scent.
Self-love is a stranger. We don’t want to get closer
To what is unknown. We are home.

Yes, we could be happy, excited, ecstatic,
And at times we truly are so.
But we always come back to the grey and the static,
It’s what we have always called home.

True, we could be happy. There’s no reason not to. But
Hey, where’s the sadness in that?
Empty we are and we’re fine. We are happy,
For
We’re the generation that loves being sad.

Crossroads

Yet again she found herself struggling to keep fighting.
She stood still at the crossroads, breathing in and sighing…
“Do I see the point in this? Do I keep on going?
Do I stop chasing this dream? Do I keep on hoping?”

More and more she found herself weaker and just wanting
To cease all that she had tried, throw a pity party
For herself and only so. No one seemed to care for
That one dream she hoped to achieve which had made her world-weary.

“Is it worth it? I don’t know… I’m so lost and tired…
And if not, what do I do? This is what I desired…”
Pondering upon the way which would give her meaning,
She decides so: “One more time, I will keep on dreaming…”

– Patricia

Oblivion

Down in the valley of the shadows,
Where scattered skeletons resided,
No green grass grew, no peaceful meadows,
Only the mist of those misguided,
Their remnants: doomed to lasting silence.

No sound escaped the nameless graveyard,
No echo told the world beyond it
The screams of those who entered blindly
And never came back—shh, the silence
Is sacred. Words don’t go unpunished.

The more they screamed, the more they suffered,
Only prolonging what awaited.
The more they ran, the more they valued,
As all their efforts brought more shadows,
The hunt—more interesting each moment.

Forever doomed to be forgotten,
Their names—never called to remembrance.
No memory of them existed
Once they entered the endless valley,
With no way out, the silence—timeless.

Down in the valley of the shadows,
With silent screams and lonely remnants,
No spark of life was left untainted
By gruesome creatures who all wanted
The hope, relief and peace it carried.

– Patricia