Category: the wandering poet
truth
there’s a weight on my back
and they called it a mark
of the real me, the real dream
am i dreaming?
while wide awake
a soul and a story
how do we know
about what we know?
where is the hook?
where is the story?
where is the true reality?
hello, hello
can you hear me
through the crowds?
the highest peaks and
the lazy rivers and
the truth that lies above?
but truth is a sin
and sin is a crime
and crime is the only thing
keeping me alive
tonight
you tell me one thing
and do the other
how do i believe, myself?
i don’t know the truth
of you, of me, of myself
all i know, is what i know, is truth
ANVI TUTEJA
To be Continued…
misunderstood
they tell me
i must be
misunderstood
and i say
that’s not it
that’s not me
not doing this
for sympathy
not doing this
for attention
like you may think i am
i don’t know
what to be
i don’t know
how to be
the real me
i’m not trying
to be cool
when i’m not
i’m just trying
to be me among the others
they call me fast
they call me a fiend
they say i lie
but that’s just me
what am i supposed to be?
according to you
i’m perfect or i’m not
your greatest generation
looks pretty bad now
but they don’t even say that
this is the truth
and it’s not a lie
when i say
that you make me cry
all the time
i try to be
and it’s too much
for you and them
is it not the end?
’cause it feels like it is
i am not trying
to be someone i’m not
i am just me, the real one at that
you tell me i’m done
you tell me it’s over
but this is the great adventure…
To be Continued…
ANVI TUTEJA
broken dreams and tried strings
do the fallen raindrops symbolize the tears,
as broken dreams and tried strings weave,
themselves into, just another dead end,
and the letters and window frames get blown away,
into the wind, the sea, the sky where the stars embrace,
and i see the rain on the roof, crash down with a vengeance,
perhaps another wronged soul, making their peace,
with a fallen foe, a broken path and the cracked windows,
they’re making a mistake now, after the red has passed,
after the storm has broken, after the sky has fallen,
who am i? who would i be? just a person in a sea of others,
can you hear my voice, from down here in the crowds,
could i be noticed? even if my me is merely mediocre,
i don’t play a good part, i play them all off, rather badly,
and they say, all the usual things, the empty motivation,
perhaps the caffeine caused energy and the words whispered in the wind,
were merely a placeholder, for something more, the song in my soul,
the humming of pulses, the beats of the heart,
is my song, just a tune? is my life, just a page? and is the totality of me,
just a half, unwhole sum that equates to nothing; am i holding on to these threads? to these memories?
but everyday i’ll try to pick up all the pieces,
all the memories they somehow never leave me,
and my tears dry up, and the rain don’t stop,
and it’s the calm before the storm because the sky is laughing,
and the flashes of light become the last i’ll ever see,
or so it seems? who am i but the person they want me to be?
and soon, all that’s left of us, is brick and bone and heart and stone,
i become how i am remembered, a monster, a story untold,
you recorded all my mistakes, the worst of me, and called it the story of my life,
but i was so much more than how you saw me, my life was more than a cautionary tale; you told your children at night,
and now it is the end, the end of an era, an era that lasted an eternity,
i was more than a changed mind; and the torn pages of my memoirs,
where is my happily ever after? it’s never coming cause i didn’t even have a what if?
my tragic truths, my lost backlog of dreams and how they were taken all from me,
do you deny me a right to be remembered? because i fear this is how i’ll be censored…
ANVI TUTEJA
Thoughts Caught 