thenewcandide

You didn’t ask, but here it lies before you now

Kinnows ripe, succinct, awaiting desecration
Sliced at the rinds, pounded into the flesh
Citric spray coalesces, warps my vision, a tangy aroma lingers on
Dissuading all glimmers of positivity in this desolate verse

You bring a tray, couplets of cherries. I long for a mirrored embrace

I take the kinnow; pulp, seeds and all, in my grasp
Squeeze it dry, nails stained with earth's mildewed touch
Translucent nectar drips down my arm, a cascade
Like metaphors bleeding from this ill-conceived poem

Simultaneously, you blend off-season chaunsas into a milkshake

Besides a toppled crate of mangoes, you inquire, “Is this for me?”
This k

We’ve got elections possibly coming up in our country and I didn’t vote last time but I want to vote this time because I understand that voting is a privilege and not voting is equal to being complicit to the current political scenario whether you like it or not. However there’s a small problem. There are two possible candidates in the constituency I will be voting in. One is a man who’s done nothing for the area and isn’t known very well around, but the party he belongs to is represented by a leader who could at best be characterised as the lesser of the evils. The other candidate is a good man who’s done a lot of public service and even personally helped my family in matters but he belongs

I have this character and he is planning a suicide but he doesn’t want to use anything sharp. His plan rests on using any medicines that may be easily available but in high doses would kill him. Alternatively if there were something else which was lethal when ingested in high dozes, I could work with that too. Asking this here because obviously Google wouldn’t be able to give a good answer. I am sorry if I didn’t word this right or was insensitive about it.

The half moon glowers puckered face in the twilight on New Year’s Eve
Somehow alone; I have nothing to say, nothing to write, on New Year’s Eve

The wind ran amok, passions more so, I wasn’t alone though
Suspiciously unafraid, last year I revelled in delight on New Year’s Eve

Honey bee’s pollinating assorted flowers; I wasn’t sure where I was going
Two years ago, I was living too cautiously like life wasn’t finite, on New Year’s Eve

Aching joints, cold hands, getting blood pumped from a frigid heart
Three years ago, thanks to me, our love got frostbite on New Year’s Eve

Out from the crystal

This is your autumn. Make it long. Stretch it thin. It’s bound to end tomorrow or today. Who knows when the yellow veined orange leaf, will touch the ground and disturb the dust, with its serrated edge? Walking men and crawling beasts, will step on it with a crunch. And the whistling air will carry the crumbs away: forever to rest somewhere.

This is your autumn. Search for that shade between brown and gold. Everywhere you go. In your coffees and in your chais. Sip on the sunset and sunrise. The hours of the day are being lost to the moon. While cold showers and the summer time madness, seem more and more uninviting every day.

This is your autumn. It’s the time of f

the world is droll there is nothing of interest now
i’m stuck in the inertia of rest now

my emotions have peaked, my senses fatigued
there’s nothing that i love or detest now

the moon’s ablaze, wispy clouds have flitted away
a peculiar lunacy has made its way into my chest now

too high up i sit, this doesn’t feel like a gift
i must thrash and kick myself out of this nest now

all thoughts feel bogged, the heart has overextended from its job
a referee is needed to stop this internal contest now

the petty worries pile over, none of them ever getting older
it is my own ideas in my head that are the pest now

baggy eyes,

is it sadism if i want things i can’t have
or just the nature of my desires manifest?

is it narcissism if mine is the only real existence
or just my fear of seeing and being seen?

is it patriotism if i know all the historical nuances
or just my petty greed for controversial knowledge?

is it feminism if i discourage my masculine cultural biases
or just my need for a little more validation?

is it capitalism if i feel like incentivising every thought
or just the dull yearning for one of them to be great?

is it optimism that i continue to thrive everyday
or just the guilt of being ungrateful while i live?

[1](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comment

Just an appreciation post for The Sandman Audible adaptation. This is so good. I have perpetual goosebumps, and it’s still so apt to the original source and still so exciting.

The white cherry tree
Stands tall in the spring
It’s white foliage evident for all to see
The tree wonders,
what autumn will bring

Come autumn, and a plot is revealed
Some leaves are hell bent on sin
To atone for their sins
All leaves must bleed

You see all leaves are connected
By sinewy indistinguishable branches and boughs
And although the innocent leaves are dejected
They still promise to be better, making solemn vows

So once the trunk that flowed with sap so white
Now pumps a color so vivid: tangerine
And the cherry tree waits patiently for the night
When only the vagabonds
Will pay for the crime

[1](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/i

i caught a butterfly in the meadows
and released it
in a cage
a cage with gaps between bars so large
that whence it wished
the butterfly could escape

So, rapt and ready
I plumped myself on a seat
to see when the sweet butterfly
would skitter away
For that was given, that escape it should
Why not, after all
the butterfly’s short life
was but a couple days

Hours piled on hours
but the butterfly remained inside
it laid no eggs
and made no attempt to break away
it seemed content in its dainty jail
it darted and danced
each flit of its illustrious wings
setting my now drowsy eyes ablaze

For my own countenance
i couldn’t say the sam

do you know what color loneliness is?

is it the yellow of the sun in the azure of the sky

or the solitary white speck in the midst of the night

is it the jade depts of a lake with no bottom

or the grey haze of a love long forgotten

is it in the violent hyacinths you didn’t want

or in the black roses that do not exist

is it in the golden honey of your love where i can’t breathe

or is it in the last orange embers of a fire that no longer gives off heat

is it in the dance of red and brown as healing scars on my wrist

or is it in the absence of vibrant fireworks when we kissed

tell me again,

do you know the color of loneliness?

or do you like me

see loneliness everywhe

She’s recently been trying to get into reading things other than medical study books. She found The Prophet by Khalil Gibran, Frida Kahlo’s autobiography, and Letters by Van Gogh all very interesting but never quite got to finish them. She has although finished other books that were either comics or of that sort (usually based around pictures and scribbles more than their content and story)