dirty hands

for the prompt of Weekend wordsmith ’s Dirty Hands

my hands are tied…
but that doesn’t bother me much…
i am worried about the dirt
that’s been printed
and has been with me
all my waking life.

city of angels
in one hell of a crowd,
stern look,
harsh words…
making me believe that
what I’ve done
was one such favor…

i know I’m not gonna do it
but the smell of blood,
the voices of fear,
the suffering in their eyes,
has been tattoed on my hands.

must i ask for forgiveness
to all the life that’s
been inside me?
must i seek sanctuary
for all the broken hearts?

how could i ever
wash these hands,
when i am very much aware
of all the little painful
things i have done?

downpour

for the weekend wordsmith , with the prompt torrential rain.

the flame succumbing
helplessly
tried fighting
tried living…

washes away every part..
every ash..
every mark…
no more trace…
not even smell…
what’s the point of
going back from hell?

sun’s nowhere to be found,
rain’s here to stay,
quenching the needs
of this lonely ground.
taking away every picture,
every talk,
every whisper,
everything that’s painfully
reminding me of you.

should i be in heaven?

how to get there,
i will never know,
since the only path
I’ve taken…
was when you’re holding
me close.

cleansing me,
as i walk out and bathe,
releasing the ache
of hiding in the shed.
blessing me with
pleasure…
for not feeling the pain.

not anymore…

prompt from weekend wordsmith , carrying a grudge

you wish for my blessings
when you can’t even look into my eyes.
you hope for happiness
but everything’s barren, all are dry.
asking me to give you something…
something from my own will
how can you do that when
all our memories are nothing but ill.

this pain inside
is driving me wild,
how can you come back
and hope for something that last?

i wont make that genital embrace
i wont shed something
then leave you amused and amazed.
don’t talk..you need not to
just leave me alone, will you?