The Damned Poetry: A Lover’s Muse

The Damned Poetry

They say, “Butterflies are proof that you can ride the carousel of darkness yet still walk out into something beautiful.” But I was reluctant to agree.
You live inside the phenomenon that Newton was never able to discover.

You remind me of the sea routes that Vasco da Gama wanted to discover before malaria choked him.
You are a reminiscence of the artworks set ablaze by Nazis because Hitler hated the maddening passion and aflame ambition of Vincent Van Gogh.
My mind started repeating your name like a broken cassette of a Hindu prayer when the Tumblr post read,
“Bats can hear shapes. Plants can eat light. Bees can dance maps.”
You see, you are carved with the noticed yet unseen phenomena of nature. You are made of carbon sprinkled with the sheen of a half-formed, rough, homogenous diamonds that the miners of Kimberly never dug.
I don’t see you on a Halloween night or a Christmas morning because I find you in a Thanksgiving dinner which people spend by eating ice-creams instead of turkeys.
I don’t see you in twinkling fairy lights or glowing lavender scented candles because I find you in LED street lights that envelop me in their shimmer of safety as nights go darker and the speed of my strive, faster.
I don’t see you in waterparks or beaches because I see you in swimming pools.
You make me recognize my dreams, why I always wished to sit at the bottom of the swimming pool, why I needed to push my limits to achieve all those wild things that whispered fables in my ears.
When I think of you I don’t think of oversized hoodies, leather jackets, comfortable pajamas rather if clothing was an aesthetic of you, it would be the blankets straight out of the dryer which I dirty constantly with cookies and cream ice-cream.
If people romanticize you with empty perfume bottles, fractured coke bottles, pink sand and mangoes too sweet that they are on the verge of rot. I would fight them with my literary devices and the Napalm bombs of speech.
You see, you don’t remind me of Beauty sipping the vodka-spiked by Melancholy, that would be more wrong than the existence of bacteria on Earth.
This is because I see you in moments that make me smile.
I smile when I see you in the little girl who spills water from her bottle because, “Ma, if I don’t water the flowers on the road then, how will the baby sparrows wear flower crowns?”
I smile when I see you in a person laughing with such joy that they look like a retarded walrus. It is funny how humans laugh because they are unable to contain joy.
I smile when I see you in blurry videos of people having fun because they were so busy living in the moment that memories became nostalgia and nostalgia a memory.
I smile when I see you getting flustered with compliments.
I smile when I see you in a differently arranged art class every time I go inside, the new pencil doodles created every day, the half-finished easels and projects hanging to dry. There is something continuous about it.
It reminds me that how static yet continuous you are.
You are my favourite kind of existence that makes me feel alive.
Hell, you are my favourite kind of alive, the favourite kind of human.
Your handwriting is the sound of your voice. It is powerful enough to decipher your thoughts, softly rough with cursives yet fast enough to miss the dots in your I’s and the lines on your t’s because you are too concerned to spill the ink decorated with your thoughts.
If I could give an aesthetic of weather for you, it would be the breeze blowing when I was driving my bike in a chilly evening, seven years ago or when I entered a warm room after shivering in cold. You are the breeze kissing my hair when I sit on a transport bus with an ajar window and gaze the clouds.
Look out, the sky is forming shapes a unicorn and a map of Rome, then I see you in a house-shaped heart, you remind me of home and trust me, I am homesick for a place that never belonged to me.
People read poetry and centuries later they forget the lines. It becomes a binary code of titbits of metaphors lacking emotions.
But people like you can never be imprisoned in words and lines in the notebook because you are sorcery that deals with the Unspoken yet Spoken Language of Universe.
You are undefined, unforgettable, a name in the Universe so powerful that people have to roll their full tongue to pronounce it, they will remember you.
You wrap my mind like a purple butterfly that lives in moments and still smiles with her unseen facial muscles.
But butterfly, it is a moth yet it is special.
The butterfly is a moth that does not chase lights because it has grown to love its wings.
You are special.
You cannot be defined in words. You are beyond poetry.
Damn! I thought poetry had the answers to everything. But then, I met you. ~Enigma
A little note:
I know I have been on WordPress a lot lesser than I ought to be. I do not know whether there are people who still look forward to read from me or not, but what I know is that I have befriended some of the kindest and most beautiful souls on WordPress. Those who took time to ask about my well-being or are perchance waiting to read from me, I owe you people the most sincere of gratitudes and the warmest of the hugs.
This piece is really special to me in terms of the personal content expressed. I truly hope it is something refreshing and new for you guys. Tell me how you feel about this because this is probably the first time I have posted a personal piece on Enigma.
I hope you guys are all happy and healthy and I also hope that I am able to post and write more for this little place.
Thank you for always supporting me!
Enigma 🙂 💜
PS: Little is always a lie. Don’t fall for that word again. 😂
Picture Credits: Google Images
Copyright © 2016-2019 Enigma. All rights reserved.

20 thoughts on “The Damned Poetry: A Lover’s Muse

Add yours

  1. E N I G M A
    Okie so strap in, this is a very long comment.

    Can I just say how pleasant a surprise it was that you were on wordpress not just to read but tO POST A NEW PIECE !?

    Newton’s unfound phenomenas, Vasco Da Gama’s undiscovered routes, Nazis – Hitler and Vincent Van Gogh, even miners of Kimberly?

    Who would’ve thought all these people and things could be thrown together to make such a powerful piece?
    To be honest, if anyone can make these people work together in a piece of poetry, it’s you.

    I had goosebumps.
    Legit goosebumps.
    During the first half of this absolutely breathtaking comeback piece of yours, I literally had goosebumps, I don’t know whether it was from your extraordinary use of names and faces or if it’s just how I always react to your masterpieces hehe.

    And then the next part came – halloween, christmas and thanksgiving, fairylights, scented candles and LED lights. And oh how you went on the road not taken and associated the most day-to-day places and things to humans. The water parks to the swimming pool, no oversized goodies or leather jackets. No exaggeration.
    Oh gawd it was marvelous.
    So…. Raw and unveiled. Yep. Those feel like the right words.

    I feel like “beauty dipping vodka-spiked by melonchonly” somehow defines every beautiful thing around me.

    I can see myself, and even smiling traces of you in the little girl spilling water. I hope the baby sparrows hear her and never let their flower crown fall.

    Oh and looking like a retarded walrus when I laugh? Check.
    How paintings are a reminder of human’s static nature as well as hints at them being continuous was so well put.

    Missing the tittles on the “i” when we’re to excited to put our thoughts on the pages – “spill the ink decorated with your thoughts” as you’ve so beautifully said.


    I wish I could sit and watch clouds form unicorns, a map of Rome and house-shaped hearts with you.

    “It becomes a binary code of titbits of metaphors lacking emotions.” Now I can assure you, this stunning pieace will never not lack emotions. Infact, to me, this is the most emotional piece you’ve ever written (or posted) here.

    You have so rightly said, some people can’t be imprisoned in words, no matter how gorgeously we put them.

    And ah. I see it.
    The purple butterfly.
    I see the exact one you mean.

    The purple butterfly from the first verse to the last. A full circle.
    You never mentioned it was purple in the beginning, and who knows, they both might just be completely different butterflies, but my gut tells me they’re the same.

    The moth not drawn to the flames and the proof that “you can ride the carousel of darkness yet still walk out into something beautiful”.

    You are special, Enigma.

    This poem is a testament to the fact that you are one of the only poets w- infact, scratch that, the only few humans I know who can so vividly put in the complexities of humans and the world they live in, in words without altering their essence.

    This piece is personal to you, and I’m so so happy you shared it. It has only made me love your writing and respect you so much more.

    Your poetry sure does have answers to everything dear. I had started reading this piece and I knew I’d have to tell you how your words are so powerful that they’re literally a weapon, but one line from your poem itself best suits my purpose.

    “I would fight them with my literary devices and the Napalm bombs of speech.”
    Yes. Your words, your voice, your thoughts, your literally devices and your napalm bombs of speech are weapons!
    Not weapons of war or mass destruction, but of change and revolution.
    The title is so apt, what intrigues me in it is the fact you called it a snippet. I wonder what treasures you hide.

    As you can see, I truly loved it.

    I hope you’ve been happy and healthy too!
    Lots of love,
    Megha 💜

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh my goodness!

      GOSH! M!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

      I feel a whirlpool of emotions and thoughts after reading this comment of yours and I want to tell you everything, every single thing about my current thought process after reading your thoughts on this piece.

      First of all, yes, I love using references, 57.5893 points to Gryffindor if they are historical references. (Yes, I am a dork and a potterhead who loves assigning house points. Yes, I am a wicked witch (literally) cause I want the houses hourglasses to suffer from the wrath of mathematics. Yes, I am nervous if I site absurd fandom references.) Anyway, the point is these people and places add a tangent of reality to this fiction and I always crave for that in a writing piece.

      I do not think in any way that this piece was capable of you getting goosebumps. A surprising reaction from your side but I am on cloud nine and amazingly delighted that you liked my references.

      For me, the emotion of love is acceptance and comfort and all the adventurous things later. Maybe that is why I associated it with the things that give me the most warmth, a hearth as if Hestia is whispering a lullaby in my ears. (I unleashed my Greek Mythology nerd too. Great! Your comment is making me spill some tea) This piece is something raw and unveiled for me as well because when I wrote this I was just in the creative zone of recklessly putting words to my thoughts.

      I am glad that you found some relatability to my piece and Beauty drinking a vodka spiked my Melancholy is just my satire to all the soulless, empty “Damsel in Distress” stories, I suppose.

      I am just so so so overwhelmed and so delighted as an artist that you savored and loved this piece( Believe me, I added three so’s there)

      Yes, it is the same purple butterfly and if I had a patronus it would be this purple butterfly because it envelops me in a burrito of safety (burrito is absolutely the right word), feeling secure is one of the underlying shade of this snippet.

      And you fluster me with so many brilliant compliments, Megha. I don’t think I deserve this much praise but from the deepest crevice of my heart, thank you, thank you for truly enjoying this piece. Thank you for making me feel like an artist with your comments. Thank you for befriending a stranger through the connection of words. I am way too overwhelmed right now.

      As a fellow reader, I can guarantee that you have the weapon of revolution in your hands too! That weapon is shimmering with a bright white light, the weapon of your words. It is palpable but in a way a home is palpable, family is palpable, being the most delicate and warm but fighting like the most diligent warrior for your loved ones. (This thought took me to BTS)

      Loads of Love and Care to you too!

      Keep Writing!

      Enigma 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. OH MY GODDDDD!!!!!😲

    *inhales a lot of air, closes her eyes and mumbles to herself, rather screams “HOW COULD I HAVE LET THAT HAPPEN!!!!!”*🤯

    I literally had my hands clapped on my face when I saw that I had, yes I HAD MISSED TWO OF YOUR POSTS!!! TWO PRECIOUS POSTS!!!!!😞😢

    Believe me, I feel like what kind of a friend am I when I can’t even keep up with your posts!??🤷‍♀️


    Dear E, while guilt is consuming every inch of my heart, the little poet inside my brain is sitting dumbstruck with her jaws dropped! Seriously, are you even real??😲

    My brain cells exploded after I read this!!🤯
    This is pure magic!! It truly is!!😍

    Honestly! From the Nazis and Hitler and Vasco da Gama and Newton to Van Gogh! Is there any name in the world that you can’t incorporate in your poem and turn it into sheer magnificence no matter what histories they had or what time they belonged to?? And that too in ONE SINGLE POEM!😲

    Are you even human!!😦

    This was beautiful!! I’m at a loss of words right now!

    Every aesthetically raw thing that I could think of is right here~ butterfly, scented candles, Christmas and Halloween parties, thanksgiving dinners, cookies and ice-cream, empty perfume bottles, fairy lights, pink sand and even fractured coke bottles!!🌸


    And, I can’t leave without quoting my favourite lines from the poem! So, here we go:

    “Butterflies are proof that you can ride the carousel of darkness yet still walk out into something beautiful.”

    “My mind started repeating your name like a broken cassette of a Hindu prayer”

    “You see, you don’t remind me of Beauty sipping the vodka-spiked by Melancholy, that would be more wrong than the existence of bacteria on Earth.”

    And damn, my favourite one~ “Your handwriting is the sound of your voice. It is powerful enough to decipher your thoughts, softly rough with cursives yet fast enough to miss the dots in your I’s and the lines on your t’s because you are too concerned to spill the ink decorated with your thoughts.”❤❤❤❤❤

    You know what, you could literally go and give yourself an award for that ( from my side)! This is what you call PURE NAKED SORCERY!!!😍

    I lovedddd this!!😍❤

    Sending you a plethora of love and warmth❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. OMG! I forgot to see this comment. And why the hell are you guilty, R? It is completely okay, I do not mind at all. This piece is precious to me and I just brimmed this piece with all my favourite historical imagery in an effort to reflect the tonality of the subject.

      I am so happy you enjoyed this effort and thank you so so so so so much for reading this piece.

      Thank you!

      Stay healthy and happy!
      Enigma 🙂 ❤

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Hey! You really don’t need to make this a habit of analysing my pieces. It is okay even if you don’t comment with a lengthy analysis because I just want you to enjoy reading my works and it is absolutely alright, I would just be delighted by the fact that you find some amusement or good energy while reading my pieces.

      I hope you are healthy and happy!

      Enigma 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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