kendru

The river courses through, unbidden and unseen, its waves like silken strands—quietly beautiful, never asking for admiration.

©Kendra Pokhrel

hopes in lies

I will rise up the sea of diffid, so you too unwrap your blankets of reticence, I will fly to the skies of demural, can you accept my soul; take off your abeyance?

I will welcome your passion, so you would drench in my lust, I am to depart from my lies, so be it your deception I can trust.

My body, a peaceful sanctuary, you'd be my zen, me; a poem, an art, and you, the pen.

Inked with blood, smudged a flaw, a prowess broken, yet a creation of awe.

your world painted, a universe of lies, everything woven with falsity, in the deceit, my hope allies.

©Kendra Pokhrel

An Open Book

I'm a book open, my pages to everyone, stories within, touched by none.

I'm a book open, my chapters about pain, how a soul was broken.

A tale, a story of a heart frail, an empty shell, a lifeless body prevail.

This is a chronicle, about my life, a stage of war, mind and my heart strife.

I'm a book open, my pages, worn and torn, my silent story, unspoken.

©Kendra Pokhrel

Me

I have been asked,
of who I was...
a universe of questions,
barraging one after another,
skeptical to my life,
and my emotions in smother.

unveiling myself, I answer the world,
I am me,
not what you want me to be,
my life not what the society see.
I exist, with not me, I disagree,
the world; a trap,
and me, an escapee.
I am me,
who I was meant to be.

©Kendra Pokhrel

hymns of the lust

(context: I watched nymphomaniac vol 1 and got the idea and decided to write a word or two. Turns out just the idea isn't enough neither are just the words. I had to look at myself as a female would look at her in the mirror. let the lewd consume you, let it devour on your sanity and look at yourself as a young girl. and also watch the movie, it's great)

lolita...
young and voluptous nymph was I,
a maniacal mind and a provocative body,
my head, wrapped by the thirst of sex,
and heart filled with desires.
the constant arousal,
and my inclination towards intimacy,
while my curves paved the path of thy body,
my psychotic mind, weaved another fantasy.
i was born, or so was I told,
i made myself a woman, warm cunt; mind cold.
a sane celibate you argued,
a lunatic, a vamp all I saw,
you saw my potency in the mirror,
and I eyed a corrupt lusty sinner.

a person, itchy and lascivious ever,
frantic mind, deliberating sensuality forever.
where others found pain,
I espied erotic delectation.
my life became a racy novel,
the pavé's slut; my afflation.

standing at the dawn of today,
I narrate my story looking back,
an insane mind, rather more demoniac,
my hidden anecdote,
dance of the dervish and a skins' song,
and the journey of a nymphomaniac.

©Kendra Pokhrel

Change

talk about a change,
its good, sometimes.
and sometimes its not.
but its gonna change,
whether you like it, or you don't.
everything's moving,
everything's changing.
look around you,
the day is gonna turn into a night,
the night will pass on,
the sun will rise, again.
the trees, will turn yellow,
and the seedlings will grow.
the point is, there will be changes,
everything will change into,
everything but new?
days will pass by and years will fly,
today the sky might grow grey,
tomorrow it will turn blue.
something will be made,
and nothing, left out.
yesterday is over, tomorrow is unforseen,
but today is all it's about.
all above and below, now and then,
the past, all history; and the future a mistery.
present is all you have, all the changes that appear,
with this change, you and I grow,
rising from today's dusk; a dawn;
the future, and a beautiful new year.

Happy New Year 2081

truth about the lies

the lies; the truth about life,
the beauty of the beyond, the deception of what is: what is not, in a world of constant in and out, exists a soulless body, death's devout, evil and good, is erroneous for one, the one whom livelyness can't outrun.

hides a bigger lie with these strings of lies, born from the false, with deception he arise, comes to the land and towards the truths he lay, with another falsity he speaks, “April Fools Day”

dead

just some thoughts disguised as a poem
suicidal thoughts; congested brain an overflowing album
a gloomy mind, melancholic heart and a drowning sould
calm hands, closed eyes and a head pointed pistol.

wailing, never silent; the voices in my head

the voices in my head; not ever winded, my memories to perish; by emotions am I blinded. in darkness they linger, whispering, never faded, guiding my path, with secrets yet traded.