To Be Gray/Grey

I slipped, bad
and now I’m here again.
In this dark pit—

My old house
once white
now a paintless grey
the Sun
cast a mournful fainting light
through the curtains, clean
but tired and limp.

Utterly lost,
stapled and mutilated.

I’m so familiarized
with swallowing compromises
with my rheumy,
unhappy eyes
so stripped off my manhood
that even my name
is no longer mine
to decide, grey or gray?
I am whatever you say I am.

I weep because I’m weak
as I feel the doom surrounding
me and stealing life.

Yet I muster up
what little dignity I find.
My nicotine-stained fingers
with ragged nails
ball up into a fist
and when I unclench, I see 
in them--crinkles of new courage.
It’s a beautiful kind of pain.

But I’m still stagnant,
my insides are crawling
with the fear of starting over
and it’s cold
trying to get out of this hole.
Or am I just another crab
in the bucket? That you pity
and try to ignore?

You always look at me with suspicious eyes
Never quite believing what I’m saying
And I can’t always find the right words
to express how I’m feeling.

You never even see
my significance,
I am the quiet charger of your mobile phone
and the carpet beneath your warm
dirty feet.

But this time, when my thoughts become black
I am not going to swallow
instead, I’m gonna show you
my authenticity.
Like grey clouds crying out
a thunderstorm,
I’m gonna make
you tense and shake
like a gray chain link fence
as my words will charge at you
like an angry elephant
finally finding the light
after being chained in the dark
and made into clown
for so long.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2021 All Rights Reserved

Inspired by dverse prompt: True Colours?

The featured image is taken from here

Secret Language

Hidden under your questions
are cruel assaults that cut
but I can’t hurt you back
‘cos I could never learn
the secret language that runs
through these exhausting conversations
spoken seldom with lips.

I am always open
holding nothing back
but still you ask me
the same questions,
again, making me mad,
‘cos I could never bend
the truth like you do.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2021 All Rights Reserved

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Take care ❤


Biting Into The Morning Sun

Feel an early dawn breeze,
the pre-winter coolness,
see the ruby autumn skies
filled with shades of blue
and hear the chirping of sparrows,
as we sit on the porch
with apples in our hands
ripe, red and succulent.

The Sun, blushing red,
is filled with the sweet emotion
of love towards our mother Earth,
therefore it never ceases to shine,
a symbol of hope and perseverance
for all that’s living.

It’s on the brink
of being fully risen
as we bite into the apples
sweet nectar fills our mouth
like the sweet emotion fills the Sun.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2021 All Rights Reserved

Posted over at dverse poetics: Always in Season

It’s hard waking up early under the influence of medicines and not always I can gather up the strength to do so but today I managed to open my eyes before sunrise and decided to have an apple before breakfast, so that’s where this poem came from. I found it very hard to nail this prompt and I think I’ve done a poor job at it, let me know what you guys think of it.

If you enjoyed the post don’t forget to like, comment and follow!
Take care ❤


Poem: Monster

Possibly, I’m dead, mutated
into a ghost
inside your bed,

              like an evil spell
              crushing your confidence
              by meaningless blows—

              as yesterday fades
              with its fake promises
              of paradise

              and pig-headed politicians
              what’s real and fake.

I’m a shoeless
hunter on a time-rusted
motorbike with tattooed
hands, rotting

in a den of dopers,
smokers and drunkards

I breathe on a mirror
but I don’t see
my breath,

              only a face
              that I don’t recognize,
              It’s your face, smiling

              with promises of paradise
              and of peace,
              love and light.

As into dark
I plummet
from the breadcrumb sky
yeasting aloft
the greening
marbles of Taj Mahal.

I’m a hopeless
beast of burden,
the fungus
inside your mattresses— to stay alive.
So, I can flirt
with death.

Inspired by the dverse prompt: Let’s have fun, guys! Whatever takes your fancy: let’s have some fun with fungi.

Linked to Open Link Night #300


Stray Heart

Since you went away, I’m seeing less and less. Each day looks more mundane than the previous one and the nights are dull too. The wind, sunsets and rains have lost their charm. I’m chasing less and less rainbows.

Oh! here I go again, making another compromise–yeah I can do without poetry, no one seems to like it anyways except myself and after all, poetry starts with seeing and I’m slowly getting blind. Deaf too, I can’t hear what this silver singing river has to say or what my own pounding heart has to say.

All things are fading or is it me who’s fainting? Senses getting numb, going back, back into your arms, back to trying making some sense of it all–waiting for the inspiration to strike, for a rainbow to form in the sky so that I can chase it. You call me pathetic for waiting, for choosing to be sensitive instead of strong. But I don’t mind, ‘cuz you are the only one I can cry to, you are my sunshine–the meaning and substance of all my poems.

~Jay, 1/09/2021

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