At my narcissistic best

I realise I am conceited, I have been told so.
I know my reality, maybe you don’t know.
My struggles smothered me,
And lies soothed me at a time when the possible was slipping away from my fingers…

Most of what I see is a mirage,
The reality obscure and imagination captivating
The diaphanous glass lets me touch my nebulous reflection,
It’s faint yet overbearing.
I realise I am conceited, I have been told so.
I know my reality, maybe you don’t know.
My struggles smothered me,
And lies soothed me at a time when the possible was slipping away from my fingers…
I don’t display much, and what you perceive is a lie.
My rules may be slightly outrageous and possession extreme,
But my life has been blotched, yours I understand is pristine.
Don’t weigh me on the same scale,
My worries have made me heftier.
I am better than you I believe, even though my wallet is emptier.
I may not react to anguish in the same manner as you…
I have learnt to live like this, no matter how crude!
Judge me, criticize me and call me what you do,
But remember that my world is my own,
& my feelings too!!

Ⓒ Prakriti Kundaliya


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Under the Thriving Brown

I was bounded by the soil, when they buried me deep.
For years I was undisturbed,
Then one day he woke me up, from the profound sleep.

I think its sunset, I sense he is around…
I wait like I constantly do,
Under the thriving brown.

He writes poetries and sometimes he narrates them to me,
I just nod or smile in approval,
I am not even sure he ever perceives…

I know so much about him, and that he doesn’t know,
I know who crushed his heart,
The girl he planned to propose.

He always sits on a bench tarnished with age,
Sometimes he sits on the grass and
Plays with its blades.

I wonder if he knows, that I exist too,
I have always loved him,
Maybe not in form, but in a different hue…

He is withdrawn, and hardly stable.
There is much pain in his prose,
Makes him distant and unapproachable…

On some days I have wanted to come out of hiding,
To tell him, how good he is, but I can’t…
My soul will follow him through but my being shan’t!

I was bounded by the soil, when they buried me deep.
For years I was undisturbed,
Then one day he woke me up, from the profound sleep.

He doesn’t know yet, that he sits on a grave,
I don’t intend to scare him, I feel he is brave,

I know he won’t fancy a carcass with no name,
But this deceased heart will still admire him,
With absolutely no aim!

Ⓒ Prakriti Kundaliya