Manu Jose Chiramel  
430 Followers · 17 Following

Joined 22 November 2016


Joined 22 November 2016
12 JUL 2023 AT 23:45

There's no further motive
no further angle
its all contingent upon my ordeal.

I've known, felt and fallen in and out of pain
In my heart those chimes play incessantly
they do not stop.

The canvas upon which the pictures of future were drawn has drowned in dark shades of grey.

Like in the winter when chilly winds blessed my days.

Wether it turns out to compliment the painting or not, is yet to be seen,

all i see now is chrome, like in the dark beasts eyes that ring the chimes within me.

Its whispers wake me up at night
its pungent smell creeps upon me while laughing.
I pray it goes away for I am at my wits end.
I am without glee waiting for spring
and while it's sunny outside all I see is grey.

Heal my canvas , let it dry.
Let the moist cracks on it become gold.
May the painting finally find solace. I pray in grey.
If that's the language that get's me his ears,
I'll pray,
in grey.

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11 OCT 2022 AT 4:58

Anonymous.

I can see it in the horizon, anonymity
not the kind those cursed with fame covets
but what comes naturally with the flow of time
unless you make a splash it keeps flowing
burying you deeper than death could pursue.

Slowly the self gets forgotten, bedrocks form upon whatever shining virtue you thought you had.
The rut is your respite, your happy place,
you feel not alone but covered, in skins of others drenched in their malice and cunning, ignorance and pride.

Who you were starts to weep
who you could be starts to leave
You the faceless, you the nameless.

Anonymous

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24 MAY 2020 AT 21:43

I knew of men who press fire with bare hands and not notice the burn.
But then again feeling the pain could have been the only way to be human again.
Bereft of ideas and a beating heart they roam around the wilderness,
seeking plains to scream their hearts out, bring it back to life.
These ain’t men from the ages of dark magic and depravity, but of science and modernity. Not of boats and rafts but of school’s and universities.

These are men of my time.

For decades they crept and crawled under the basements of war and pillage, finally, when they came out they had nothing but a bloody pond of regrets to drink from.
Their sacrifices vain, lives aimless, arms jobless and hearts soulless.
In the darkness they would feel trapped in the basement again, clawing the free air with nails tainted with memories.
In institutions they trusted, fools of the remnant past forged the future in their shadow. The millions who inherited the curse still roam the jungles seeking plains.

These are men of my time.

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1 JUN 2021 AT 1:15

Sometimes people come, they come even when you're surrounded by troubled waters.

Violent shores that only some managed to arrive on, and seldom left without taking a part of you with them.

You lie awake amidst the stars in the night sky, elevated among them in thoughts as deep as their cores.

You wonder if the troubled waters around you is stopping you from getting out or stopping trouble from getting in?

Sometimes people come,
with a crashing force, a shriek, a scream, a whimper on the shores.

And yet you wonder, are you just a pit stop to fix their boats, or are you the destination?

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1 MAY 2021 AT 20:18

Alone In The City
Read Caption

//Luckily I have a terrace that makes me forget things, the moon was high, so why not I? I rolled my problems and went upstairs to light up the skies with them. It's one of my favorites spots in the city, I have always been grateful for this terrace. It overlooked a huge lake, in the middle of my city, when the moon is high, the lake glows a bit.
But that night someone else was there, not a familiar face to see in the middle of the night. //

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18 FEB 2021 AT 3:35

One day my heart will beat out of my chest
and I fear it will not be caused by an exhilarating feeling of abundance that I feel in the moment.

but much like a dying persons last breath coming out of a saxophone while playing in a symphony.

One day my heart will beat out of my chest
and I fear it will not be because I was taken aback from the joy of seeing snow capped mountains upside down like an eagle that hit a paraglider.

but much like the slow decay of the hind legs of a trailing ant on the way to see the queen.

One day my heart will beat out of my chest
and I fear it will not be caused by the piercing look in her eyes when my lips leave hers before having enough

but much like a single drop of paint that drips down from a masterpiece, failing to go down in history as the masterstroke.

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9 JAN 2021 AT 0:30

In my vulcan dreams,

I imagine myself to be a pristine snow flake,
descending from the heavens at its own gingerly pace

Turned into sleet, stepped on and slipped on,
becoming dirt and then washed away by rain.

Black ice plagues my body
eating away my sunshine slowly,

leaving only hope for a cloudbreak
to climb back upto heavens icy nook.

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25 NOV 2019 AT 22:30

If you skip skipping one day, skipping skipping will become easy. But if you skip skipping skipping everyday, you'll stop skipping skipping forever.

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11 APR 2018 AT 16:16

He could barely forgive his failing lungi despite his drunk state. Yet he kept hailing philosophies at them school kids. One really struck me.

Did school science teach you how the Earth rotatatates ?

Its each exhale out of mine and your lil lives , collectively spinning us .

We move in only one direction because one sigh is far more powerful than a thousand breaths.

In a happy world the sun would set in the east!

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9 JAN 2018 AT 23:09

Thats what we are, merchants of small fortunes.
The compound interest collectors of global destruction.

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