Tag Archives: poem


My shackles are my thoughts, my over-ambitious out of sight dreams

My shackles are the voices in my head, so loving yet so protective in ways illogical it seems

My shackles are the moments where I stayed silent when I should have spoken

My shackles are the choices I made that still relentlessly haunt me out in the open

My shackles are the ideas that never turned to action, actions that could have changed my life

My shackles swamp me entirely and weigh me down, cutting every move made, pricks of a knife

My shackles speak to me, sometimes they even listen to my pleas

The shackles that bind my heart are slowly increasing, squeezing the penultimate drops of will see

They are the same shackles that I’ve fought so hard to break

But then, I am back in the corner where my shackles bind me floating in a lake

Scared of it all

The memories

The empty thoughts

The unresponsiveness of the sky

The soul grinds

Throws the key

And just lets it be

Clamped tight for the night

Phantom shackles

Thanks to the cold remedy the mind thinks heals so well…

Until the cracks of the eyes open onto another glimpse of dappled light

In an unfamiliar place

Maybe this will finally end the soul of this destructive chase

Or to another breakdown

Maybe the same whirlwind

That spent the last 8 hours

The shackles. The shackles. The shackled.

~DiosRaw, 21/07/21

Short Stories {1} ~ River Ganges Insanity

Washing off the days reminants within the womb of the River Ganges, in the ancient lands of India, a young lady named Anadi, combed through her dark black locks wishing she had fulfilled her guru’s daily tasks. Worried reverberations tensed her worn out body.

Anadi’s guru had instructed her to contemplate by the serene waters edge on the concept of enlightenment. She was trembling at the thought of going insane. Throughout her journey on the path of enlightenment she had visions of past lives, angelic beings, prophetic dreams and doubted herself, were these visions true or a figment of her mind turning her insane?

Observing the river’s candles lit each night floating along the river, Anadi realised in her mind “for the mystic swims in the same waters as the insane.”

Guruji initiated her, “you have understood the point.” Painting an orange hue on her third eye she became one of Guruji’s enlightened deciples.

“Yes,” Anadi proclaimed.

Anadi was no longer afraid of turning insane, she realised that insanity and sanity are part of the duality of this dualistic world. By using her mind towards the creator, and only him, she would return to sanity through the insanity she was so worried of.

As she lit her candle, with empowering energy flowing throughout her physical vehicle, silently whispering a prayer her body aroused from the dream of the dream she was living in. In the hypnotic state she was in upon waking, she had met her dead guru in her dream reassuring her she was not going crazy.

That very young morning, when everyone was asleep and the birds were churping their morning symphony she said her daily blessings by the river Ganges. “For I am sane in an insane world” she echoed through the nearby caves.

“I have travelled through madness to find me,” she screamed.

Madness is somewhere between chaos and having a dream. Anadi made sense of the dream by plunging into it and moving with the dance. For those who did not hear the music, those dancing were deemed insane.

And the world kept on spinning and weaving it’s cosmic web…

~DiosRaw 28/03/21


Oh, how you sparkle as diamonds so rare

Shining bright one in the fresh Southern air

Dancing suspended to eclectic tunes in mid-morning’s air

Face against glass in a trance does she stare

Precious and mirrored in the window’s glare

Peonies visible to human eye

It is light and refraction to define

With scattered prism effects to reply

Painting abundant rainbow shades so sublime

Each crystal of her soul is floating, weightless it seems

Hovering low to allow me to psychically see

The pain behind the smiles, I see thee

God is her light, a lady’s show of exquisite beauty as deemed

Hypnotic eloquent, this rare jewel’s dancing team

Effects of crystalline dust a luminescent glowing

Sustained in visual concentrating

Intense calm while spiritual mapping

In awe as our friendship experiences synchronistic time-lapsing.

~DiosRaw, 15/07/21

~For You Eleanor 🌹~

Do check Eleanor’s beautiful writings out ~ https://youlildickens.wordpress.com


After the tempestuous rains
Spirit you gift us

The rainbow but
Where to find
This sacred
Genie of gold
Yet I resonate
The real beauty
Is the afterglow
Red blue green
Yellow violet and
Some indigo

Dialouguing in broken hearts
and mended neuropathic pathways
Witnessing painting skies
Of tangerine, saffron
And an illuminated pastel lilac hue
Against the backdrop of starkly contrasted crisp rich cornflower blue Stretching canvas
Along with the
Other blindingly beautiful colors of a mystical twilight sky

And those oozing cotton candy stratospheric clouds drown me in the fields of God’s kingdom
Ice crystals freezing into supercooled
water droplets bounce off my nose
Streaking the sky in cirrus whispers

Finding depth and height, deepness and light
Out in the stratosphere where my freedom hides to reclaim
Blinded by the
After light
Or afterglow
Affected by the amount of haze
Dazzled daze

As the sadness and numbness reaches again, sinking, in the gap between a distracted dream of reality.

Appreciating those glimpses, through the looking glass, of what it feels like to feel again.

~DiosRaw, 12/07/21

Poetry By Kritika & Amber {4} ~ Artistic Endeavours

Dipping paint tools into his soul, the artist dreams his own projected nature onto his masterpieces; where his solace of silence spurs into a rendition of the conceptual unspoken.

The patient strokes playing the soft tune on a piano, steadily relaxing the unbalanced state; teleporting from the shelf of chaos to the tranquility of the calm sea.

Replicating the transience of human form onto easels, vending his zeal to maintain a living modality; dreaming up contours and placed betwixt the light and his canvas, so that his shadow is cast upon his endeavours. Painting
is perceived as his poetic therapy, exuberating language espoused through various mediums.

A rhyme dipped in paints of varied hues falls on the blank canvas like the autumn leaves falling on the earth which embraces each with pleasure. The poet, thus, contemplates his feelings, sculpting each in variations mirroring exactly as the heart conveys.

Dwelling, soaking and bathing
in the waters of the art of simplicity, the ultimate form of sophistication; capturing complex concepts into a multiplex of words detonating onto trees shaved into paper by the cogs of society for the use of human artists internationally. Entanglements of the
etheric cosmic mind images into third dimensional reality manifestation.

Years of scrutinized engagements, on display the embroidery of his feelings in different types of threads from soft to hard spread widely on the cloth of life.

Inspiration soaks up the dew of consciousness embodying the material of the originator. An antenna receiving signals; sweating, blowing up ingenuity, fuses crackle overwhelmed by sensory inventiveness. The artist mirrored in his piece, revealing wonders of the soul marinated withininnovation, gazes awe stricken in their own image.

Wiping the salty mist on forehead, the content creator with the confidence of a monarch stands.To the unknown world, his eyes speak of the vibrant colours of rainbow and stature, his artistry.

~Kritika {ValorousBird} & Amber {DiosRaw}

~If you’d like to collaborate, feel free to find my email on this blog’s connect page.~


Whipping up fractals in the eternal replication of mountains sweeping OCD billowings

Looping in spirals once more for the evergreen multiple personality disorder trees

Creator emerges in the use of calculus

For the waves congealing in the bellows of the bipolar seas

Fibonacci embedded in sea shells

I heard you were feeling misunderstood and alone yet you’re all too near

Fibonacci knows the perfect rose

I submit to you in offering for you reading my dear

If at all this existence only a blip

When we entangled our Möbius strip

What are we?

But a dusting of a speck in this universe?

Of granite, metal and a burning tail of Atmans trailing in branding patterns

Fiery wild tempestuous passion

Moving in a constant meaning craved speed

As if we already knew

As if we planned

As if written

As if measured

In blindfolds in this unknown forever limbo

Yet YOU are all of it, can you digest and truly believe it?

Indulging ourselves in the futility of a dog chasing its tail

Are we just asleep in this theatre conversing in our dreams

Decoding whitenoise afterglows pixelating the screens

Over shifting planes of time

Like the stars believed that fate is their religion leaflet

Or the cosmos furtive of its musings and secrets?

~DiosRaw, 11/07/21