When life was tender and fresh
With starlit boxes of dreams and love,
I saw the sky adorned with
Red and yellow and green.
When the sun came shining
Bright and young,
The saffron changed to golden glow
Basking in the shore of hopes.
A little later, darkness prevailed
Soaking in the palette of blue
Along came the ghost of solitude
Peeping through hamlet of sorrows.
The pain grew deeper with
The befallen night
And the color of black
Darkened the hue of tears.
But the sun rised again
To bring back
The evergreen rainbow silhouette
And life kept on smiling
To the beautiful song of love.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Lost Heartbeat
When the sun was tender
And dreams yet to shape,
I skipped a few beats here and there
Never to recall those beats in tears.
Then the wanderer came sailing
Through a strange way called likeness.
And crush happened sweetly...
Along came the river of solitude,
To take me afloat another wave
Where eyes learned to kiss the stars
And back to be with the tear drops.
That's where began the endless lovelorn saga.
A few tearful stories ahead,
The sun shined again in the heart,
And I saw many a full moon nights
Flattered by the new wings of hope.
Dreams started flying high only to
Fall deeper in the chasm again.
But phoenix never stops rising
From the ashes of love and life.
Out of the torn wilderness of loss,
He came rising like the eternal sun
To brighten up my heart with life.
Somewhere in the middle of the stormy night,
I once heard of an unspoken beat that
Rushed like a hurricane of desire
In an unheard heart with an innocent song.
It was once and for all that I heard that beat.
Never ever did the storm return.
But that storm stole one beat of mine
Not to give it back for ever.
That beat is never to be found again.
Nor that song is ever to be heard again.
Yet...whenever feelings storm out,
I hear a little sound of that lost heartbeat...
And dreams yet to shape,
I skipped a few beats here and there
Never to recall those beats in tears.
Then the wanderer came sailing
Through a strange way called likeness.
And crush happened sweetly...
Along came the river of solitude,
To take me afloat another wave
Where eyes learned to kiss the stars
And back to be with the tear drops.
That's where began the endless lovelorn saga.
A few tearful stories ahead,
The sun shined again in the heart,
And I saw many a full moon nights
Flattered by the new wings of hope.
Dreams started flying high only to
Fall deeper in the chasm again.
But phoenix never stops rising
From the ashes of love and life.
Out of the torn wilderness of loss,
He came rising like the eternal sun
To brighten up my heart with life.
Somewhere in the middle of the stormy night,
I once heard of an unspoken beat that
Rushed like a hurricane of desire
In an unheard heart with an innocent song.
It was once and for all that I heard that beat.
Never ever did the storm return.
But that storm stole one beat of mine
Not to give it back for ever.
That beat is never to be found again.
Nor that song is ever to be heard again.
Yet...whenever feelings storm out,
I hear a little sound of that lost heartbeat...
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Unspoken
He seemed confused
From the very first
Moment of sundrop twinkles.
Not an iota of love
Does he understand
Of the unspoken words.
He never counts the stars
Of the lonely sky.
Nor can he tell me
How the dreams get wings to fly.
When the river of longing
Flows from the seaful eyes,
He keeps on wondering
Why the heart speaks of
Strange sign language.
His is an innocent mind
Ignorant of tears and sorrows,
Of the complicated cobwebs
Of love and desire.
Yet he sings merry in
Solitude and gloom.
His eyes are oblivious
Of unknown delight.
That I keep sketching
The canvas of rainbow hues,
And building the castle
Of love and liveliness,
He is lost with a feeling
Even unknown to him...
From the very first
Moment of sundrop twinkles.
Not an iota of love
Does he understand
Of the unspoken words.
He never counts the stars
Of the lonely sky.
Nor can he tell me
How the dreams get wings to fly.
When the river of longing
Flows from the seaful eyes,
He keeps on wondering
Why the heart speaks of
Strange sign language.
His is an innocent mind
Ignorant of tears and sorrows,
Of the complicated cobwebs
Of love and desire.
Yet he sings merry in
Solitude and gloom.
His eyes are oblivious
Of unknown delight.
That I keep sketching
The canvas of rainbow hues,
And building the castle
Of love and liveliness,
He is lost with a feeling
Even unknown to him...
Friday, September 30, 2011
Life and its Side Kicks...
'Mundane' is a depressive word. Or at least I would like to think so. It simply reminds me of the unruly traffic, noisy honkings, serpentile footpaths, dust-clad roadways, crampy by lanes, irritating music from FM radios, Paan-stained loudmouths, and a messed up canvas of all these. But the mess does not stop there. It unknowingly transacts the same amount of mundane depression to the red building as well. The brick building that makes my bread and butter eatable. For sure, I get my comfortable money. And at the same time, the regular dose of depression. Not that it spreads too much of negative energy. But the mundanity most often bores me nearly to lifeless death. Especially when friendly faces are not around. Same old visages of truth and lies, same old oddly funny tricks, same old dusty world around.
However, as a matter of fact, life is not that bad after all. The only good thing constant is the same old salary I get every month. And the same old friendly faces that make my day worth living in those unsympathetic cabin holes (I won't ask you to try them even once!!). Life becomes much more fun when I see those familiar smiles. The sincere hugs from the near ones make me warm enough to feel the vibes of life. And it is because of all these that even the age-old cob webs in the red brick building fail to challenge my dream of living big and living full. Meanwhile, life goes on sketching the fairy tale dream and its wings...
However, as a matter of fact, life is not that bad after all. The only good thing constant is the same old salary I get every month. And the same old friendly faces that make my day worth living in those unsympathetic cabin holes (I won't ask you to try them even once!!). Life becomes much more fun when I see those familiar smiles. The sincere hugs from the near ones make me warm enough to feel the vibes of life. And it is because of all these that even the age-old cob webs in the red brick building fail to challenge my dream of living big and living full. Meanwhile, life goes on sketching the fairy tale dream and its wings...
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Other Me...
Hey folks, a very good afternoon to all my near and dear ones out there. Sometimes we feel restless almost to the point of throwing the feelings out, well, I mean quite literally. At least I myself have gone through such experiences many a times since carefree days. There is this strange image within, a visage so horrifyingly true and convincing that I had to nearly come to the edge of an insomniac spirit that could survive only through literal throw-out on yellow pages. It's not many moons back that I realized the friendly ghost in me. A ghost that would later get the recognition of always following me like my shadow. Sometimes now, I even feel strongly that my shadow is the mystified ghost, and vice versa. Let me provide you with a little more reasoning behind this weird state of my otherwise stable mind.
Wherever I go, my pen-and-paper kit follows me sincerely. I love to meet new people, visit new places, learn new habits, and try newer ways of living healthy - both physically and emotionally. Every new person I cross path with brings in new motivations for me to create new web of characters. Each new location I visit crowds me with newer canvases for rainbow stories.Among them, the most attractive ones are the hill tops and its snake-coiled lonely lanes. Every bit of the pine and oak trees, haunted bungalows, deserted hotel rooms, dry and stony brooks tends to chase me with its own fairy tale. And I enjoy them all while penning down the thoughts on my yellow pages.
The point is I realized only recently that I have the ghost of a writer in me. And how! Every new thing crossing my way is a shining bright trail of unspoken emotions of unknown characters. Now even my dreams are inhabited by these wonderful emotions. All I need to do is write down the characters, and canvas the beautiful poem of emotions. This is an amazing life. And I am trying to live it to enjoy the best of it. The writer ghost in me is so alive and kicking hard! Thanks to my dreams and hopes and imaginations and adventures to the lesser known sylvan lines, and to Rusty, the man of my spiral dreams, I am on the verge of weaving a story of love and hate, smiles and tears, of eyes and ears,of a life worth living and loving. Wish me luck!
Wherever I go, my pen-and-paper kit follows me sincerely. I love to meet new people, visit new places, learn new habits, and try newer ways of living healthy - both physically and emotionally. Every new person I cross path with brings in new motivations for me to create new web of characters. Each new location I visit crowds me with newer canvases for rainbow stories.Among them, the most attractive ones are the hill tops and its snake-coiled lonely lanes. Every bit of the pine and oak trees, haunted bungalows, deserted hotel rooms, dry and stony brooks tends to chase me with its own fairy tale. And I enjoy them all while penning down the thoughts on my yellow pages.
The point is I realized only recently that I have the ghost of a writer in me. And how! Every new thing crossing my way is a shining bright trail of unspoken emotions of unknown characters. Now even my dreams are inhabited by these wonderful emotions. All I need to do is write down the characters, and canvas the beautiful poem of emotions. This is an amazing life. And I am trying to live it to enjoy the best of it. The writer ghost in me is so alive and kicking hard! Thanks to my dreams and hopes and imaginations and adventures to the lesser known sylvan lines, and to Rusty, the man of my spiral dreams, I am on the verge of weaving a story of love and hate, smiles and tears, of eyes and ears,of a life worth living and loving. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Unknown
His thoughts alone
Bring the raindrops down
From the sky of seaful love.
That one odd look in his eyes
Flows the river of hopes and love
And thousand dreams.
He never knows why phoenix croons
The nameless melody of life.
That strange silence screams aloud
Of the unheard words of endless love.
Yet he never knows why butterfly dances
To the glory of dewy-eyed moons.
He weaves a beautiful poem
With every sunshine and silver line.
And in my own sky,
The silhouette shines bright.
And he is still unknown to this unspoken world...
(P.S. Now that you have woven the sylvan carpet of magical words, hope the moon shines brighter tonight!)
Bring the raindrops down
From the sky of seaful love.
That one odd look in his eyes
Flows the river of hopes and love
And thousand dreams.
He never knows why phoenix croons
The nameless melody of life.
That strange silence screams aloud
Of the unheard words of endless love.
Yet he never knows why butterfly dances
To the glory of dewy-eyed moons.
He weaves a beautiful poem
With every sunshine and silver line.
And in my own sky,
The silhouette shines bright.
And he is still unknown to this unspoken world...
(P.S. Now that you have woven the sylvan carpet of magical words, hope the moon shines brighter tonight!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)