A Midnight Musing

Took me damn lot of time to get back. Its not a lack of free time that was stopping me but a lack of motivation. Thinking and coming up with something worthy was frustrating. It took a toll on me and I was gonna give up on this forever.

But, somewhere down the path I realised, I never began this to gain anything. This was simply gonna be an indulgence. It doesnt have to be good or something. It just has to be ‘me’.

Cheers to all those written and unwritten words. May you always find the motivation to pick up a pen and start writing just like that, every single time.

A little something to make me realise what I was gonna give up on. 

My path be my battleground
You be my victory
I walk till my limbs numb
For ‘you’ are the eluding horizon
Tantalizingly close
Yet unreachably far
And I be that little boat
That dreamt of the seven seas
And dared to go for it
Defeated yet unfazed
Shattered yet unbroken
I be constant
Like the gleaming moon
For I love not the little puddle
But the ocean blue.

 

Proud to say those were my words, thoughts and actions.

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A trickle of life within the lifeless

Memory means everything to me. 

Memory has something that I hold dear. Spending moments, hours just gazing at the emptiness, believeing that the world infact is a beautiful place and my life is exactly how I wished it would be,well that’s a feeling that surpasses every other feeling. 

It gives me peace. Misplaced I know. Then again, most things in the world are misplaced. And completing the puzzle is what makes life interesting!

The monochromatic Nokia

Shone with vestige thoughts

Words from the past

A letter that was us.
The old tattoo in my neck

Reliving the joy

In the pain.

A scar that was us.
The cafes, the lattes

That stood witness 

To the imprints we left.

A memory that was us.
The fading photo in my wallet

The smile I so miss

The times I yearn for.

A life that was us.
Now, hollow hearts that ache

And shallow lives that fake

As I sit with this poem

Of you and I.
A love that was us.
The above is a product of some empty thoughts that creeped into my mind while in idleness. 

Echos from the soul

​To some poetry is just jumbled words made to love beautiful. To some poetry is but a way to impress. And there are some to whom poetry is the very essence their everyday living hangs on.

Hats off to all those wonderful poets who have made our life colorful!

Here is a little something from your fan!
What madness is this thing,

Called poetry?

Where love becomes the sun and the moon

And the heart, the ocean blue

Where love becomes the seven seas,

The surfer quests to tame.

Spinning tales out of the crashing waves

Hoping for a footprint, in the sands of time
What absurdity is this thing,

Called poetry?

Delusional quotes carved

On the tombstone of the dead

Telling tales of lives

Of great men and of others

Of hope and hardships

Of lost lives in the struggle, called living.
What is this poetry? I asked.

The autumn leaves and its inner peace

The dancing rain and its untold joy

Take my breath away!

‘Poetry, my dear’, said the voice in my head.

‘..is all things beautiful’.

Then again, everything is beautiful.

In its own unique way.
The above is a humble tribute from a person who has spends many a happy moments in the company of poetry.

Mon Amour

You gave me the most wonderful gift I can ever ask for. You gave me the confidence, to write and to write my heart out. Hence here I’m, writing my heart out for all my heart ever has, is you.

​The writer who dies

At the mention of your name,

Crumbling, like a sand castle

Washed away, marooned forever.

The writer who lives

In the shadows of your memories,

Fondness like the fire

Burning bright, from within.

The writer who writes

With the black of the night,

Constellations of you, and me,

In my fantasy skies.

For I’m the writer who bleeds

For bleed is all I can do

When I’m in love

With you.

The above piece of work is something way too close to my heart, so close that if I ever plagiarise in this, it means I dont even have a heart!

Life in the Memories of you

​There are people like me, people who dont worry about the future or the present. People like me who’s life still revolves around a certain past. A past so magical it has convinced them that there can be no better life than the life that they were part of, and left.

Living in the past aint a sin. Then again, nothing really is a sin. It all lies in the eyes of the beholder.

My voice is but a quiver

My thoughts, a starless night

My heart, the greatest coward

Unwilling to let you go,

Hovering over your memories.
My mind still loves you.

My eyes pry like always

In the voices of chaos

And in the faces, the masquerades,

To feel the magic that is you.
I look for you in the shadows

Shadows that was once people.

In the shattered lives

That speak of beautiful pasts.

‘Coz my love I loved a rose and its thorns.
I need you

For you’re all the people I know

The one true thing in my life.

I want my soul back

As my bleeding heart needs its fix.
Come back to me

Or take me with you,

My love.

My emptiness is unbearable

And my love is unquenchable.
Lets lie on the glistering sand

And gaze upon at the starry night.

Lets fly to the moon, and make it ours.

May our love consume us

And the world.

The above are words of my heart and it is as genuine as it could be.

Unbroken-Like a Green Leaf from a Dead Twig

​The beautiful words of Morgan Freeman in the movie ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ “Every man has his breaking point’echos through my heart.

Life’s a challenge. Not your job, not your programme, not even relationships or love can match life in it. Life gives you a million reason to give up and walk away each day. But what is that one reason that drives you, that one little inspiration that forces to hold on no matter the shit you go through in life? 

Tell me, why wont you give in yet?

I have my reason, hope you have yours’.

The rosiness left her cheeks

Her eyes a looming thunderstorm

And her scarred heart bled

For her love,

The light in her skies

Dying like the crimson sunset.

‘I shall live’

Said the staunch mind.

‘I shall love’

Said the undying spirit.

And it began

Once again

The process called life.

A wounded heart

A haunted mind

And a killing pain

As she trudged on

Unfazed by the hurtin’

Unwilling to let go 

‘Life is too precious’

Said the feeble yet determined heart.
The above has not been copied from anywhere else because, quite frankly, you cant do that here!

When ‘life’ befalls living..

Today is the World Poetry Day and I’m  proud to call myself a poet and honoured to live in the shadows of an art that boasts the likes of Blake and Frost and Shakespeare and e.e.cummings. For most people poetry is beauty. For some, its like a form of an escape from this chaos of living. For me, poetry is a way of life. I wake up with poetry and I end the day with it.

Poetry makes me feel superior because it is an art that is most impossible. It makes me feel inferior because it is an art that is most impossible.

The girl on her toe tip

Swiveled like a top

As her pain melted

On the warm wooden floor.

 

The man on the saddle

Glided along the tarmac

As the wind devoured

His erupting tears.

 

The woman on the ledge

Peered onto the wilderness

Stretching beyond the horizon

Setting her heart at peace.

 

Passion is the angel

Guarding our heart and soul

Against this terrible, terrible storm

Called life.

 

Like this man, sitting

With a pen and a thought

Reliving moments, rekindling feelings,

Seeking hope to keep going.

 

The above is the sole work of the author and no part of it has been reproduced from any source anywhere.