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!

Dying yet Undead

Everytime I write, I try to paint a poetic picture of a very grim, very sober reality. But just this once, this is exactly as poetic as it got and I felt not the need to make it any more poetic.

Awaiting the darkest hour

I felt an emptiness

When the engine began chugging away

Taking my world with it

I could not help but stare

At perhaps the only true thing I know

The contours of your cheeks

Smiling a sad song you cant conceal

Eyes boring into me like

the gaze of the Lord Almighty.

As I brace myself for

The waves of loneliness

To take over

Tossing, turning, spinning me

Crumbling from within

As I attempt

To regain my life

While life attempts

To regain me.

 

Once again I dont need to reinforce on the seemingly unshakeable fact that I dont plagiarise but then its this mundane routine every blogger needs to follow for the sake of it.

 

Living in a Chimera (Finally the 50th!!)

Knowing me like I do, I never expected to last this long! 3 years and 50 posts ago I started writing with absolutely no dream or aspirations. 50 posts later, I still got no dream or aspirations. But what I got is this genuine love or in my case, lust for writing which has greatly developed over the years. And I’m glad to be bound by this love. I lived through 3 years and over a 100 posts of happy, sad, depressed and angry moments that have made me better than I ever wanted to be.

I wish to offer my thanks to the Gods of writing and words and I pray that I always have the mind and heart to write my way through any ordeal.

 

I wish to dedicate this post to the one person who has made it all possible, the same person who is the one behind this post.

 

When my life grows numb

And my heart grows cold.

When my eyes grow lifeless

And my soul, breathless.

The skies shall split asunder

The trembling earth beneath,

Giving way to surreal realities

And we shall descend from the stars

Waltzing onto the earth

Under the gleaming moonlight

Covered in the stardust

Of love and this heartbreak

Called love.

A love that shall live

In my flawed imagination

For an eternity.

 

Like always, this is a work of the blog owner and no part of it has been copied from anywhere.