Ordinary Universe

​Her mind is
Nothing but a wonderful blessing
Always yearning
Always growing

And here I am
But a blunt feather
Blown away by her endless wind
I float along the hush of her whisper
Enchanted
Of how grand of an angel she is
Eternally too big
And too much
To fit in
Our ordinary universe.

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Secrets

Doesn’t matter

How we try and hide

A piece of our puzzle.

One way or another

Upon the casting light

Its shadow will reveal

What remains in the riddle

We refused to hear.

Tonight A Felicity To Witness

 

Tonight a felicity to witness,
As though forever
Since my eyes saw last,
And value a place so little,
Moulding puddles on the side,
Rain-kissed asphalted road,
On my pale white shoes
Splatter youthful dots of earth,
So beauty a wet urban surface,
Yet peaceful a rural dark,
Playing hide and seek,
Are stars and its queen above,
Soft cotton cloud,
Their clothing warmth,
Lamp posts sparkle my eyes,
One, three, seven,
Til I lost count,
They pass and draw
Vertical horizons,
Filling the void of land,
I close my eyes and breathe,
The humble glaze of air,
So gentle and innocent,
Caress my somber cheek,
Perhaps the way of heaven,
Embracing his daughter back,
After a day seemed too eternal
Chasing bubbles in combat.

Change

Old friends, acquaintances.
I wonder,
What happened
Between me and you?
I hope you do well
With the life of your own.

Continue reading “Change”

Grandeur of My Vie

For once I thought myself,
Incapable of what I used to feel,
What I used to live for,
For many times I tried,
Yet more million ways I failed,
Indeed handicapped I have become!
As the story of an old plate of steel,
Weak, dusty and rustic,
Left hanging for years and years away,
Under hurtling weather of mist and heat.
But so long has it been,
Since I allowed myself to dream
And lose under the sublime trance,
Deterred I would not.
If I’d have to cut my throat,
Or tear my wrist,
Or burn myself,
Even if
I’d have to sell my soul to malevolent,
To hesitate I shall not
If it would bring the joy back—
The serenity I once had,
I’d bleed myself to die,
O, yes! The grandeur of my vie,
And the greatest tale ever written,
Shall finally come to life.

Featured image courtesy of www.theguardian.com

They All Lie

‘Pain demands to be felt’,
An author once said,
Oh what of joy a pain could get,
As it wins over myself.

They say ‘time heals’,
Don’t even know who they are,
I’m sure of,
They all lie.

For certain thing I know,
As I have pity for my own,
Neither man nor sayings,
Can bewrite my sorrow.

What Are You Afraid Of?

A writer always has something to say. Hurricanes of thoughts and distorted letters whirl the minds every tick of the clock. It devastates wholeness resulting to displacement of souls, cracking of skulls into million pieces. But this is what a writer aims and lives for. Voices that kept screaming and kicking at senses needed artistic strokes of pen against the smooth divine paper is the sole ecstasy a writer hungers for. But what seemed to be the heavenly process of filling the void can build the highest grounds shielding from this train of thought, putting halt to the only voice a writer could write, shutting off the luminance of life. This is the ultimate time of silence, this is what I am afraid of.

 [image courtesy of huffington post]