It’s the first time of every time,
It’s the uneasiness, it’s the butterflies,
Every moment seems filled with sunshine,
It’s that reflection of mine, in your eyes.
When we finally collide,
The secret glances I try to hide,
The awkwardness in every conversation,
The thoughts that merge with my minds elation.
The hesitation, it’s a sort of weakness,
I confide, in myself.
The wait, and the chase,
And all those moments.
The times I felt breathless,
Every occasion counts for pretty dresses,
I feel alive, my heart like drum roll
Beats, life seems sweet.
There seems to be hope,
There seems to be meaning, the ropes
Of my mind unchained, there seems to be
A feeling, which only I can comprehend.
And no matter how much I pretend.
I do look out for you every now and then,
And when you re not aware I wonder,
What it would be like to be with you,
Maybe there’s rain, maybe there’s thunder,
And you catch me off guard, and our
Worlds that till now stood barred,
Release, there is a sort of uncomfortable
Ease.
I carry this ease on my mind,
Whenever I find a broken part
Of the past edging in to my life,
Despite it being over,
Even though nothing ended well,
The roses seem faded,
And the lilies have lost their smell,
The first time of every time,
That merged with my minds elation,
Does away with all darkness,
And lights up my world with celebration
Friday, January 7, 2011
carried away
Carried away by whispers,
Visible in the glow of starlight
Of the mystic, magic night,
And the bright sun burnt
Sunlight.
I’m present in the dust,
That shimmers, I’m in the breeze.
An unmade bed, lays rustled like
The autumn leaves, the dark blue coat
That covers a crease.
My presence lies true to purity,
Of my existence there is no surety,
Courage defines me,
Cheaters are-
A deep-seated animosity
But you could look for me in most songs
And lovers, in passion and in
Push overs.
My spirit lies captured in
Discarded choices,
Unseen faces and unspoken voices;
In broken hearts, in photographs,
In wounds that fail to heal,
My secrets and my identity
Stay unrevealed.
I ride in dark waters and
In breathtaking Dreams,
Lonesome forests, above
Misty Mountain Seams.
I’m lured by prayers
And hungry wishes,
Wet colour complemented by
Dripping brushes.
I’m meant to wander
Be free, but life captures me
Into a new body,
Every time.
And Leaves me deprived
Of beauty and rhyme.
And behold there is a birth!
In a rich mans ditch,
In a poor mans hole,
And once more in the
Name of life, there is
Murder of the soul.
Visible in the glow of starlight
Of the mystic, magic night,
And the bright sun burnt
Sunlight.
I’m present in the dust,
That shimmers, I’m in the breeze.
An unmade bed, lays rustled like
The autumn leaves, the dark blue coat
That covers a crease.
My presence lies true to purity,
Of my existence there is no surety,
Courage defines me,
Cheaters are-
A deep-seated animosity
But you could look for me in most songs
And lovers, in passion and in
Push overs.
My spirit lies captured in
Discarded choices,
Unseen faces and unspoken voices;
In broken hearts, in photographs,
In wounds that fail to heal,
My secrets and my identity
Stay unrevealed.
I ride in dark waters and
In breathtaking Dreams,
Lonesome forests, above
Misty Mountain Seams.
I’m lured by prayers
And hungry wishes,
Wet colour complemented by
Dripping brushes.
I’m meant to wander
Be free, but life captures me
Into a new body,
Every time.
And Leaves me deprived
Of beauty and rhyme.
And behold there is a birth!
In a rich mans ditch,
In a poor mans hole,
And once more in the
Name of life, there is
Murder of the soul.
part 2
Forgone moments and laughter,
I run after,
Only to find,
They’ve been replaced by time.
We don’t meet
Or speak that often,
But in spring time
The flowers still blossom,
The postman still delivers
The letters,
Times keep changing from
Worse to better,
The mud still smells after
It has rained,
The farmer still cultivates
His grain,
The world still spins,
Evil always wins,
Love is never pure,
Greed has no cure,
Nights stand replaced
By dawn,
War still goes on.
But change chose
Us,
No matter how much
I try and revive,
Lost times,
They appear
Ingrained in that
Photo frame,
But you should know
That even though,
Now you belong to my past,
Our friendship will last.
And one day
When you have lost
Your way,
Will you come by
Again?
Dear old friend.
I run after,
Only to find,
They’ve been replaced by time.
We don’t meet
Or speak that often,
But in spring time
The flowers still blossom,
The postman still delivers
The letters,
Times keep changing from
Worse to better,
The mud still smells after
It has rained,
The farmer still cultivates
His grain,
The world still spins,
Evil always wins,
Love is never pure,
Greed has no cure,
Nights stand replaced
By dawn,
War still goes on.
But change chose
Us,
No matter how much
I try and revive,
Lost times,
They appear
Ingrained in that
Photo frame,
But you should know
That even though,
Now you belong to my past,
Our friendship will last.
And one day
When you have lost
Your way,
Will you come by
Again?
Dear old friend.
part 1
Will you come haunt me again? Dear friend.
Their voices brought me back to life. Their voices, forced me to live in a parallel world that belonged to none other, but my self. No matter how much I tried to grasp those voices, they would easily slip past my fingers like dry sand. They were very much alive in their own worlds; it was as if they belonged to a completely different galaxy. Here, where I existed, the people and the conversations were different. The difference was such that when I peered into a glass window, I wouldn’t know which one was reality, and which world was a mere reflection.
They seemed to hold deep dark secrets that I had grown out of, or maybe even forgotten.
It was strange how the faces, the habits, the jokes and the problems were still the same, but only time had been altered.
These voices were like spirits that whispered to me tales of my own story and interfered with my new born life. They were unfair like the waves that frequented the shores time and again. They left back imprints and dark patches on the face of the cold sands, as they stood welcoming them each time. The waves would come so close to the sea shore and then drift away, never to return in the same form.
They were like ghosts from my past that kept apparating into my present.
The only thing I couldn’t figure out was that if I should welcome them to stay with me, or leave them undisturbed in the graves of my memories.
They reminded me of how I used to be, and now that I had accepted change as an acquaintance, I don’t know if that was a good thing.
Whenever I met these ghosts however I would feel an insane high, one which would last as long as they were in my presence. Because soon I would wake up from this sweet dream and the hours of the new day would smother me completely.
It felt awkward to meet my ghosts again, like a stain on a cherished memory, like a dusty painting that lay ignored in the attic, which was now put to display in an art exhibition. Did it actually belong there?
Will you come haunt me again?
Dear friend.
Their voices brought me back to life. Their voices, forced me to live in a parallel world that belonged to none other, but my self. No matter how much I tried to grasp those voices, they would easily slip past my fingers like dry sand. They were very much alive in their own worlds; it was as if they belonged to a completely different galaxy. Here, where I existed, the people and the conversations were different. The difference was such that when I peered into a glass window, I wouldn’t know which one was reality, and which world was a mere reflection.
They seemed to hold deep dark secrets that I had grown out of, or maybe even forgotten.
It was strange how the faces, the habits, the jokes and the problems were still the same, but only time had been altered.
These voices were like spirits that whispered to me tales of my own story and interfered with my new born life. They were unfair like the waves that frequented the shores time and again. They left back imprints and dark patches on the face of the cold sands, as they stood welcoming them each time. The waves would come so close to the sea shore and then drift away, never to return in the same form.
They were like ghosts from my past that kept apparating into my present.
The only thing I couldn’t figure out was that if I should welcome them to stay with me, or leave them undisturbed in the graves of my memories.
They reminded me of how I used to be, and now that I had accepted change as an acquaintance, I don’t know if that was a good thing.
Whenever I met these ghosts however I would feel an insane high, one which would last as long as they were in my presence. Because soon I would wake up from this sweet dream and the hours of the new day would smother me completely.
It felt awkward to meet my ghosts again, like a stain on a cherished memory, like a dusty painting that lay ignored in the attic, which was now put to display in an art exhibition. Did it actually belong there?
Will you come haunt me again?
Dear friend.
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