An old soul enlightens me!
With the passing of each day
It embraces a seed of hope,
As I sit taking its shade with my mighty pen
I unfold my heart’s envelope.
Survived by the sun and the storm
It has always stood strong,
I praise the other side of perseverance
Where nothing can go wrong.
That gaze always carry a wonder
In perceiving such an old tree,
Although I see no little buds to blossom
The faded leaves regain my ecstasy!
Its perseverance will forever remain
As an entity to lean on my dreams,
There’s nothing more beautiful
Than having hope for what future brings!
Shivering feet, coldest night,
Dirty hands after the day’s toil;
Crackling wood! Fire was his only escape.
There can be nights of unconsiderable counts
That saw my eyes moist and red,
But the shine on them outside the shelter
Is brighter than the sun on July’s shade.
Trembled, afraid and lost at times
But I’m not the only one who feels them at best;
Tough heart, sometimes a weightless cloud
And the pen, why does it always go unrest?
Beauty like that of the Fall
Easy like that of a summer’s morning,
Such a day, everyday
I deceive it to myself for wondering!
If someday you’re into finding me
And to decipher the depths in my soul,
Sing out those words that my pen pours
And name it what your flair beholds!
When nothing goes right,
I expect to have someone beside me
to make it easier to let things go.
No, I see no one,
I find nothing to speak my heart out.
It takes a lot courage
to fight with my inner struggle everyday.
Though there are faces I used to believe
they won’t go wrong in finding me,
but my belief gets ceased. Everytime.
Tell me where does this road take me to?
Tell me for how long this will go on?
But there will be silence again, I know.
I know no one bothers in going depth.
People can appreciate my poetry,
never going deep inside to realize
that through words my pen only bleeds.
This is the first confession I put into words.
Not to show that I’m weak.
But for a quest if I’m the only one
that feels to the extreme!
The personality of a human being is not something that comes under the naturally moulded attributes of a man or a previously built designed model. A man forges or chooses to forge with a strategy of how he wants to be mirrored to the world outside and be an ideal character growing worthier with time through his own built up efforts. That there is no any fixed identity of a human being, it is completely up to his choice of formulating his own values and searching the purpose of his life. None but only a man himself can determine that definite purpose and the ideology upon which his life ought to be embraced. To claim that existence precedes essence is to assert that there is no such predetermined essence to be found in humans and that an individual’s essence is defined by the individual through how that individual creates and lives his or her life.
I held it in my arms, gripped with care
Like an old man’s only asset that remains,
And I gazed it again but seemed blurry
For the rolled down tears of no disdain.
As if to wipe away the desolation
I cleaned it with my soft scarf I wore,
But the air, I felt, abided by my thoughts
And welted like the waves in a seashore.
I looked around- the room, the warm feeling
Nothing has painted any change!
But the mighty time takes you to the race
Even if you restraint not to climb the range.
Her worried face when I cried
Though I knew I’d be healed,
The cut was little but her heart-
A mother’s heart, we know, of what it is built!
Now the cuts seem no more delicate
And stitches are no more a shared toil,
But I know she would still be curious
For now I stand alone amidst turmoil.
Speaking the words I fail to recall,
Sketching the times I fall flat to draw,
This photograph will stitch my cuts
When I’ll be leaving tomorrow.
Even the strongest ones sometimes need a hand to lean on. Yes, with the dynamic time I too have come over the tides, faced the worst hours, felt the soul like it’s been burried deep into somewhere that has no end and turned all the tears into burning desires. But there comes a time when all the cuts and stitches seem ungone inside.
To such cruel hours, I’m grateful for the words flow like the waves and carry the despair a distant away for a while!