And accompany me To a place where you always wanted to be
The aches, the heart-breaks, the constant high and low Mechanical existence, your mind is stuck in flow Let’s drink the magic potion, and sleep in utmost rest Give up the struggles, an ongoing ‘Living’ test No there’s no paradise out there, but it’s sure better than here When soul gives up the body, there’s neither chaos nor fear You won’t wake up to dull voids, nor get dragged with time It might feel strange though, to be free from all the mime But accompany me To a place where you always wanted to be
And yes before you ask, let me be true as I tell You shall belong nowhere, neither heaven nor hell Senses will be lost; you will float somewhere mid air And all you’ve loved is gone; you have no moment to spare Camouflaged in the universe, in sun, sand and sea You shall be consumed by nature, from now to eternity And what they have taught you through generations I am none of that, you must believe For I will take you beyond all tangible thoughts In that one thoughtless moment you couldn’t live So accompany me To a place where you always wanted to be.
When poetry touches the soul, everything starts making sense. The inner world seems real and the outer one becomes bearable. When thoughts mixed with words travel through the empty spaces of mind, poetry happens to me. It always has been a mysterious force guiding me through. With two published books and one amaturish blog, I consider myself blessed to have started this journey. An old diary with think brown cover and an over used, end bitten pen. That’s where real magic begins! May you find your undiscovered meanings in my poems. May existence make sense. Even if just for a little while.
What would happen on the day When death tinkers in your life This thought might recoil once It turns a ‘men’ into ‘corpse’ I soliloquy kith will pretending of regret by flowing false tears Several examine you by discussing your
There was no end to looking inside. I was crumbling. Unnamed homing in of anguish, not knowing me. The wasted questions of revival. A depleted dawn of a failed sun? A river war between two hills for a moon? Time
This life has snubbed the bloom like a thick brown sac thrown on the sod. An octogenarian tries to slice the hope indulgingly to achieve immortality! Was it a virile snarl? A rose bud wrenched open in a fatherless home.
She sits there looking so cold and alone But somewhere under there, There beats a heart Beneath all the black and chrome The smooth lines that glimmer Soft but sharp in the night Are begging you to play the game