The blank space

Harmed in the sphere of biased lives I crept inside

Knowing not the untamed struggle ,I harness my enemies easily

Like a serpents venom and a child’s heart I lived

Facing the blank space of my own desire for venegence

I struggled and struggled victory and death together I pretended

I was a strong window of bolted chains of sorrow

Until I laid my head down under the blank space .

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Ongoings.

Let me reach to you

I am a devil

Don’t do right , do wrong

I am the opposite.

Who has measured your birth?

Pictures and few faces!

Ask them ,do they have a note

Of their own doings?

Ongoings.

You are sleepless,thinking of light

Its dark away , now you are a devil

A stranger to good,let it go

World is full of bullies,you be your

Own doing, push them steal them away from the moment

Carpediem

Ongoings.

 

Now is time to flourish,be strong

Pluck all the Eden’s and dance

Forget about the snake you saw last

Enjoy in the black death of past

Simulacra

Ongoings.

Death ,came so fast

You wandered like a shroud

You wore it on your ongoings

Like a king in the war.

Adieu

Wrongdoings.

 

Desolatation.

WHAT DO YOU CALL A DESOLATION?

A parting from a loved one

A sting on your tender finger

A thunder which made you coil around the quilt

A mask that frightened you at ball

That’s not what it is like to be desolate.

I am a poet , I’ll answer it in a singing way.

Old women’s wrinkles , telling a story of lost son

Old man’s hat full of holes

Young youth struggling with peace over the ailment of old mother

Daughter’s struggling to live with the best old daddy

Trees blossoming away with no fruit

Taps open but with no flowing of water

Birds flying to the destination

Nests empty , of ugliness in their nature

Deserts out of rain

Mountains out of snow

My reader I am just a poet

Had I been a heart of emotion

I would have answered the Desolation.

That night.

That night oh Beloved , tremors and thunderings,

Past ,present and places ,all on a wall of future ,

Clouds of cirius circumscribed the courtier ,

As some were deep ,calm and others venomous ,

There was a mark of red , a light that often spoke,

Never shone , absent out of the stopping by the fall ,

Flowers bloom with the red , red of the past of the men

Stopping from entering her into the court of herbs.

 

The red colour of venegence wore its space ,

Flowing down the waves like a ritual ,

The flowers embellished into its colour ,

A frightful scent of prejudiced nature ,

Tripping down through a devasted past ,

It held no future in the blank space of the courtiers yard.

In the meadows of my dream.

The sun is shining bright , the bicycle starts horning. A little girl craves out of the window for warmth. Life is all about the blue sky and silvery roads , is it beyond the close walls of the meadows. The bicycle horning goes left to make way for a woman of the middle age. She is astonished to see the cars , a new horizon , a new modernism. Her wrinkles give her a tough time to realize life is all about the blue sky and the silver roads. In a group of five to four school children I noticing them while they whisper in their ears about me. I emphasizing my absence ,they validating it . I am present in them for once I was in a group of five to four school children whispering in the ears about the other me. The whispers lead me to a narroway and I realize life is all about the blue sky and the silver streets.

The roses are red , and the lover is blushed. At the end of the street I see a guy gifting his girl a bunch of roses. Clasping her face she realizes life is full of the blue sky and silver streets. The koel singing , the horns honking ,the lovers loving and the mourning. It gives you goosebumps when you realize that the life is full of blue sky and the silver streets.

Time passed and I saw them again. Struggling to win the race. For I realize someone calling me from inside. Because when you are old and your skin fades away . I was the little girl then I am the old woman now. The sun is shining bright still , I realizing thus. Life is all about the blue sky and the silver streets.

Welcome to the meadows of my dreams.

  • Takbeer ©