The colors, they, symbolize different tones of life in different cultures and hence they provide an aesthetic sense for us to understand in a different way. The stairway to heaven starts from the porch of our will and our understanding of things around us. And yet we call out for the heavens in vain from our dark corners. The window of light seizes towards the beginning of the vicious circle of life. The shades of pastels are perfectly weaved with the contrasting mid tones of grey to balance the energies within us and the patterns becoming the characteristics of this act.

A bridge of Horror.

I am lost again. Somebody, please find me.
The mirror streets, they all look the same.
On the sidewalk, people lay rocked with me,
it itches, like a needle in the heart to see,
Some push, some kick, some break and some kill.

Times it's wondering how we are lost on the road,
the fields look nakedly clear brown to the eye.
As i move on and try to understand my surroundings,

I have been gathering dry moss and paper rings.
Dry moss makes me feel how timid and sticky i am
under the open skies and across the horizon.

The paper rings hurt the most without a doubt,
they breach in and the poor honest is forced out.
Women screaming on the beds of nails in pain
while their men fighting for the false pride i see.

I have been there, seen it all. I need to tell somebody,
the feigned calm and beauty has chained me again.

                         I want to talk to somebody before i get lost again.

Crossroads

At the crossroads where reality meets fiction,
I stare both the sides hoping i am the wiser one.
Holding down the breath of fate i take a dive,
gasping for a bar of air i feel numb and alive.

Here i drop down deep through the passage just in time,
there are other crossroads to stare and to toss the dime.
There are many questions and many more queued in a line,
where do i begin when i myself stand somewhere in the line.

The dot.

     

                        It shall pass too

       Just like the others.

          Keeping fingers crossed, 

              Until our paths cross. 

                  Hope you smile. 

                      In this crowd, 

                           I shall be left, 

                               A dot in your head, 

                                     I will always remain. 

the last note.

i am so much in pain that i laugh
i laugh at my misery, i chuckle.
i stare at the stars, they laugh too.
i join their orchestra. and we rhyme.

She is free.

the birds, they talk to me, they say she is free.
I swallow my heart, smile and let her be.
she was a free spirit, stole a lions heart once
now the lion stays put and watches her dance.

Peace has a price today

There are some thoughts.
Some good ones. Some wise ones.
Some that might never make sense.
But they still keep floating over
the clock that keeps ticking.
When they hit you, they hit you hard.
Every face is strange.
yet every face is beautiful,
in its own ways.
Hope in life seems so distant sometimes.
It all boils down to will.
The utmost power we as humans possess.
Its a gift.
Is it?
That is what i ask looking at my own self.
If it is, then all of us are gifted.
Is it how we exercise it? Or
is it the way we break it in ourselves.
All along the sheds of glory and fame people stare at you.
The price to walk the queue of this fame is chaotically absurd.

I am the Mirror, I am the Wall.

As i move forward i find my feet swaying on the rocks of time. The porch i stand on watches my shadow dancing to the tunes of the sunset. Like the sun that keeps the promise of the rising sun, i keep one too. Lying somewhere in some corner of my mind. The dark keeps itself busy with the breeze and the light awaits carrying the hopes of many.

The apprehensions of time are misunderstood often and this revered pal moves at its own pace. What makes a man wise? I ask this to myself everyday. There are some boundaries i seek out for in vain and standing on the other side of the fence makes me realise that i would still feel the same if i stand either side of it. Why do we always want to be on the other side? When will we learn to stay on the side we belong to and be happy for just awhile. I always have walked the line of time with nothing in my hand but a vague memory.

Trying to run as hard as i can, I run along the faith of time but i run out of breath and i find myself standing where i started. Holding my empty boxes of will I carry on and hope to find something different within someday until then I want to keep moving, keep running. As I run faster I understand that the darkness just surrounds you whereas the light envelopes you. The ripples in still mind are created by the stone of reason thrown into it. As the ripples move outward slowly the mind dies down and a more strong emotion lets it slip away.

Here I lie in my own backyard mending the walls of sanity and trying to understand my mind. Lost in the ashes of sensibility I look for the passionate sorrow. They speak to me sometimes when I am alone in my heart. The questions that spring up have the sweet smell of innocence. Answers I try to find for these questions make me look on the wall on which I write my words very carefully. Sometimes, I, feel i am standing in front of a mirror and not the wall. And I can see what exactly I am made of. Gazing it like i never stood there, I still look for a way and I remind myself that I am the wall and I am the mirror.