Hello reader! Why am I writing this blog? Perhaps because all my idle thoughts and fancy need some space to live and to breathe. When written down on paper, I am bound to lose it. If you know me in real life, you know how quiet and socially hopeless I am. If you don't then you will know that that is not really all there is to me. I am not here to prove any of my skills. I don't even know if I have any. Just random thoughts, few lines that keep hovering around in my mind.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
often I wonder, too less I realize,
were never mine,
were like two blowing leaves, dancing on the harmony of the same wind,
destiny made our paths entwine,
I thought it was forever, but soon I realized,
were never mine.
memories of past,
away like a castle of cards,
Our diamonds of joy, our spades of comfort
lie lifeless, separated and scattered,
pleas to return, still remain unheard
to the harsh wind,
efforts once made our paths entwine,
make me realize, you were never mine.
empty hopes still linger in my heart,
feel like the petal plucked from the flower,
from it’s own part,
the king of love from the deck of cards,
from his queen,
the leaf who still waits for it’s entwine,
the wind is there to remind,
were never mine.
\** This is written, not by me, but a friend as creative
If in a parallel world, you could hear a flower speak,
What do you think it would say to you?
And which one would you pick?
The little white gypsy peeking through the bunch of green,
Or the pink calendula standing tall in the bustling air?
The proud rose red blooming in its own fragrance,
Or that sunflower turning to its benefactor for grace each morning?
Which one would you choose?
And again, what would it say!
You really think they would debate the cunning of a man?
Or would they, in a sweet voice, sing praises of nature to you?
They couldn’t possibly talk of their own beauty.
Such narcissism should mar their prospects of talking at all.
But what if only, if only –
They just smile, fluttering in the wind,
And tell you their names?
Once there lived a Night, who was in love with Day. Day lost in vanity and bright, little knew that with Night he stayed. He rejected Night, Night rejected love. But glory never failed Night, And pride never left Day. Day had a new baby now, he loved to call her Dawn. In her eyes he stood a God, to his ways she would forever fawn. And a pretty damsel was she - an urban beau monde! But could ever Day in her find, A consort of his own kind? Night though his equal, stood far apart. Queen of her kingdom, distanced from his heart, For he could not have another ruler in his home And he could not make, her kingdom as his own. But who would inform both their foolish minds, That heart without love will long for it in time. Once though they met, once everyday. Once every evening, they'd cross the other's way When the shine of his face shall make her heart delight, When the look in her eyes dark, shall absorb his own light. Then they would meet with general courtesy, Hiding in their hearts, a state of ecstasy. "How is your girl?", asked night jeering her desires. "Fair as this evening, pretty as the setting fire." "Is that why you love her, for with her you retreat To this sweet time of evening, when the two of us meet?" Day struck with daze, at this shocking mockery Night stood laughing at her own travesty. For true 'twas, that for sake of her absence with evanescing dark Paved way for Dawn's presence, straight into Day's heart. But the time had passed, for Day had to leave for his way With a pang in their hearts of agonising disarray. So could they never meet, in complete felicity; And the sun who saw everything, drowned in melancholy. But Night smiled on.
This heart that knew no extremes Is now caught in the imaginary realms Of a world beyond the usual cries. Where every yellow is fire And every blue is ice. So must freeze the sky Before it bleeds on that soft sigh Soaking the grounds with your humble grief, Though it, yet, seems but some relief To the wounded soul of the broken heart-- Broken, though, on both the sides, It is one that lets the silent cry In the dark of a windy night. The other, quiet as it seems Is lost in the turbulent scenes, Of past that is past and present passing by Of future diffused in the haze of cries, As passion and pain lurk through edges of the glass For what was the love for, when it was meant not to last?