In his field of view,
Undecipherable are the far and the near.
And in between, blurred and hazy,
Crawl several things unclear.
He reaches for his spectacles,
Caresses them over his ear.
Ha! Foolish indeed to trust the glasses powerless.
For they show him a lot more now,
of which he still understands too little.
In his field of view,
Gloom, filled in ballads and blues. As painted it stood, in life’s tainted hues. Trudging through narrow lanes, Fade, it couldn’t, any further. —— It knew its time had come. It’s agony, a price to pay for freedom. Weep it did, in dark alleys of disdain, In whose untrodden corners, stains of its tears still remain. —— The untiring chaos inside, Put to rest by a silent collapse. The crescendo of endless pain, Culminating in the reaper’s reign. —— Buried and forgotten, actions may be, in time. But alive are their repercussions and undead remains the crime.
Why has life all of a sudden, become so vindictive,
that even doing something so painful has started feeling so addictive.
I feel like a speck of dust in the land of giants,
like the lost detail in a picture the higher power paints,
like a young bird crying desperately in the melancholy of an unforeseen storm,
like the lonely man, who never got a date for his prom.
And although there was no ill-will towards anyone, that I had ever borne,
I feel like I’m tied down in the prisons of time and being torn.
Time now, feels like a devil with no shape and form,
As I stand trapped in the stillness of my dorm.
Here I stand staring,
Your hands, lifeless and united in ridicule.
the moment has already passed.
Of mutilated existence, irreparably lost.
How I wish if I could influence you, and space too.
The symphony that lights up the palest of faces,
how I wish if I could hear,
Each time. Every single time.
Underneath the disarming smile
Her razor sharp tongue waiting all this while,
Ready to hiss, willing to bite.
Each word, leaving a ticking bomb behind.
A matter of time, a question of might.
Before the weakened ego tears the wretched mind.
Wait a second, for there still might be time,
For a little thought and a lot more talk
For some much needed luck to beat the clock.
To dodge through her minefield and safely walk.
With rivers of belief about to dry,
Hope’s wells survived us all.
With more to think than to thank,
From hope, we drew,
From hope, we drank.
The wise old man had long foretold,
In words, solid gold:
“To the distant greens, must you move.
For if grey gets any darker,
Actions just wont matter.
Belief shall fade and wills shall shatter!”
Cursed were the times,
And firm were the beliefs.
To the old man’s words,
We wouldn’t listen.
We wouldn’t move.
When rivers of belief ran dry
Hope’s wells couldn’t survive us few
With less to think and more to cry
In hope, we drown
In hope, we die
A million different permutations and yet it’s just the one that’s true
Lakhs of bricks and yet, with wind they all blew.
Thousands of explanations couldn’t hide what you were
A hundred different distortions can’t get you back to where you were
Tens and tens of notions to cling to
A multitude of thoughts in a sea of uncertainty
And yet, it’s just the one person that’s you!