Friday, June 30, 2017

Just be

I think the trees don't fish for compliments,
Of making the world a better place to live in.
So full of bloated egotism and the desire
To prove yourself and bring others down.


I think the clouds don't advertise their deeds
And say its all their doing and not of others.
So sure that it is their words that really matter
And not what they think secretly at heart.

Not that I am in anyway perfect than them
But when I read the secrets of their hearts;
All hope turns to dismay and love to ashes;
Envy, anger, jealousy and real hard feelings.

Yet with smiling faces and heart full of venom
They blow their own trumpets and grumble.

Just Be



I think the trees don't fish for compliments,
Of making the world a better place to live in.
So full of bloated egotism and the desire
To prove yourself and bring others down.
I think the clouds don't advertise their deeds
And say its all their doing and not of others.
So sure that it is their words that really matter
And not what they think secretly at heart.
Not that I am in anyway perfect than them
But when I read the secrets of their hearts;
All hope turns to dismay and love to ashes;
Envy, anger, jealousy and real hard feelings.
Yet with smiling faces and heart full of venom
They blow their own trumpets and grumble.







She












What dreams were hidden in those kohled eyes,
As she raised her dark eyes to his warm ones.
Even now she smiles as she talks to friends,
Or listens carefully to those words round her.

For in a moment of intense silence she forgot,
Whatever that she was before, in one embrace,
Never to be the same again before anyone,
Who knew her before as the chirpy chatterbox.

Now her days are spent in dreaming about him,
From that moment when their souls had mingled,
In a sweet ethereal melody beyond any words,
And the secret pleasures that togetherness brings.

She speaks not to her friends like she used to;
But dreamily lifts her eyes and smiles in silence.


Thursday, June 29, 2017

A cup of comfort













Your words taste like a sip of hot coffee
That I drink for comfort during my day
To soothe my throat, to bring some life,
To clear away all the weariness of spirit.

They pull me out of my tent of isolation
That I weave out  of every crisis I've been
They come out of things that hurt you most
To bring a catharsis always, laughter or tears.

They were about the troubles you overcame,
By finding relief in self-expression in words
Got comforted by strong shoulders, kind arms
And a strong loving heart you called home.

Far away or close at hand, this cup of comfort
Stays around with me like your coffee perfume. 
@missingalovingshouldercalledcoffee

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Heroism














Everyday, we live and die for a beautiful dream
Battle the inner demons for what we stand for;
For the best that is possible in this small world
The best that exists on the verge of dreams.

The fiercest battles with the loudest war cries
Fought with the inner demons not with others;
For we are like the true warriors of yesteryears
Who raged against all injustice and bitterness.

Not that this base metal has turned into gold
But might need years of being in the run
The everyday battle with perfectionism
The tiniest details in its perfect little place.

Yet in a way you praise the might of the sun
Who finds courage to rise up after it's done. 

One fine day


















Were there expectations in your eager mind
As how exactly it is going to be like in real,
With you and me meeting each other to find
What the years have not taken away or heal.

Didn't your heart beat as loud as mine today
When walking down the street you saw me.
Not like in the days of beautiful togetherness
But like a pleasant surprise hard to contain.

For me, I saw you only for a few moments
But enough to keep counting even the time,
My face that cannot hide what it feels like
Or my words that might reveal what I want.

One fine day, this might become so unreal
This longing to have you beside me a lifetime.

Reading for fun















 Can you measure the time it took to savour,
To taste bit by bit and take in your words?
Not that you have left them behind for me
They are all over the place, wherever I go.

The hourglass on my table marks the time,
Though it looks still apparently, obviously,
But the words grab my complete attention,
And it's more like reading a first love-letter.

The words glide across the page at this hour
Be it the ancient stories or lover's quarrels;
The slow-burning desire of lovelorn youth
The ambitions of the powerful and the strong.

Nor do I count my life in terms of big events
But by the tomes that I've read daily for fun.

Pensiamento Fantastico: The Kitchen God’s Wife

Amy Tan’s novels serve as cultural documents that describe the immigrant experience in terms of communality and identity. They con...