Skip to main content

Questions

Will there be a voice
Crawling, behind all the echoes?
Will there be one warm finger
In the bunch of cold hands?
Will there be a green leaf
On the weary and naked tree?
Will there be a battle
Of fears against hope,
Behind every mother's prayer?
Will there be answers
In plain sight down the road?
Will there be masks
That are better than the souls?
Will there be a rainbow
With seven distinct colours
And no hesitation?
There will be all; all of this;
If you water your thoughts
In the bright sun,
And keep a story, that begins
After the final full-stop.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Portrait

The prosaic strokes of her brush made her see The truth she had been trying to bury. "I can paint anything, Jim, but you," she whispered. "I have spent too much time trying to paint your eyes, While the real ones watched me from a distance. And like the end of an evanescing dream you faded And became the white of this canvas I cannot fill. Death, like you said, is just another colour from my box. Tell me, why can't my brush find your face? Have I buried the scent of your love too deep Under the stench of my paints? Will this empty canvas never show me your face And calm the storms in my sundry selves? Give me the strength, Jim, to face you again; To look you in the eye and ask if the sun Shines bright on the other side. Help me find The colour of death in my box, so that You can see me, once again, as I paint you."

Solitary Symphonies

Through the quiet of the night walked the three men; Three they were, and a hundred patient trees, who Watched them try to pour fresh colours Into the quiescent melancholy within the greens. Melodic phrases they hummed with strange avidity; Songs which they sang were full of life; But the night was already quiet, cold and dead. The lonesome grass reeds embraced their music Like the cheek of a mother welcomes her tears, And somehow thanked the three strange men In a voice soaked in painful inaudibility. The men were aloof from the deceptions The world out there offers aplenty, with a smile; And so were those trees, who watched the world Burn to ashes, and the creations of the Almighty Soil their souls and the souls of others, Reducing to dust too heavy for the Earth to carry. But that night was the night they had longed for For that night, the men who had remembered the trees Were men who sang songs, gifting soporific euphonies; Men who had flutes in their hands, an...

Insignia

The woman beckoned to the phantasmal apparition That stood by her bed, watching in pity, her weary eyes In desperate need of a long sleep sans the anguish; She looked at him, and a smile broke its way out From the vicious corners of her horizon-less world; In the ghostly figure she searched frantically For the pair of eyes that had once housed The promises, the cures, and an enormous castle of sand; But darkness was all that stared back. The woman pulled the blanket down, and looked At her son, by her side, asleep in the shade of tranquillity. The silhouette bent over his son, and the woman Felt a soft puff of cold breath kiss her skin. And then from within the shadow of a man once alive Came the  whisper, in a voice awfully bruised, "I wanted to watch him grow." His fingers reached the woman's teary eye, but All he could do was pull more tears out; Only then did his eyes fall upon his medal; The medal of honour, they called it; It lay on the table Wi...