Dice

Segmented thoughts are fluttering by,

Shadowing uncertainty over right and wrong,

Quite moment comes rarely these days.

Lyrics are mute yet loud is the song.

Dice, how do you do it?

Rolling, Tumbling, spinning side,

Not knowing what lies beyond,

Taking chances is how you decide.

Life, the six faced gambler, 

Has randomness as its guide. 



The best is not over… read till the end.Hello fellow reader from a place unknown, hope you found the words appropriate. So how have you been lately?

I am fine and smiling as I write from somewhere in the globe. It is funny, isn’t it? I talked about randomness in my Poem and here it is, a perfect example of the same. Some stranger whom I have never seen, met or even talked to is reading and understanding my words from an unknown place (talk about randomness there!)

Beautiful! Right?

Life is mundane at times, we feel low or bad or sad or sometimes even get mad. BUT (Yes this one required a higher volume)…But that is the thing, in order for life to be fun and exciting it also needs to add in the mundane flavour.

Get it?Well, I’ll let you to decide. Just one thing I would like to say before I step off. Try and see at all the randomness that is floating around you and in your life and if you do find any, which you will for sure, convey that feeling to this fellow whose words you just read, Out of randomness. 

en el final

Gushing voices need to calm,

Racing steps need to amble,

Infuriated minds need to breathe,

As in the end it is just a gamble.

End is endless for it is desire,

No one ever acquired it all,

For while will is the necessary fire,

Peace and happiness are your call.

For if there is a smile on your face,

And the want to do something good,

Invest yourself in a valuable chase,

In the end it will be all you actually could.

Sound of Waves

Sun is about to bid goodbye,

Waving slowly as it settles down.

Whispers in the wind are flying by,

As I stand at the end of town.

Now while there are many walking around,

Leaving a trail quite and free,

I hear a sound, so peaceful and profound,

Sound of Waves at the edge of the sea.

Nothing more poetic when nature rhymes,

Sound of waves, of birds, of air.

I feel acquitted of all my crimes,

Sound of Waves has something to share.

Beaches have always been one of my favourite places. Now you know why.

True Colours

People are like chameleons, changing their colours as per necessity. While that is what we all do there is another truth which every one seems to forget or perhaps give somewhat less of a weightage…

It’s the truth about their True Colours. No one can hide their true colours forever. Sooner or later they show what they are constitute of. So here is to the concept of True Colours and when can we see them best.

Read and Enjoy!

 

Innate in the nature of nature’s most evolved,

Are the traits of a certain crawler.

Changing colours as per whim,

Common in both illiterate and scholar.

Tales suggest that they stand along,

When everything revolving around is fine.

It also suggests their absence and silence,

At the slightest occurrence of trouble’s sign.

Loss, poverty, alienation and sadness,

Reveals the truth of those whom you count.

True colours can never be concealed,

Yin plus Yang is the true amount.

Picture on the wall

And the walls of the old house were strong,

Standing and steering for generations now.

Each mark on them had its own story,

Each pillar kept secret the family vow.

But one picture caught my eye,

A portrait of someone long-lost now.

An unforgetful face, even if I try.

Bold, beautiful and righteous frau.

So many emotions did the portrait portray,

A genius for sure, who played with colours.

Some saw her happy while some grey,

“Life”, wrote the painter, “every single day”.

It is only as beautiful as you believe it to be and only as dark as you see.

A Painter

Women are mysterious they say. They are never fully understood by anyone which makes them special.

Yes, words are not to demean anyone but to highlight the beauty of the mystery women carry with themselves. A similar beautiful encounter is penned below.

She was a painter who saw it all.

A Painter

Summer of Spain, two thousand and ten.

I see a painter sitting by the street,

Face so innocent, eyes so calm.

She makes painting of those who desire.

Each stroke has its own charm.

I see her eyes as hypnotic as they are,

Looking at children playing in the alley,

My table and her chair aren’t much far,

Her paintings aren’t anything less of a story.

Oh and there is a secret, she keeps to herself,

Known only to a few like myself,

What you see is unknown to her,

While her vision is the painting itself.

The crazy den

In the chaos of how and when,

Knowing or trying to pretend,

Juggling between tear and mend,

A strife exists between mind and hand.

Divided by nations sharing the same land,

Running in the false race of being the better brand,

Oh whosoever played it really should have planned,

Strangely we live in what we barely can withstand.

World is the word around which I revolve,

Since stoneage none could solve,

Present globe laughs on us the evolve,

Craziness of the den is hard to absolve.

Nightly Theatre

A story unfolds after a certain hour,

Devoid of a title and of time.

Reflecting those deepest worlds where,

We make laws of justice and crime.

Adjournment from the dark silence,

Ends up where we thought of being.

Mixture of obedience and of defiance,

Says the narrator to self while sleeping.

With no line separating sane from insane,

No one to know the right from wrong,

A theatre that delivers both smile and pain,

Through plays which seem short yet long.

Nightly Theatre which we see, has it’s very own song.

A phone call

It happened while I was in the park,

Resting in the soothing shade of a tree,

And as I rested my head on its bark,

A call came from a number I couldn’t see.

Voice was familiar from a time in past,

Hello itself sent shivers down my spine.

“You came here, my friend, at last,

But where is our customery wine?”

I demanded him to introduce self,

To which he said a member of my troop.

“Captain! I no longer need any help,

But I do miss our fierce little group.”

“It’s time for me to report to station,

Day eleventh, March of Fourty-four,

You laid your life for us, for our nation,

Enjoy the soothing shade a little more”

eternal silence…