Words do fall but sound different
to the ears of those few
who are absent in the present
but present in their oblivion.
Oblivion, where they are busy
turning it into something they believe in.
Let them be there,
where very few dare
to stay long after being called.
Absent minded may not be flawed.
And it kept spinning while everything stood still,
for a brief period sound went mute.
Every insignificant became bright
due to the light of reminiscence.
Cluster of calls from a time now gone
was the only thing audible.
An event that occurs at the done
and thankful I shall be, forever.
A life which seemed long till then,
seemed shorter than ever
as memories kept spinning here and there.
Yes, it became a memory to care.
The art or curse of overthinking
is a flabbergasting avenue.
Introduces to the ridiculous
in which we sometimes find the new
but at the cost of walking through
some of the darkest alleys.
Source of some of the best stories,
Overthinking really does feel
the way it is right now.
At the outset it feels like a sting
where the needle is slowly piercing the flesh.
With time it gets attached to our skin
and slowly helps blood to drip,
when to bandage is circumstantial.
Later, we allow it to stay
where it remains extruded for others to see.
and tells the gazer of our triumphs,
Let it be, let it be.
One day we again get back up
and mould our muscles to set our minds free.
The needle fails to pierce further,
the once punctured muscle is now resilient
and pushes the needle out of our body.
The drop is completely silent.
All that remains is one tiny hole
on the body of someone who is now whole.
Needles remind us that we are alive.
Trails of tears read a story
whose ending was not wished.
Some are dark, some light,
some faded, while some not visible,
Yet, everyone carries one.
They tell you about the person
who is and not was.
Comprises of the lesson
linked forever to their heart.
Trails of tears always last.
Who hurt you, doesn’t matter.
They are from days past.
Yes, it has been a while since I stopped hiding behind rhymed verses and connected with the world. When I say the world, I also mean Me.
A lot can be said about the year 2020. It started off with so much energy and motivation and goals and dreams but then everything just became that. The whole world became one under attack and has been fighting against this ungodly virus ever since.
We will triumph one day. We always have and we always will.
But enough about the sadness and negativity of 2020. There is plenty of that going around. Let us take a few minutes and realise the good side of 2020. We connected with ourselves and our loved ones. We came home.
Well, not all but yeah many did. I, myself, have not visited my home since last year Oct. It’s been over an year since I saw my family and it is hard tbh. But it is also necessary, for their safety.
Don’t worry, I will power through. I always have and I always will.
While I have been battling this pandemic alone, it would be unfair to recognise the ones who are here. My friends have been by my side since day 1 and we all have become a family here. We take care of each other.
See that is the thing. Humans are good at taking care of others but not of themselves. Maybe it because of evolution, maybe not. Who knows…who cares.
Another who has been standing right next to me and keeping me sane and safe is, you guys! (My blog).
Every time I couldn’t sleep or had rough days, The Poet and the Pen allowed me to vent it all out to a crowd who was listening without even knowing. Thank you for listening.
We write and share and create because this is who we are. We were born to create and not just observe. Every time a Poet pens down a Poem or every time a painter paints out of imagination or every time a cook makes a food from heart or any time any creative person does something which isn’t there in the world, We add something to this long legacy called Humanity.
No, I haven’t forgotten you…Poetry. I love you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for being with me all this while. I am certain, I would not have been here if it wasn’t for you. This is my letter to you…
Allowing the concealment of virtues and sins
and creating a different world altogether.
World of rhymed lanes and paragraphed cities
where many dwell and become better,
O’Poetry, you jumbled veracity
Love is what I hold for you.
Love, your innate emotion.
Hope you’ll allow me to be with you
and write stories about my stories
in the perfectly stacked lyrical format.
Poetry is to a Poet what air is to a Poet.
Let’s continue walking together.
I believe, we are all given certain gifts and that it is our duty to use that gift for creating a better world. I hope mine is Poetry. I hope you find yours too. One day I hope we all can celebrate the real me and you.
No, I haven’t forgotten you.
While it felt like being let go
by the hand holders of past,
little did I know that
I was being pulled forward at last
by those who would become my everything.
Least expected ones make up for most.
Separation from the old does hurt
but only for a while till the void remains.
Today I know those whom I can trust
and call them whenever it pains
only to know that they will not only listen
but make it go away.
I hope these ones do stay.
I also know that none lasts forever
and that itself is the dare.
It’s all about learning from the one who is here
and later allowing them to pass but love and care
because life is only as long as that dare.