Why to be in race where one don't find peace of mind. Why to be in a hurry when one looses presence of mind. We are living in a competitive world, where almost everyone is chasing to be the best. Have we forgotten that being authentic is more important than be a copy of someone else's character? Comment your views below.
We are separated on this empheral piece of land, In a spark of a moment, you slipped away from my hand.
The sun was pale that day, I was left with no words to say, wonder why did it take only You ? Glimse of singularity peeping through.
Sometimes I stay up sobbing all night, wish I would have hugged you really tight, had you known how much I cried, you probably would never have died, albiet death ripped us apart I love you still, there left a void in my heart that nobody can fill.
I will let our love melt into memories and songs, it is not this place where we truly belong, let the final bid be as gentle as the petal of crimson rose, Let the silence confess the pain And let us not be parted again On the heavens, or elysian fields.
The impulse scream of the pain sore above the clouds and abluted the sand, a new hope was born amidst this rain that our souls would re-unite in peaceful eternal land, Smiling at each other Holding hand in hand......!!!
Wake up oh tired soul ! I see you're broken and lost behind, how long will you sit with a messy mind? wander along the shores, gaze the resplendenting stars, walk in the country woods or sit on the bank of brooks, sing along the birds' song, swing on the branch for quite some long,
Let the heart find relief, calm down! Let your pain reside in your paper town to whisper the untold stories of yours which were brushed pale, listen to the halycon songs of nature for it has a never ending tale.
When it is too heavy to hold the pain, shed the rain of tears for once, let there be a spring again. for every sufferance and agony, there're equal smiles and harmony, for every black shaded night, there will be light shining bright.
Still counting your raw bruises and stitches? how long will you be frozen with them? wake up oh jaded soul to exhale all the heaviness which suffocate beneath the skin, Come, let's push away the hurting vibes, swim to the peaceful shore, for it, enlivens you a little more.
Adore the solitude verse by verse, it speaks, worthful feeling perse, wakeup like the pheonix emerging from worse, tears that flowed in pain, trust me! they never go in vain.
Never degrade yourself, not a step down, Oh dear ! It's time to hold high your crown, open the sun in you - let it shine, get up oh soul of metaphoric divine, by accepting hatred and denial, let's plan to rise in style....!!
Stand by me, oh dear! When I don't feel fine When life isn't perfect, Or when I loose my shine.
Stand by me whenever I fall, be there to make me stand again Well, steady and tall. Stand by me when I Am drowning in pain. Stand by me when I need a shoulder to cry on, Be there to fill my aesthetic Life with some crayons.
Stand by me When I face danger Be like no stranger, Stand by me when I count my tears Or when I carry my fears.
Stand by me When I need to feel alive, When I need to feel appreciated, When I need to be listened When I need to talk.
Stand by me, through thick and thin Blacks and whites, Highs and lows, The world may scare me, Spook me or defeat me, Stand by me so that I can Be weaponised by your presence.
Stand by me When I am on the edge of the land, Stand by me to pull closer By firmly holding my hand, Nothing else I ask for, All I need is you to just stand by me.
As the last winter wave recede back to the oak tree I look at flaxen bright sun resembling to ripened mango with vengeance, for summer no more yields roses and sunflowers evenly, nor does men and women take uniform steps on Gogh's canvas of briskly hued divergence.
I pull up my gaze and stare at the chaos which spreads like Monsoon rain, burdening already weighted shoulders around this vicinity. Ma says flowers were women at ancient times, existing as daughters of kasturi which took birth from the womb of deer, she tells tales that they are delicate and outburst in cacophony.
The skin etched on my flesh looks dark like those grey clouds blooming at June evening and it pricks me, tongues, like needles going in and out. There lights a rainbow on the candle of hope every time a flower blooms in spring, it reminds me of colleen victories and teaches me to be resilient when the last winter wave recede back to the oak tree. ~Purva
You start off the day with an upheaval Of your already weary But somehow young soul You roll the tip of your pen Across papers of sorts Writing the words You cannot comprehend
You sigh out The tedious, monotonous presumptions Of the world around you And breath in the Faint scent of hope Mingled with coffee
You see meaning In the meaningless Awaiting the meaning of whole
You witness the murder of imagination At the hands of brilliant minds Already imaginatively bankrupt
You drag yourself through the hedious alley Of dark secrets, Deep wounds, Unhealed scars, Bleeding emotions, Salty smiles, gut wrenching cries, And the demonic cult called life With your head held high.
You skid to a halt When you reach the exit Only to be dragged back again Where all of this started
You find the questions To those answers you have been seeking You realise time isn't a factor And life isn't the perpetual phenomenon Of suffering alone.
You are all that you have And love is your only source of energy
It is then where words come alive And imagination dances at the edge of your consciousness
You know your today Is someone's tomorrow You are a sense , a reason , a value
The world is matter And you are that small particle of antimatter Counting backwards to your annihilation. You are a force And the world is as ignorant As Newton was Before he discovered gravity.
There's a transparent ocean in my eyes Its still and silent without a sigh Of my heart it's the mirror Absorbs everything yet hides the horror
Its deeper than the deepest ocean Soft and shallow is its fashion Can swallow more tears than expected Yet remains transparent hence respected
The ocean drops have reached its brim None able to hear the silent scream Eyes have the knack to smile in dismay Its emits rays and joy displays
Who'll ever be able to see what's in the transparent ocean One who's able to see with the heart in person If the smile behind the tears is understood Then the transparent ocean would have never been misunderstood
If you can understand the language of the heart Read the story right from start The beginning was as beautiful as morning But dark ocean waves disrupt in evenings
Transparent ocean enables the eyes to glitter Hides stories painful and bitter Open not the story to strangers Save self from deception and danger
My anxiety sits in a corner, lost in the sounds of the past There are times to smile, I have seen in some old pictures What the world sometimes tells, it does not happen in the lines drawn by the hand Luck also plays strange games with life Sometimes what is not in the fortunes also gets unaccounted
There's a transparent ocean inside your eyes that silently expresses every drop of tears hidden behind a smile But your spirit is also unmatched, whose wave paints the extinguished colorless life in rainbow colors
I have never known the address of pain, even in the confusion, my existence kept on playing like innocence in the calm flow, until the spirits were attached to the unshakeable spirits, everyone recognized me by my smile I was never afraid of falling, I learned the connection of the existence of the leaf with the branch before it broke from the branch from every scattered leaf.
This is a lost passenger station. Those who do not hope are waiting here. I'm waiting for myself. Today. Friday is Wednesday. Wednesday is gray.
Roaring and howling trains. Second, fifth, hundredth, blue ... They pass. They're coming. Crumbs small, dotted, wet And those fat words These is my stage Bloody money for a little fun Blind people run in rage.
I want words and excuses here. Here I want to trample everything. To love and be silent, to hurt. Here is the stain of Anna Karenina, I'm writing. Great writers also died here. Later i will sing.
This is the last stop of my youth. There are those who are afraid. There I light a fire That's where I stand. Maybe I'll love you on the wire...
I'm the fifth descendant of a colour channeling rainbow raised by monsoon when August rains, I'm a mother waking up whole world when dawn beguiles to take breath.
I draw light on slumbered streetlights and paint sunflowers from the day Van Gogh held my hands, even after blooming as hope on cultivated lands I've vaguely interacted with moon and stars.
I'm a filial gallivant escaping from shores harvesting sorrows to sow seeds of glory, I've embraced skies each day but never had courage to drape them with the vibrance I carry.
I'm traced by galaxies of optimism and showered on bookmarks with brevity, I'm not a vagabond, nor am I anyone's heart neither did I fell from black hole or gravity, but I'm labelled as the body of a soul which is cursed to rise from east to west till eternity. ~Purva