The Sun was seen,
My thudding heart
Aching to have a sight
Of my little heart,
To caress her round the clock.
Calling of Bread and butter.
No longer__
Waiting to be prolonged.
Peeping outside
With a yearning heart
Smouldering to see her.
She was still unseen.
Walking on the road
To catch my work,
I saw something lifeless
Lying on the side of the road.
My heart was screaming,
It shouldn't be her.
But it was her__
My beautiful little kitten!
Whom Death had tasted
Before she even turned one.
No longer is life sweet.
I can't even mourn for my little. . .
As Time is slitting me,
I saved all my tears for the night.
Love is just a bitter loss of Peace.
Rusty-busy life suppressed my volcano.
Smiled for a mile to fulfill
What the day needs from me.
Time to unmount my
Bereavement has never come!-
I'm the Voice of Pen (VOP)
A fledgling writer.
My friends, Your commen... read more
People with different unempathetic versions see my worst versions.
-
I love him,
though he really doesn't,
that is what makes me
hate myself
and those around me.-
Unsoothen pain
Befriends her
To give her its forever-shoulder
To lean on,
To mould her every moment
Stronger! Stronger! Stronger!
Until she becomes
The best of She.
Then, the pain never pains.-
Everything
Has changed,
Except her
Constant companion
PAIN
Who is being her
Pillar to build herself
Stronger, than nobody
Can dream of,
In a way
That she seeks only
Her pain
To guide
To comfort
And to believe in life.
-
My dad said, "A flower, once fallen,
can never be placed back on the stalk.
But it doesn't mean, it is dead.
It shows us that when its position changes,
its purpose too."
I asked "Then, fallen flowers aren't dead, Pappa? "
Dad replied, "The fallen flowers are not dead but become the seeds of future blossoms. Each fall serves as a source of renewal. The fall becomes the end only for those afraid to rise".-
A Celebration is a Celebration
Only when Her Peace
Is mortgaged to Time.
Her fire-kissed hands architect joy
With her calloused heart
To Light the celebration
With jubilation
In every heart of every life.
Nothing can be celebratable
If her own peace is the price
She pays for it.
Her smile is buried in the louder echoes
Of others' laughter who enjoy a scrumptious
Feast that burnt her dynamism.
Her voice is forever lost
In the din of celebration
She builds for others.
Yet, She is the unshaken architect
Of a family's joy.-
The sunless dawn
Crowned her
with the racing bill rolls
On her head.
The restless ends
Frowned her
With the humble thorns
In her bed.
The fumed smile flares out
From the Cauldron of her heart
Roaring all alone
In the incessant trails
Of intricating Life
Who wilted cherries
On her face.
-
Torn pages can never be fresh;
Whose ripeness is not for
The fruits they bear,
But for human temperament.-