Tell me how long had you been waiting for a grand line to start with, a line that defines exactly what you want to convey and tell me how late have you realised that there is no perfect line and there is no perfect audience. Show me the collection of your rusty books and your leftover scribbles. Tell me if damp monsoon evenings fascinate you and how you visualise yourself holding your man when there is still bluish grey light coming through the window past the flapping curtains. The only person in this whole world you'd trust your secrets with, on whose eyes you want your soul to reflect, on whose arms you want to cry your condensed clouds and on whose fire you want to melt down and sleep in his protection while his sweat evaporates and lingers in the air all night. Tell me when you first realised that you're an ordinary person like all the others with no speciality at all. Show me all those art of yours that makes sense only to you and all those flaws that make you you.
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Deads walk past alleys, chattering about their marvellous past beneath the gas lamps, nurturing their fallacious ideas about bliss, taking pride of all the committed mistakes that can't be undone. They curse their fortune, they smoke their lungs, drink their head and sing their death songs with the brightest smile and try to find themselves on the mirror which reflects discontent and pang. They bear life with their scarred hands to another sun.
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Have you seen Spitfires engaging Luftwaffe during the Battle of Britain?
Have you seen Achilles swirling twice and planting the broken spear on Hector's shoulder before piercing his sword through Horse Tamer's armour?
Have you seen Heifetz playing Caprice 24?
If you haven't seen any of them, go see Messi. You'll learn how it looks like when Gods act.-
Beauty was, is and will always be adored and thus 'racism' is a meaningless exaggeration. If critically analyzed it is noway included among the seven deadly sins though pride is arguably close. Pride can't be taken for being less pigmented though some 'pig(s) meant(ed)' it. So putting self race forward while looking down upon others can be viewed as a move to boost confidence in the chess of blood and expansion which is implanted in every living corpuscle.
Appreciate beauty to be beautiful. Respect might harvest shadeism from heath, hate is always reflective.-
They said, "the hardest of days will bring the brightest out of you". Who will tell them that it's not always the same 'hardest' that they've always known?
Sometimes it's about the darkest and the smokeiest alleys, where mirror doesn't reflect the same eyes anymore, sometimes it's about the coldest of days when you bonfire your dreams to warm your parents, sometimes it's about choking your desires, tangling your plans, fading your visions, hanging your soul. A non corporeal death that's not heard of, a crucifixion named destiny.
The damped roof smells of poverty, disappointment, blood stains bearing the history of battles, the never ending hunger of humanity(so called), they're laughing, it's dark, I can't see.....who are you?
Cannibal
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Yellow to my friends who steal my day
Green to my motherland, I'm one call away
An orange to all fallen poets who're never heard of
Pink to the differently abled for they're precious
Black to the rifles and arted bomber nose
A white to the soldiers who never rose
Not 12, 1 for her who's not mine
She won't take it so I send a blue too-
It's a privilege to carry around a rejected heart, it never demands the pleasures or the possesion that it've never known, it only needs a home that assures shelter for a lifetime. But if you're thinking of being loyal to the walls which denied entry, you need to go to the ashes of Amazon or inferno of Australia and wait to see the corpses to sprout. That only can bring peace to your soul.
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Let me take the stairs, elevator is not for me
Let me take the acacias, rose is not for me
Let me take the banjo, guitar is not for me
Let me go to deserts, beaches are not for me
Let me drink the pain, pleasure is not for me
Let me take the smoke, you're not for me-
Life is not beautiful, people hurt you that's it. The more you count on them, the more you devote to them, the harder they strike. They don't care if you bleed or burn, it's just their interest that should be satisfied. I'd like to lead a gypsy life, new faces everyday all passing by like packed up gallery sheds in a race track. What a worthless life that'd be, but still better than getting hurt from the people you care for and that too because of some goddam expectation that you have from them.
I know they might be having their own views but it seems so negligible in front of your eternal commitment towards them, that they didn't ask for and would never accept. You're so unnecessary to them. They'll buy your replacement. The moment you sacrifice your side you're being selfless still solitude is all you can expect.
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Strangled in the strings of broken guitars, he frequented bars, lung got scars but he realised a beautiful pain violently
He's supposed to love her, but silently-