Be it a raging tempest,
or the roughest of tides,
there's no such tranquil
as a 'pen-drop' silence.

Let the ink fill empty parchments,
let its trail fill empty souls.

~Sir Verseworth



#Verseworth

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Verse Fatigue(d)


The more I vested it all in words,
The more remained in the dark woods;
The Sees are in flood but nothing seeps in,
Drowning in anti-passion with the spin;
Pent-up passions within, outta fashion without,
I am my own stranger, spent in self doubt;
Uncrying the tears, stitching my fond fears,
How badly I ravished virgin paper in arrears;
Indelible are the scars that verses worsened,
A love looted and loathed, feelings unnursed!

-

As the leaves swayed at the wind,
a wind that no longer brought the shiver,
the mighty tree felt the fragrance of spring,
oblivious to the chill that made its leaves quiver.

As true it is, a flower comes to life in spring,
so true it is, the winter was its womb.
While the foliage endured the winter's brume,
the flora stayed concealed, from the cold's sting.
(Concealed in its bud-the floral womb).

As the fog grew thin, arrived autumn.
The leaves hit their rock bottom.
Ruthless, it seemed of nature
to behold the fruit of endurance.

To endure the frigid winds, in silence
and end up in the abyss of a dead future.

But, behind all the fog lied a silver lining.
As a leaf bid bye to the tree,
new life sprouted at its node,
to blossom at spring, alive and free.

-

Oh! he says he writes poems.
He says he is jobless.
Is he a Gobbledygook?
"No!" he said, reading my thoughts.

"Passion feeds my soul.
Profession feeds my family.
My soul is Well-fed,
but my family lacks good bread."

I couldn't get him
for the time being.
It took me a day
to comprehend this human being.

Rightly so, his name
befits his style.
His very fame
was for his joblessness and his odd smile.

-

Sir Verseworth was his name
and he was a man of much fame.
But I never knew him
though he was very well-known.

His glass, with wine to the brim,
relishing meat leaving the bone.
He was at the other end of the table.
And Oh! his mind was never stable.

It was after he left,
that I knew he's a famous person.
I saw him again, his pen swift,
over the paper with a style descent.

I enquired about his profession.
The answer came, "PASSION or PROFESSION?"
Oh! Even his answer seemed to be a question.
"As you wish, Sir!" I said.

"As for Passion,
I am a poet.
As for Profession,
I am nothing as yet!"

(Contd..)

-

Rightly said 'Touch's the most primitive.'
Few touch the life we live.
Few touch our wounded space,
with a big smile on their face.

I laid my hand on you,
felt your void, filled it all.
Filled it with my love for you,
freed from every thrall."

I clasped his hand, that pale one.
Now I knew, it had the light of the sun.

-

Castles on either sides.
At war, were the blacks and whites.
Oh, don't get me wrong,
this isn't a racist song.

Crippled Kings fight their way,
with a well-guarded army.
Queens have quite the say,
and dare you to call that barmy!

The Queens prance over the battlefield,
guarding their Kings, safe and concealed.
The Knights, chivalrous as they are,
move in patterns, and not very far.

While the Kings bear the Holy Cross,
the holy Bishops cross their paths.
The Rooks only head straight,
mighty after a worthy wait.

(Contd..)

-

Look at it, all Black & White,
just like victory and defeat,
with a fine line in between.

Corner the crippled King,
you don't have to kill.
Bring His army to a standstill,
and you shall be their King.

To corner is to conquer, mate..
the nemesis is a checkmate!

-

I stand before a ferocious bay,
trying to hear that silence it would say.
It's almost twilight,
yet my heart's delight.
The waves roar, birds soar.
The sky leaves a hazy silhouette,
and the water would timely wet.

Chaos above and Chaos below,
but immense bliss within.
Yes, to relate to life's deep metaphors
in the depths of the mighty ocean.
The horizon greets me from beyond,
but an ocean stands between us.

The sun sets in the sky,
but the bliss within me doesn't.
Maybe he rose within.
Silence roars in joy,
noise could but only murmur.

As I stand along this beach,
there's only one thing I beseech:
"I realise the treasures are buried deep,
and the humanity in us, is but skin-deep.
Let's transcend the faith in contemporary time,
and revive the wealth in wrecks sublime."

-

Of all that fight on this battleground,
the myriad Pawns are the virtuous.
Pledging their life to His Majesty,
these are powerful than you can see.

Storm them into the other castle,
and they can resurrect your lost army.
They vivify the battle,
create the hustle.
They make the rattle,
and as much stormy.

Yet, unlike the wars fought on land,
you don't always have to march ahead.
You don't have to always kill, instead
make a move after you take a stand.
Devoid of revenge or vices,
this is surely a war of the intellect.

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