Eyes so somberly stricken and painted upon the face like the eighteen hundredths' art.
The poet wished to find the artist for eyes such,
Settling for some coward who called himself a lion.
"He was braver than most" thought the poet, thinking twice while reading the words written for the grand feline who was one disguised phantom.
The poet was one alchemist,
Turning the black and white to golden to paint all of it blue,
And all at ones when the ink bled over the sporadic tinkers,
Suddenly all of it was grey.
The beautiful fibs the poet found all over his eyes, his words, his smile, his gaze, his presence and his everything,
Turned to be the phantoms over the midnight ceiling, filling the pages with a sense of forfeiture.
Solace stricken was the poet for the momentarily legendary life as the words spilled over the papers effortlessly,
The same words which now fill up glasses of sleeplessness and empty inebriations.-
Bury the past worries to be merry in the present and content in future
-
तुम्हारी याद में
आज भी बेवजह
उस गली में जाता हूं
जिस गली में कभी
तुम दिख जाया करती थी ।।-
What's easier :
Forgiving others for doing wrong to you?
Or
Forgiving yourself for allowing yourself to go through it?-
Sometimes we forget the most unbearable people have suffered from the most unbearable past.
-
In this life so vast,
Your being is too small,
If you want to run from your horrific past,
You have got to break your invisible wall,
If your mind goes dark by the shadow you cast,
You have to blaze up your heart as a beacon of light ball,
If you get pushed to be the last,
All you are going to do is learn to stand tall.-
Unbeknownst to the epiphany of his origin,
Anguished by the tyranny of his past he was locked in,
Lavished by the symphony of his heart his present got him singing,
Closest to the periphery of his mind his bright future had him dancing.-