Friday, 25 March 2011

why' to the 'how'

My mind is blank,
yet the yearning to pen down what I feel,
seems so urgent, that I do not know,
what to write, neither do I know 'why' to the 'how' I feel.

Words, no right words, crosses my mind,
To express the way I feel for and about, you,
'coz, you have changed my world,
the day and night, from the hour to second.

I have changed, yes, I have,
I feel different, so, much, that I don't know me anymore.
So much for the rhyme and reason, being love,
Love, is it love, I question?

I see you, yet, have to see you?
I feel you, yet, have I to feel you?
I love you, yet, do I love you more, than,
than the word, love, love itself, do I?

Wednesday, 23 March 2011

The musing of an aching heart

Strange, stranger and strangest are the ways of the heart! All of us know it but few understand this. It amuses me as to how, this four valve thing reacts, acts and pro acts to the various sense of life's rhythm. It makes me laugh, makes me cry, makes me dream and is the result of every desire as to what I need.

It has the solution of every problem, as well as poses a problem to every possible solution. The heart-is the element of every contradictory emotion. It is the only element of our system that knows how to 'love to hate' and 'hate to late'. It lives two lives at one go. It is as strong as the rock of Gibraltar and as fragile as the glass.

It makes and breaks and again breaks and creates. It brings to mind the image that it has in the 21st century-a package wrapped up with band aid, yet has a reindeer red nose and that 'smiley smile. It is the only living thing that has the ability to hurt and get hurt. This four valve-fist size breed longs to love and be loved. As simple as it looks, it gets into complications and complexity, just as the fire to a moth.

It is the reason for many blood shed and the reason of every breathing cell. The heart is the inspiration of every painter's muse, every poets verse, every sculptors mould and every director's story. The heart is the story of every story as well as the muse to itself. Feelings, what can I say, romance, intimacy, intensity, envy, jealousy and the high of doing the wrong of every right.

It is the beat behind every pulse, yet the same kills it. But there is one thing that remains-the pain. Pain is its language. Pain is how its best described.

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

When you answer my silence

It burns my heart deep within,
When you answer my silence,
My fingers tremble,
as the pain seeps in.

I'm shaking with disbelief,
My cheeks grow hot and red,
My palms sweat as I feel stripped and naked,
How much more will you read me through your words,

Enough is enough,
I can't take it anymore,
My eyes fill with tears as I empty all through the night.
But by morning it fills the cup of my day again.

Your reply in verses and lines,
It makes me wonder whether we are or otherwise,
The bridge that time has created between us,
What should I do, to forever surpass.

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

I hope against the hopeless

It doesn't go beyond this,
The wait along the road of both pain and loss.
I'm afraid I have forgotten your voice,
I admit it is not the result of a choice.

Until yesterday I felt your presence
But now this moment, I fear and listen to dead silence
I close my eyes to see you face,
That beautiful smile and endless grace, but,

All I see is darkness,
My heart hits the gut of emtiness,
It breaks my heart and soul,
Wondering whether I have lost you at all.

Time, I hear her say, move on, love,
But I fight and disagree to believe it at all.
No, I say and scream in silence,
Not accepting that I have no more of your touch and guidance.

I wish not that this happened,
I wish not that you ever left.
I hope against the hopeless.
Knowing the yearning for you to come back is worthless.