Rest

So deep in rest am I today,

And I think it won’t be enough.

I won’t wake up until it’s night,

Or a morning that I so hate.

 

Clever these people are, knowing where they would go,

And will move their bodies in hustle.

Messages will be pinged, appointments be made,

Places will they travel, quite a spectacular show.

 

Love, hatred, riches will be on display,

Their learnt lessons will be applied.

Will they lose or will they win,

Their day will answer all their queries.

 

Stepping out of a gloom and entering another,

It’ll be easy to forget which one was worst.

Juggling a lot each time will be the thing,

Till their days won’t be over.

 

I’ll watch them go, there they will be,

I’ll secure my wants for another life to come.

I’ll go once, a shot in the air,

Never to reach back, never to fear.

Stay Home

Don’t you move, neither a bit,

It’s hot outside and it’ll hurt you bad.

So dear are you to me, chirping and eating together,

All life, all places, all eyes are you and me.

Pile up the stairs with poison,

On the floor should no concrete be left.

Hide all the blessings presbyter gave you,

Somewhere else should you be resting in peace.

That’s a moving car displaced in space,

Need not you care shall you be stationary.

Stay calm, silent and reverb in the past,

That’s what will drive you from all your misery.

They call you free, close-ended motionless body,

Let them know you think what they don’t.

And let them be mad about what you do,

Because work alone won’t fix what you want to.

Care not you what seasons come,

Hilarious they are, some falling leaves, ice on a mountain.

What careers there are, people to fall for,

Some dreaded corner of the world, some disguised serenity.

I go and you stay home,

Should you obey what these walls tell you to do,

These pathways leading you to bedrooms are heaven’s,

Keep them enchanted and let no complain come.

The Good Thought

It’s a good place to be, a bed,

Cozy, safe, away from the world, closer to heart.

Leaving all the sense people make,

Leave it all on the pillow and blanket.

Pick up a screen and skim through places,

Pristine, supreme, rough or dry.

Oh! Wee-wee what’s she upto?
Another guy and another dress she’s draped in!

Look, hear and believe what they say,

Willing to continue as long are you.

Letting to lead you some pixels, some sound waves,

Coming from a device so dear to you.

Well, here it’s a cakewalk, easy and calm,

Breathing before you die is necessary as it is.

Yet use it for what you please, your every right to be,

All that it is after all what you wanted to be!

Hours go by and the room becomes alive,

Littering some wise words when the silence takes the side.

When did this happen, why would you do,

Does that really mean a world to you?

Not less than a day has elapsed, your mind is hungry,

Tired and relieved at the same time, it needed to dream.

A day or two to get a few more hours,

We’ll begin when there’s another new game lost.

I Wonder

What do you see in my eyes shining and sparkling,

Your hustling lore of fantasy, a myth?

Call me by my name, in your head juggling a piece,

Some lended work of art, splendid place to be.

Pick out a memory making you hurt your back,

And push it closer to me, flowing like an accusation.

Can’t you go ahead with all your fear to a sleep,

Thinking you don’t understand what are you upto?

Standing you are, saying a lot but listening none,

All the world see, it might be something like love.

Your feet held up at work with no movement,

Not coming for me, are you?

I wonder if I be here, where I might be,

Coming for you or just letting you go …

Tik Tok

I’ve seen the clock struck the same hour every day. Saying it’s tickling all round the degrees and coming back and forth.

It creates a magical sound. Something like ‘Tik-Tok” or “Click-click”. It depicts the time is moving. Someone’s taking a birth, someone’s dying. Explain the process of getting closer to the happenings in the world every passing second, you can’t! We’re not supposed to.

So, even if it clocks not moving, time departure is not being depicted, or you’re careless enough to forget about time, time’s still on the move. Tik-Tok, Tik-Tok, can you hear it? No? Maybe you need to.

Tell me, how’s your life. That you can.

Life of a Mindless, person.

I reckon I could call that person a person; the body depict features of a humankind, a broad oval face, two hands, two legs etc. For now let’s call that person “He”.

He too possesses life. He is not on a stretcher with his wrists without pulse. He breaths, he walks, takes a nap, does exercise, goes places, converse with people etc. He seems to sane to be true sometimes. Is he?

Say to him, he’s too naive a person, he’ll smile. Fight with him, he’ll retaliate. Walk with him, he narrate stories. Shut him up, he’ll feel lonely.

You should ask by now, then what’s the problem in him. Why would if you meet him, you’ll definitely say, HE’S MINDLESS? One would be saying generally. Another would be in anger. Another would be in haste. And another out of choice. But none of your corollary would work in a case like this.

You see, there’s a problem. I may request you keep this secret in yourself. “He’s directionless.” This means he has nowhere to go, nobody to meet, and nothing to do. Is he really a human?

.

Colossal

Straight, cloudy, road and sky,

I tear my heaven to know if it’s you.

Your shine, paused with ample happiness,

I fear my eye, fate if I come see you.

 

I paint back from past, things, chats,

New like a pinch of fairy on my cheeks.

I fly out of my mind, towards you,

Off where you begin, the world ends.

 

I hear not the whisper, my memory making me wince,

Of those few words, moments long lost in wilderness.

I wish not to bring it back, but bear fruit for today,

Whose seeds time sown years before this today.

 

I’m now out in open, dark land,

Easy it seems, looking at sunlight, you.

Overfilling my pain, your happiness,

Your hopping body and motionless time.

 

Seeing you if I can make it possible,

I’ll get wind of this crawler, me.

I lift my spirits not in pray, but in convention,

I’ll look for me and then I look for you.

Walk of Life

A little about the walk of life will be told,

The scent of which is inherent in all,

Wherever will be the sound of the music,

You will paddle through waves like a moment ago.

 

Well touched and written about it are books,

Often what seen and felt is never forgotten,

And set inside the travelling heart of all,

Are values, gifts and laughs all round the horizon.

 

One peels off the bad lucrative chin of thoughts,

Lands in the dustbin of forgotten memories,

There where no side is taken, none borrowed,

Lies the sight of God in its full glimmer.

 

Look back don’t you, pass over the present,

Like a clean, shiny mirror speaking nothing but truth,

That one won’t die without a word in the mind,

Of chances there aren’t to forget their’s.

 

So drunken in silence I’m today, out loud my ears heard,

I can’t let go off my veil before the shine of tomorrow,

I rest calm on my bed journeying around the world,

So damn is the challenge, takes nothing but me after all.

 

To the walk of life, I stay stiff still sleeping in the noon,

Watching and crying over elasped moons,

To the age of wisdom, bold and powerful,

I arrest my attitude, laid back and laggard.

To where I scrupled before attending a thought,

So bleak in diffusion and slow to arrange,

Wild ideas, opinions and life of mine’s,

But here in stays slowly to create a sense of change!

Imagination

When asked to draw a picture of a farmer ploughing his field in the dawn with fresh drops of sweat making it’s presence felt, and his sickle making the sand dance, my thoughts sickened to an end before I began thinking if imagination is more important than knowledge. What if I don’t know what a sickle looks like, for instance?

So drunk in darkness are we today, if a candle of bright thoughts sneak our brains, we stare away from the intensity of newness that has entered. Nobody wishes to hear the rhythm that life brings about. Nobody wishes to dance away all the bitterness that ponds amongst the banks of negligence. We don’t wish to step, even make a positive call. Lack of imagination takes over as a protagonist of a willfully meaningless story.

When the groups are assembled to practice an ambition, is it a legitimate preposition to approve of the inaccuracy of group to attain a certain goal by being the sole doer? Why fit in when you are born stand out! Imagine the doers in the world…. Do you have any knowledge about them?

Clearly one could sense there’s a serious foulness at play, but you walk in and out as you please. Imagine the level of courtesy the group members possess that they tolerate you as one of their own!

Why need to imagine the distinction of thoughts that I have brought together in this piece of writing if it’s already there in it’s truest form. One must not shy away form stitching these thoughts as all are entitled under one idea: imagination.

Imagine some more meaningless thoughts beyond this full stop.

Maybe, The End of Everything?

Suppose, we finish. 

We let our eyes go easy into darkness, like we just don’t care anymore. 

We think nothing, do nothing and expect nothing. 
Maybe, that’s what life has offered us or maybe it’s the outcome of what we invested in life. Maybe. 

Beginnings are auspicious, life breezes from the air coming out of gifted blower. We stand and keep on breathing the infinite loop of happiness. Being silent and calm, because we don’t need anything, anymore is the ultimate solution to everything. Try finding out and you won’t get anything. Don’t try and think of trying. Try and done. Boo….

Maybe, we don’t hear things, we don’t speak and we don’t appear as a human. As if all calls are answered because their ring for your number doesn’t work. It’s melodious to hear their voice, but they will give on the toll of your humility. Heart seeks out the heights of stupidity, the days of failure has come. What would you do? Maybe… Something! 

You laugh like you just don’t care. You keep on moving even it’s the storm, your feet are slipping and you have a real aim. 
You are wrong, you shouldn’t keep worrying about the future. Every essence of the present must be felt. Even if the world is gone, the earth is your place no more, you must breath. Wonder, if anyone can fill his lungs in space… 

The voices are annoying but you are happy you are able to tell the story. Maybe, this be something? Many of these humans paved a way through this. This real hit be the greatest hit in the heart you would get? You begin composing the bleeding heart? 

You will tell but no one will listen. That’s what we have to care. That’s what they need to hear. That’s what they want from us. This be the reflection of what we are….

So, yea it’s okay! Everything’s fine. It’s normal. 

Maybe? You sure? 

Well, sure, you are not. Boo…..