Monday, May 26, 2014

World Is Too Full To Talk About, Is It ?

Never miss a good chance to shut up. Too much babbling can mess with our gray matter. On the other hand silence is a silent killer, a sweet poison. Leave a thing unsaid and there’s a hole in someone’s heart which will last for eternity. It’s the silence against sheer injustice that makes it more painful than it already is. Profuseness of words around us helps us to forget things that are once said but, when there’s lack of it. Who knows?
As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.
 John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men

I sat here
You sat there
None of us moved
But distance furthered

I asked nothing
You said nothing
We talked for hours
But minds were locked

I waited for you to tell
You waited for me to ask
None of us said the word
Like that generations passed

I’m guilty of not asking
Your guilt was not to tell
Ohh, it eats us all the same
Wondering who’s to blame

I had a way with words
You were a talker too
But we chose quite
Over being vocalized

Words are powerful people often say
We live and survive every single day
Sometimes we shower words
When silence could have sufficed
Sometimes all we need is words
But we think our silence is justified. 

Friday, May 16, 2014

Born In To These Carefully Mad Wars

There's a war within, a mad war, a bad one. Road on which he's travelling is full of conflicts. He's got so many battle scars. His mind is full of bittersweet memories of the time that’s gone. He sings and dances, he cries and writhes in pain. He makes mistakes, commits blunders. He sprints in marathon and drops down soon only to get up and think hard.

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” 
 T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Some wildest of all dreams he's had
on a hilltop when it pours he'll parade
walking barefoot alone in midnight and gaze
to where he's running, to what he's gunning ?
which seed is inside that's growing ?
can he figure out the tale ?
in the end, when lights go out
will he have a story to tell ?

Sun's a thief
moon's a killer
he's ever engaged
with freedom's cage
under sunshine
he's in battle
in moonlight
he wages a war
with the world
he was born in
roads he roamed in
people he loves 
souls he adores

life was suppose to be easy
it's what he saw in movies
stories he's read were crazy
songs he liked rock-metal-heavy
and now everything's in real-time
failure sometime feels like crime
now he's running in his primes
tagging with good ones and rhymes

there's no point
fearing and dreading
he's going out to kill
all fuss and confusing
draining the sun's shine out
dissolving silvery of moon
and climbing that hilltop
dreaming of that roof top
marching in rain to parade
gazing in mid of night
shedding all charade
one day he will sit
down to tell the tale.


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