Category Archives: fiction and poetry

fiction and poetry, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Tears of the Valley.(Kashmir)

A valley somewhere,
cries for the lost soul,
the soul wanders,
in the snow-capped mountains,
over the  beautiful lakes,
picks a colourful flower,
amidst the gunshots,
amidst the pain,
be it the freezing wind,
or the incessant rain,
he comes back,
seeing himself lie, bullet-ridden,
with no one to bury,
he keeps the flower,
and ponders,
Heaven was made for everyone,
for those who have love in the heart,
it’s the greed that made me die,
when I could have lived,
at the “Heaven on the Earth.”

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Articles, fiction and poetry, Random thoughts, Writings

Ice cubes

Ice cube and water drops on the wet background

What if we were ice cubes,
floating in a bowl of life,
some drift to the edge ,
some drift to the right,
all waiting to melt,
some untimely day,
life would be felt,
as we disappear,
and become a part of it,
to let others float,
in a colder place,
better for others and
more of life.

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Articles, childhood, Death, fiction and poetry, Freehand Writing, Heart, Love, Poems

The Painting

78712390layers of colour spread over the palette,
some over her tiny hands,
the way she paints with them is beautiful,
only her tiny eyes will understand,

she said I painted mama,
in her favourite dress,
I wish she was alive,
to tell her it was her best.

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Desire, fiction and poetry, Freehand Writing, Life, Memories, Poems, Poetry, Prose, Random thoughts, Shadow, Stories

Glass

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Every time I see the mirror,
I see a contrast of images,

I sometimes see,
a kid wandering in the world,
lost in thoughts,
willing to paint the world,
in canvas of words.

And sometimes,
a writer struggling for words,
to paint the world,
in canvas of never seen words,

But the glass,
is a deceiving perception,
it makes us see,
Either
What we don’t have,
or what we need,
never it shows,
the real me.

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fiction and poetry, Poetry, Writings

The Kid

2014 © Christopher Martin

2014 © Christopher Martin

A Blizzard,
where winds howl,
like a direwolf,
missing his master,
where light is consumed,
even in the layers of white,
no living seen out,
no dead can be seen,
only sheer darkness,
ruling in the cold.
a boy cries strolling,
in the snow,
they say he was lost,
a few years ago,
his cries are not of pain,
but a whimsical laughter,
to bring out the living,
and play in snow,
those who go,
never come back,
but their cries are heard,
like the howlings,
every same day,
the child got lost.

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articeles, fiction and poetry, Poetry, Writings

It’s easy

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It’s easy to float dead,
in a pool of mistakes,
to float till the bottom,
to be choked by,
filth of one actions,
than to,
to swim to the brim,
wash the mistakes,
with water of repentance,
this mucky pool,
that has drown you so long,
in a suffocating trip to the bottom,
to come out,
is not easy,
but it’s worth it.

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fiction and poetry, fiction&writing, Freehand Writing, Haunting, Nostalgia, Poems, Poetry, Random thoughts

The Mist and Me

The Mist is all I could see
Strange it may see,it seems on a killing spree
Thick white disappearing with no ends,
cold,unfriendly like omen,
they say it takes you and gives an easy death,
without pain and sorrow,without regret,
I died a long ago but still have the pain,
Me and mist are friends now,unseperable we disappear.

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