Some watch the rich,
some watch the famous,
some the daring
and some watch people in love,
then they wish they were blessed,
as they were,
never do they see the world around,
the sun,the stars,
never do they see within,
the heart,the thirst,
never do they ask themselves,
Why?
there are no blessed souls,
just souls with their voice echoed and listened in the hearts,
souls which are alive
and have seen everything
which we failed to see.
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Sheets of paper,
printed black and white,
knows the world better,
without a real sight,
I wish I was a newspaper,
I would know better then,
about the world inside me,
without a look in the mirrors again.
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flames burning
cities ruined
blood splattered
children wailing
helpless dying
all seen at once
on a canvas
of a painter
who once
survived
rage of nations.
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Let us dissolve together
into each other
till everyone sees us
a whole new colour
splashes of you
and some of me
mixing together
for eternity
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A Man’s Oeuvre
is an image of his
hidden soul
It crawls out
every night
in every work,
where he puts,
all his heart and
might. So never judge
it by your naked eyes.
a naked soul would suffice,
however.
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I see splashes of white
on a clear blue sky
I see patches of green
and tiny houses with lights
It is not a stupefaction
just god’s idea of painting.
*pic is a recent click of mine.. kudos. 😁
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We all are bound to depart,
from places we love someday,
Willingly or unwillingly
Some leave with tears,
Some with memories..
and some never leave at all,
the places have remains of them,
echoes of their presence,
Forever.
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Writings to Heaven 