whatever dwells,
here on earth
with or without purpose,
all around,
should be absolved
eventually
for a higher truth,
the souls within ourselves
when let go,
to the places never seen,
holy or unholy
never carry guilt,
obligations and any boundation,
to anyone,
then why the dead ones
stinking in the cemetery
should.
Some women are magic,
they play with their hair,
let off a smile,
and quietly
in steps drown you
in a infinite pool
of unrequited love
But she was different,
a glance at her,
dancing merrily,
like a 5 year old,
she just bolted within me,
forget drowning
and I never even heard the thunder,
just felt it all my life.
Old Strings of Guitar
Nights of Jamming Sessions,
hours spent on writing songs
a million in rehearsing them
and an eternity in waiting
for them to be reality,
to be heard,
loved
and repeated,
and a day comes
when all the strings
and sessions,
create something that
transcends people of all kind,
no matter what religion,race,
or country
we all come together to hymn
it in a starry night.
Would you rather
float in chaos,
waiting for
an impending,
inevitable
and untimely end
or surrender to the complex
and the orderly life
with a clock showing your definite end.
the fun part is we always choose one of them,
but never even notice, that’s life.
Souls are wandering
in every corner
even now,
searching for nirvana
the truth,
it couldn’t find,
while being trapped
in a body driven by desires
the truth is out there,
somewhere sometime
it would bump into it,
but never in afterlife,
Never.
We all are searching for the Protagonist,
in the empty and deserted halls of faith within,
with each day we consume the poison
of ignorance and it kills slowly
but surely.
one day will arrive
when we all realize we were the mast holders
of the stormy nights just looking for light
and we gave up sensing lack of help from anyone
with fear of drowning or eaten alive.
What only we needed was to endure a brief pain
to hold on the mast a bit longer,
the protagonist would have surfaced in the same halls,
lightning, winds,tides all would have been a laugh from then.
Don’t search the protagonist . Be One.
of your life,your fight,your death.
A touch of red wine,
mixing in the blue above,
brewing the sky
into a million shades
of loneliness,
love
and whatever lies in between.
Writings to Heaven 