PROSE AND POETRY

Almost

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For this time the clear blue sky, are but blur and gray.
How can the sun smile when the rain covers all its rays?
For this time the leaves once green and vivid– now withered
Why do they sprouted on spring only to fall when the autumn came?
And this time the shore was left by the sea
Why do they met if they aren’t meant to stay?

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PROSE AND POETRY

Head Over Heart

it took her sometime
to think through this sublime
when the choice didn’t rhyme
between what’s in the heart and in the mind

the one cried for the truth
while the other craved and sought
the happiness that it brought
to search what was lost in thought

when the no was half a yes
and the stop was a go unless
the verdict was frantically raised
by the heart that played a mess

when the high descended to low
taming the kindled fire below
to cringe away, put out and blow
by the mind that warned to take it slow

it stayed to be unsaid
but the musing turned into a creed
“when the mind disagreed;
the heart is hard to be freed”

Image From: Pinterest

 

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PROSE AND POETRY

How They Met

I saw Music in one of the busy streets in our town. In the tapping of the feet of the people who cross the roads. In the bells ringing on the hand of an ice cream vendor. In the blind old man playing his flute. In the cars and cabs with their engines through the tempo of the stop’s and go’s. In the tweets of the birds on a tree that sways with the hush of the afternoon breeze. Music loves to befriend them but somehow, Music was lonesome.

Music has his leisure walk on the keys of the piano, lingers for a while in the strings of a guitar and then at the tip of the drumsticks on one of the parades in our suburban. But still, Music felt something’s missing.

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PROSE AND POETRY

Let Her

She will once again tread
into a far-flung land
in which she alone will escape
from the vulnerability of her labyrinth.

No bags to be packed.
No luggage to mind about.
Neither travel pillows nor comfy scarves will count.

She will once again take a trip with nothing
and no one to load on her back.
She will take it light and slow.

If and only if you will let her to.
If and only if you will let her go.

Entry: Passport

Image from Google images

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PAPER AND PEN, PROSE AND POETRY

Beautiful Emptiness

she got her drafts crumpled twice
pen running out of ink thrice
the words are hard to find
with the one behind her mind

the document remained blank
until in her musing sank
the language at the tip of her tongue
were the feelings she used to hang

she hid the sheets again
and took away the pen
for those unwritten and unseen
she decided to keep within

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PROSE AND POETRY

Unoccuppied

Like an uninvited visitor, something’s trying to knock and to be opened. It was years ago that this house as her heart welcomed a stranger who needed a space to sleep upon, sheets to cover from the cold, couches to cradle a weary and a broken soul. It was years ago when someone  fill in the house with a smell of a black coffee, of fragrance from daffodils and roses standing at the living room’s table every morning, of an incense so strong yet comforting. It was years ago that the books and magazines occupied every empty chair that held ideas of fictional characters. It was years ago that the windows were unlocked for believing that a tiny light from the outside would cast off the darkness of memories inside that dwelling. The house was then a safekeeping of untold stories, hidden scars, meaningless regrets that he read and heard through and through that the guest turned into a home by himself.

Yet, on one solemn night, the door shut closed, just when the stranger needed to travel another path ahead.  Yes, the doorknob, the pavement and the gate that once greeted a joyful hello seems like bare, void and untouched by now.

And here it comes another one.

Photo: GoogleImages

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PROSE AND POETRY

Selenophile

She hustles and bustles in her office desk from the early hours –a daily routine. She’s used to walk a fine line in the midst of  reservations and worries. Keeping an eye of the memories that are but hazy and fleeting.

” It will never be a bad day”  She speaks softly at the crack of every dawn- a habit to maintain positivism; wiping away the forlorn.

When the world sleeps, she’ll stay awake to beam a glimpse of her love.

Down here, pensive and wistful,  staying close between the stars and the dark clouds.

Up there, he’ll always be–  her smile to all the frown faces, her relief to every strain nuance and her hope in her every downfall.  With his scars  all over yet with his compassion radiating towards people’s lives– she’ll stare at him below with great awe for his  noble bravery.

‘Cause up there, he’ll show up for everyone who felt alone.

And down here, she’ll always be  silently loving her moon.

So, please hang in there a little longer…

Featured Photo from: Tumblr

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