Posts Tagged ‘heart’

I stood under that tree for long today, seemed like a year gone.
Few dried leaves soon rushed to kiss the ground with a plea,
That the wind turned stronger and time wanted them to fall.
And no words, on that moment occurred to an ageing intellect,
But a sigh, after seeing the moon coming out of clouds in gold.

Who stands, who sails, who seeks that light after the darkness?
Often, when I wished to remember, I could see the waves here.
Why death not greeted with a trumpet blown in a strange smear?
What justice would our wealth do, what love can these times fill?
Time alone sweeps it all, time that we so much thought we hold.

Someday, when we meet again, if at all, we must greet the rain,
Like children come after a long holiday or a soul that travelled far.
Through the window, when you look far at that twinkling star,
Remember, it only is an apparition of an ushered artist to imagine,
The glory that glitters, where hope still lives and death a fiction.

Nothing lives forever, nothing dies, till this soul with love tries,
Even the storms turn into a song, and dead leaves look like petals.


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It’s often, quite often, now I pause among the unending roads;
Someone told it would end someday, without any whisper.
From the steps across the green acre, she would descend,
She would run again to me, or wait under an umbrella shade
At the same crossroad, where we could not then bid farewell.

Like a mad, old man, I fought against every wind that crossed,
And tossed my hair, among nights without stars or the moon.
I often looked at the window, even when hands were engrossed
with paints, brushes and bruises over the linen woven long back.
Who says death is an end, who says marriage is being together?

I often see the boy from my innocent days, counting the stars,
Hoping the moon will stay forever and then again looks alone
Into my eyes and say, ‘I see the moon in your eyes’ and harps
To convince am him, to repeat that it all was written by none,
But time wished this soul to find that memories are not wars.

Let time be born again, let darkness lead itself to light again,
Let every stroke when I paint declare, love alone will gain;
For it gives all that it has, for it leaves all that it holds so dear,
I wish when we meet again, I see you smile and me in tear.

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I just paused to see if the wind still blows
And the winter night has the same stars;
What prophecy, what passion now bows
To those monuments of a mystic moon?
Who says life ends in a breath or at noon?
No wealth ever made happiness or sorrows,
No leaves died among the snow or the spring.
Wake up, we belong to that fire from Mars,
The light that fate sinks in and softly flows.

What muses appear in hope as much I love you,
The heart decided, a soul numbered for peace?
Why count, when we can hold it all, every time
There is fear, there is a desolate light all around?
Will we, or should we, what questions we ask,
What prophecy, what passion now more bows?
These clouds will flow, that promise remains,
The one that eternity kissed, and time played.

Someday, when we meet again, we will also see;
All that we lived, all that we died for, all shall flee.

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I knocked, yes, I knocked every door that my spirit could,
With every dawn, tired eyes, tossed spirit I did again mold
The road taken, the spirit behind every face and now hold
A distant dream, the fingers gone by time, but not so cold.
As I now read behind these doors the stories of your soul,
And see the moon on your face that light my dream so old.
What if I am gone, what if those sunflowers again paint all,
In love with that colours and dream again that white gold.

It is dawn they say, and the known lips blow the love’s light,
The birds chirp, the satin comforts no more, nor that sight.
We have left those promised moments with reasons so real,
That our love seems a dream, and our heart beats will feel
The sound of a flute we played together, I promise again,
I will die every time, and be born in every summer and rain.
I will not ask the question, but see you unfold the times,
And touch the lips with my fingers painted and that rhymes,
The search among the crowd, the soul among those dead,
And take me if you can, to that book that love has read.

A mad man is a perfect lover as the world we saw is gone.
I will sing this song with love till you come, and can listen.
The best moments we will relive again, and I will be quiet
With your steps and madly look for your eyes, not that sight.

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When I am gone into the quiet ripples of the sea,
And my dream becomes every breath that I take,
You must promise me; you will not follow or flee
from the frozen shades of the years we have lived.
When the soul cries, everything looks a blur to me,
Those small little tears rolling in the rain to break
That silence for someday to someone who can see
And make a note that love is not lost, love is so true.
Hate is too harsh a word; fear too is clueless of time.

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Hunger does more miracle if not the being
That settles down among the cold winds.
We’ll arise again and till we become the light,
We’ll fail among those desires every time.
The soul says now to be the song not rhyme.

Why write with ink from our innocent heart?
Why allow the blood to flow through the pen?
Who reads these days, what books we hold?
A sad man stands at the crossroad to meet
And talk to the moon that comes after rain
To tell how clouds swim with dreams so cold.

It’s bleak or brazen or burns like a furnace,
Yes, our heart that melts with passing time.
If not, we stand tall and help wipe the tears
And bring smile to a lonely traveler’s face,
We must buy the thought and again rhyme
We have not grown but gone with the years.

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And what if, it all ends in a whisper;
Frozen walls, iced words, and eyes cold?
Peace flapping it’s wings to lead the soul
To a much lighter space where exists
The emptiness for one’s stricken desire.
You are where you ought to be in life,
Or you will look at these moments someday
And laugh most like a baby in the cradle
Does when sees it’s mother who will hold.
A finger that will lead to hold it more tight
Among winds through the curtains in cold.
What point does this race make to us,
While the heart wants air to breathe
And looks so eagerly among the smiles?
We will come again to the tossed mirror
And face the questions of our conquest.
We will be born again to seek the light
When our soul would ask again to rest.

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