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Posts Tagged ‘verse’

In love be sure there will be a thousand mutiny,
A thousand whispers to see our soul transcend.
Who tells the journey, but hearts we often meet;
Among surreal shades and strokes, an artful blend?
Who sees the light among the stars, if not in agony
Wish, not those million fears, but for those beat?
Why decipher this decrepit mind? We are forever.

Tossed by the fate, torn by the winds of change,
Among the coldest winds, often the best blooms
From the most adorable abyss to touch the breath.
Among the colossus of greed, love quietly grooms
As our soul erects each fear into a dissolved henge.
In times like these, trust the times more, live the faith.
Who seeds, who harvests the golden yield forever?

Into ash, who says we’ll surrender when we are done;
We’ll arise again to let love live even when we are gone.

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Wish I vacate this stage soon enough, soon again
For more darkness to cover and in quiet, give birth
To more light that will guide every passerby in tune
With dusted steps leading to the sepulcher of a saint.
Who says death ends and life blooms, who dreams
Among the surreal symphonies of a sundry sand dune?
Who in life could defy the destined end with a mirth?
Who could stand through the spring and fall again?

In tempests we don’t tremble, with ignorance we do,
Among the rainbow streaks we seek often differences,
We fall to rise again and we often die, to be born sane.
He who speaks is not a monument of time, nor fences
The fear and hope of our soul, nor seeks what is true.
He who listens to the wind and touches the life of time,
Stands taller to laugh at every feat, our ego attains.
We will soon someday meet again and greet the dew.

I am neither old, nor crawling with the softest dream;
I am time, join me to sail through the unending stream.

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Alone when I stand and see these pages
Of faces with sweat and surging brows
At the crossroad, in the crowd, among the hedges
Of crimson cast sky and a brazen desire;
Shadow to shadow neither offers more,
nor instinct succumbs to serene pledges.
The Dreamer walks alone!

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Met an old potter today after crossing the forest;
Old enough to lift the clay that was seeing him
For a long time, with water turned vapour now
And holding still to the air that touched it long ago.
And he greets me saying ‘here comes the mad man,
Here comes the one who couldn’t water the clay’.

Only the heart knows the dream it lives and loves,
Amid springs and falls that the river breathes.
Such emptied souls that multiply more emptiness
Such unflinching evenings and darkness around.
The potter, the wheel, the clay and the aged art
All will now shape this soul for sure salvation.

The decadence of those smiles will lure the obscure;
And the mad man will walk to find again the same clay.

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Among these sun-filled eyes and dust kissed lips
There’s a tale of a tempest that madness whips.
Hand to hand trusts too with a heart holding love
While there are scattered visions of unending hope.
Among these decrepit steps of this temple of faith
We will not gaze deep into the sculptures of science,
But more at the art rising in the distant horizon.

There stand these visions we had like our fathers
Of all generations who hold their child’s finger
To lead through, to greet all and to bid farewell
When done enough with time and tests of life.
Faith is a great magic, holds the breath of ours
When in need and let go when we are set to sail.
Time echoes, the time we live forever and ever.

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Petals of roses, petals of crimson hues so ancient
Laid now on these solemn words of this world.
Was I in a dream, or was I well treading through
The feathers and tossed among the wings of angels?
There are now stones thrown on paltry sculptures
And fear reaming through the veins of that victory.
What was the dream? What was the dream?
Shouted the old man on the same crossroad.
If we can pause, if we can breathe the same air
we started our journey, and touch of the breeze.

We fake to whom if not the soul, to gather hope
To face the truth of that dream we love so much.
Our journey can’t be an epitaph over that stone
If not the honest air among the moonlit nights.
Settle O’ soul, there’s so much peace in passion;
There’s the possibility of life when we are gone.
I will write again, take hues from those petals
And hymn though the marble into the sculpture.

Hope is in those eyes that surround us all through.
We will rise again to peace and fall again in love.

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What amateur beats in the heart of this holy fire?
Only feathers burn beleaguered in the prism of time.
The wind that shines with this shivering soul
Flies far to those distant memories and rhyme,
Restless, reared wretches of the ruptured goal.

What ink does this vein blow with so much hatred?
So much in itself, so much making moments mourn.

The Swans now sail among the whiteness of the moon,
Among the coldness of the calm uncounted morning.
What blindness has these generations brought so soon?
Our soul doesn’t hold the wealth we gathered in living.
There is this breath that goes so deep, so much making
The vision blurred and ears yearning to true love’s tune.

We are the immortals, only we know when we leave.
We are the smiles we see, we are all that we give.

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