We are poems: each of us narrating different instances of life.
Dancing, singing and humming the tune of our words.
Waiting, to be read by the one's who understand.

We are poems of the divine sort.
Our Poet is the one whence all words came from:
Written in the word of God, we are eternally printed on the paper life.

And we're all worth the paper we are printed on.
For life is unique, like the meanings different poems hold.

You are a living poem.
And knows not the poem, it's own importance.
The one who reads you may or may not understand you well.

But poems are like that:

The ones who do understand, admire your importance.
And in such people, you find a reflection of you.
For they are similar living poems.

-The Silent Poet

#original

Those little eyes which dream a thousand dreams,
Oh! like the sun they are, radiating a thousand more.
Those innocent gestures which talk more than words,
Oh! like that whisper they are, which speak a little more.

To that girl with a silent mind and a decent persona, I write;
To that girl with a vibrant smile and an elegant posture, I write;
To you, my lady, I ever write, my words measly,
My thoughts reflect your mien, Oh! So bright!

-The Silent Poet

We are people and people are imperfect.
We lie, we fool and we Cheat.
We are the ideal liars in practice.
And yet, we are the best upholders of virtue.
because we know that nobody can do it better than us.

We are people and people are imperfect.
For it is in the nature of human to err.
And in the nature of human to mend.
All of us break, all of us are remade, reinforced.
With every instance which shatters us, we emerge stronger.
Like the phoenix from its ashes.

We are people and people are beautiful.
With all our imperfections, we are but perfect.
We cry, we laugh, we trust, we cheat.
We fight, we make friends.
To live in a bit of all, is the essence of life.
And we are all but human, my lady, we are all but human.

-The Silent Poet

I was a little star in the space of my mind,
a floating star, a shining star.
Quiet and Alone, I swam across the ocean of tranquility.

When the universal consciousness knocked on my door,
I alerted myself to something which I couldn't comprehend easily: Cognition.

So strange it was, this new found ability of mine that I set it against itself.
Questioning it, it's own existence and the reason for it's existence.

All until I realized, that cognition, analysis and intellect were born when Consciousness made love with curiosity.
yes, the universe is curious about itself. Our curiosity of the universe is the reflection of it's own.
For no one knows, not even the one who created; whence all creation came from.

‪#‎Original‬

The Silent Poet