A fire on some distant mountain under the grey sky,
the beauty of it's shape halting every passer-by.
I hope it keep me warm during a stormy night
and shines my path brighter than the moonlight.
The fire, a solitary goal for every lost soul,
fills the void of emptiness that takes a toll.
Survivors have named it "The Illusion of evasion"
and preach, it's the mind's creation to end desolation.
Am I a fool to have jumped into the common crowd
and reached out for hope sailing on a fluffy cloud.
This grand leap might bring me a merry evening
and let me enjoy my tea in Japan's pink spring.
The scenery I see in the fire has set me free
and I feel destined to become it's devotee.
My happy place is my reality now,
dancing like a symphony on the seventh heaven.
It's the kind of joy, that'll keep me warm,
when the fireplace freezes and blisters surround my bruises.
The merryland is not greeting me too long
'cause the reality will take me to the peak and spin away.
I can sense the free-fall charging towards me
and hurling my life back to the ordinary way.
I'd be a happier man if my happiness wasn't real
and if it was a dream that has decided to stay.
Dreams never die, they're like vintage honey,
the sweetness is complicated but it gets better each day.
I can let my summer go on for ages
and lie wasted under sheets of pleasure.
Living the dreamy life will make me a clumsy ******
but will let me hold on to my life's treasure.
There are some stars that shine brighter than others
but they're too far from here to be visible,
they hang in the sky like flowers in a busy courtyard
that's hosting expensive suits and leather boots.
Summer evenings keep the imperfections at bay,
as a setting sun with orange sky won't let the warmth die
which I need, to survive a tired and forsaken night
striped off those stars that stay hidden behind the bars.
Some dreamy nights make the beautiful people shine
and take them to heights from where they get brighter,
to replace those stars that I never see
or expose the ones sitting in the cabin next to me.
To be among them is stirring in my dreams
and helping me pack for the jet plane
that is bound for an unknown upward ascend
with plans to take off but never to land.
Eyes so wild that you can feel the thunder,
Soul so free that you can sense the splendor.
What’s holding him back from unleashing his zeal?
Is it the Gods, who don’t want him to unveil?
An era, starved in caves like the stray
Pleaded for a leader who wouldn’t fray.
The clan’s ‘Hope’ hid in the shadows of darkness
Anticipating about all the power he could harness.
These manly thoughts injected into his goodwill
Paved a way that went straight downhill.
He had a charm that glowed like the stars
But was reduced to **** covered with scars.
He often dreamt of an angel during the day
Who would remind him to climb up the stairway,
A path that would reveal him, his might
And propel him to an unassailable height.
His life finally entered the autumn season,
When, all he loved was charged with treason.
The angel he dreamt of started making sense
‘Cause all his emotions had turned intense.
Blazing with fire he rode the chariot of wrath,
Condemned to hell were those who obstructed his path.
He disdained all, whose actions were abysmal
As their glorious fates had now turned fatal.
I’ve lived with the future and the past
but never with my present,
fetched for moments I thought would last,
as they were well spent.
I’ve gone miles adrift of my conscience
by seeing memories slip away,
they try floating with burly defiance
and not drown in the stack of hay.
I was told to hold on to words
spoken in the finest hours of many lives,
yet I scattered them like shepherds
and poked their existence with rusted knives.
I am not a slave to the time God
or a souvenir for the realm of memories.
I’m just a fool at sea without a balancing rod,
battling the infinite boundaries.
It’s never wise to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of mere flashbacks that can be relived. The wrath of time spares none but those who flow with it.
Lonely I stand in this grand hall,
where I am forced to expose my scars to all.
People walk by and mock my fall,
as if my feelings were a toddlers doll.
I wipe my tears in pain
to carry a soul that was slain,
by folks who made my efforts go in vain
and had all my acts, dumped away in a drain.
Dejected I kneel down to address
the evidence of my oozing out weakness,
to a hall that has the power to suppress
and turn the jury heartless.
I feel a fluttering hand on my skin
which brings upon my face a rare grin,
as I know the hand would go up-to my chin
and wait for it aspproaching twin.
Expecting the fingers to cuddle with my face,
I dream of a romantic scene on a terrace,
where the lover would warmly embrace
and freeze the ticking clock’s pace.
Such colourful feelings like mirages
drag my imagination out of the cages,
where it has only speculated for ages
that the glancing off hands were like blessings from sages.
At some point in life one becomes an outcast or a misfit to the society and so had I been several years ago. I wrote this poem to get the monkey off my back and move on.
Floating kites are for none to keep,
they sail with a subtle grace
and forsake the biblical goth
who regrets to let go of his kite.
Slanting forces try to slay its flight,
but end up launching it high,
high enough for it to never retreat
to the land blotted with ***** feet.
Born to fly like a lost feather,
to crash or to fly away into space
is for the Gods to decide
and not the wind or the tide.