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you said
"Everything is clear"
But what about
Darkness behind the light
And colors hidden in dark
And the feelings in colors
And feelings I hide inside
I wanted you to stay
But I just cried instead
I ran following the train
But it just faded away
Nothing was clear
Like why didn't you stay?
Was it something I said?
Or you just hated me?
You called it over
Did you mean my life?
Or was it about my love?
I can't hear my heart
I'm getting weak
I'm on my knees
Falling away
only one thing is clear
I won't rest in peace
the goner is gone
I care about the left ones
And that's how you lose him,
Your ignorance,
Thinking it's bliss,
Your avoidance,
Thinking it's brave,
When he tries his best to make you
Tell you it's alright to cry,
Make you believe you deserve,
And the whole world,
If he could, he would;

But that's how you lose him,
When you decide it's just a game,
Thinking he's another player,
Like the rest of them,
Even though they have different names,
And he's shown nothing but how he's not the same;

So that's how you lose him,
And you're the one to blame.

And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.

And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.
Looking at the window,
I see you, all alone , among others
all are growing up, but you are spending your last day of life,
Heavy rain, storm, sunshine ,
every weather that passes by you,
You are waiting for your end to come
like a human, you are spending your last journey like a corpse & you look  like an ash

Everytime I see you,
You make me feel of some pain
that you want me to take some heed on it

But I am unable to reach you,
You are in anguish of something
that cant be seen by eyes
but can be felt by heart

Each day I go deeper&deeper; inside you,
your pain is felt within me
Your voice is  trying to reach me
but everytime, I hear your echoes of weeping
and I am still again

Last night of heavy storm,
made me afraid of your existence
as I went to see you
you were not there
You were gone

I left the place ,
  "Your pain still remain a mystery for me "
The poem is about a leaf, its being noticed by someone sitting beside the window & it wants to say something which is not reachable to the person. Similarly the leaf can be compared to an old person spending its last day &its; thought is not within the reach of anyone and h/she remaining all alone till the journey of end.
Sad, old, loneliness, last day, pain
Twelve o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, ‘Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.’

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
‘Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.’
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child’s eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.

The lamp hummed:
‘Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.’
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.’

The lamp said,
‘Four o’clock,
Here is the number on the door.
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.’

The last twist of the knife.
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
 Jul 2014 AnnSura Moon
The night was cold
And there was a memory left untold.
A picture that left his heart scarred,
It was too late before he can start.

In a silent street.
The rain poured;
It wasn't discreet.
Shaded under his umbrella,
He continued to pace on his feet.

He halted halfway;
Saw someone that turned his mind in disarray.
His chest, heavy.
He wasn't ready.

The man observed;
A gentle woman's tears dripping
Which he thought she does not deserved.
His heartbeat continued beating,
He wanted to reach for her and be comforting.
Though he never knew why her tears kept on pouring.
Together with the sky,
Which seems to be hurting.

The man looked up and saw a shade.
It was his umbrella,
The colors almost fade.
He smiled.
It was his chance to see her face.
Make her smile and stop her pain.
Through his colorful umbrella and protect her from the rain.

When he took a step;
A little stride,
He once again stopped.
Found himself on the side.
Another umbrella had rescued the bride in his mind.
And protective arms wrapped around her shaky stand.

Apologetic and sincere;
Were the face of the man before his sight.
"He truly loves her as much as I am",
"He has all the rights",
He told himself.
And he had finally decided to give up the fight.

Under that rainy night,
His umbrella fell.
His heart too tight.
His arms turned weak.
His pain just reeks.
His tears won't cease.

The umbrella he once held;
Couldn't cover his own tears.
 Jul 2014 AnnSura Moon
The leaves sway in synchrony
To the rhythm of the melancholic wind
There were whispers,
Growls, sobs,
All hidden deep within
The folds of the loud,
Inhuman cries.

Her mood swings in sychrony
To the rhythm of the melancholic lyrics
There were whispers,
Hope, faith,
All hidden deep within
The depths of the silent,
*Human mind.
To crack a voice
If the tongue throws away
Much needed words
As quiet fell the voice
None spoke
When right the time came
My blame was placed away from me
All shame placed curses on the words
And further now we drift
Away from simple clarity
Darkest now I see
Aborted hope soon spoken to the grave
Then quiet falls the shame
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