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A seed is planted,
Leaves grow,
Flowers bloom,
Fruits ripen,
The bark toughens,
The stem branches out...

Seasons change,
Leaves wither,
Flowers wilt,
The fallen fruits rot,
The bark wrinkles,
The branches grow higher...

The eternal onset of time,
As the sand escapes the funnel of the hourglass.
Invert and repeat for every empty bulb.
A life, progressing from *birth,

Ending at decay.

Time, she plays her tune-
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-...
Like a metronome set to 60 BPM;
Never stopping, ever stomping on,
Oscillating to the mechanical rhythm of Time's pendulum,
Journeying to a finite end on a path set up to infinity.

*Time, she is proof, that we are alive--
Proof that decay hunts down the living...
in the pleasure of discovering
words rhymes rhythms
i'm a gluttonous poet.

day and night
bite of my growing appetite
makes me sink low

i don't notice
broken pieces
shattered peaces
around me

i breathe in writing
eat and drink
poetry

crazed obsessed stressed
my poetry
like any other debauchery
is an escape ride
someplace to hide

i'm a poet
subservient
to the pleasures of words rhymes rhythms.
I dreamt so big today
That it literally
Gave me the chills
If your dreams don't scare you, they're not big enough
 Jan 2015 Pranoot Hatwar
----
i'm in love with words,
but afraid of voices.
silence is both beautiful
and terrifying,
because thoughts just
never seem to sleep.
no one seems
to really understand,
because although
these voices
never stop talking,
the words themselves
are often too
quiet to speak.
 Jan 2015 Pranoot Hatwar
Hanarchy
I don't want to go
Please don't make me stay
I don't know who I'll be
When I am away

The purpose of it all
Alludes me to a fault
I fool myself
Allude myself
Who am I anyway

Has my life been torn up pages
Or poetry in white
Is mentality contagious
Will you get me through the night?

Am I full or am I empty
Am I weak or am I strong
Is this life just one big journey
To find where I belong

Please take me home
and make me whole
I, who cannot fail
I work, I dream, I strive for
A happy ending to this tale

Are endings just beginnings?
Can prophesies come true?
Anyway, who am I?
Perfect, when I'm with you
 Jan 2015 Pranoot Hatwar
Sombro
Bend
 Jan 2015 Pranoot Hatwar
Sombro
To make music we often have to bend notes.
To make something beautiful sometimes we have to
Bend ourselves.
we aren't mute
we aren't shy
we aren't strangers

yet we remain with not a word escaping our mouths, staring into little rectangles of light.
it can get so
overwhelmingly
heart-breakingly
indescribably
devastatingly &
miserably
**lonely
having no one to run to? or talk to in the middle of the night? no one to understand what you're going through? no one to be there no matter what even when you grow older? pretty **** lonely.
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