Protected: Turned Thirty

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When I Stopped Writing…

When I Stopped WritingThe things that I missed the most
Was not the occasional spotlight
That gave me rave praise
Neither the acceptance
From the like minded
Or a thought from the one
Who had a contradiction to make
It wasn’t a race either
To become ‘The Personality’
Who had eloquent words
To her beck and call

What I missed..

Power of thoughts
That possessed my being

That drove my instincts

That moulded my will

The core of my identity

And I Cry Silently




And I promised myself
I wouldn’t do it again
To myself
Like those innumerable times
When several others
Were to be tried


Pushing you away
Is the toughest
I’ve known
In my lifetime
To determine
How long before you’d return
For the me
I tried seeing in your eyes
And would your roads ever cross
The junction
Where we last spoke
And without warning
I stated
It’s all going wrong
And am yet to be figured out

I saw you walk away
Without ever getting to know
How it felt to you
And I cry silently

Enchanted Mirage

Removing from the system,
Bitter truth
That came from the illusionary garden
Created moments ago
In an enchanted mirage
Of a world
That could have been
With you
At the center-stage
Trickery is the personality
Of delusion
Man is not hidden to
Learn he must
To evade the desires
That takes him to the quicksand
Pulling him down under
With every blow he gives back
In a reflex of a fight
He has for himself
When all that is required
Is a let go
Of you
And a fissure
Of the memory created
By the illusion
Better described as


The lands have been parched
For so long now
That I hardly can remember
The last time water trickled through it
Seeping deep down the terrain
Quenching the thirst of the earth
Filling the soil with its wetness

Innumerable days
When the clouds go flying by
I look up to the sky
Waiting for the nimbus to take shape
And shower upon the trinkets
And there comes the sun again
Clearing the shadow

Today it’s different
It’s a slower pace
And here I gasp
When I see it hovering
Swelling in its dimension
And before it can burst
I feel like running up the hill
Exhilarated by the thought
I feel like writing poetry
As the wind blows
A thousand times inside me
Waiting for the pour

Here I see myself stand still
As I slowly open my eyes
Under the cloud
Seeing it grow dark
Praying for a descend


I’ve never glanced at you, as much as I do, today
Rubbing the edges, as if it would appear out of nowhere
Feeling the base of where it lay
Turning an invisible band of the solid mass
It once were
Letting my lip traverse the cold metal trail
Left behind
At the place it once lived
The emptiness the finger holds
As it misses the entity
That gave her a definitive look
That of poise, dignity and elegance
A blessing from the woman tribe
Crushed all in a moment of beliefs
Leaving behind a tapered body
A mark to remind its presence
Of the days it were stuck to a page
Hit another metal and grimaced
Of the times the nervous fingers played around it
Pinched and shoved it
Reminiscing the cold sting on the cheek
From the wintry days

Today is different
I feel the change
I feel the absence
Of something that was a part of me
For a while yes, yet a part of me
And now it’s just a memory
Of the glistening white body
Enveloped in a metal band
Placed somewhere among the prophecy
Of the wise men



Envious I feel when I see it flow
From another mind
That doesn’t belong to mine
The red glow of mystical power
Hypnotising the darkest shades of my shadow

I stretch my hand
To feel the warmth of the fire
That rests atop the mounted carvings
Of good and evil
That surpasses their embodiment

A splinter scorches my soul
Charring a hole in the heart
Reminding me of the magnificence
My thoughts held,
An aeon ago
When I let them loose
To traverse on fields
That knew no boundaries

Today they lie fenced
With invisible barbs
I fear to cross
For its been days I looked that way
A lesser travelled road
With grass as viscous as the sand
That passes through the gaps
Between the fingers
If tightly held

Yet envious I feel
When it flows
From another mind ….. that isn’t mine
Slightly nudging the cup of life
Filled to the brim
With choices to make
Between freedom and entanglement