Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts

Thursday, 26 May 2022

Dead Butterflies

They all are dead
Those butterflies
That fluttered
In their stomach.

What killed them -
Lack of flowers?
Pesky predators?
Climate change?

Colorful corpses
Decorate their gut
Decomposing desire
Into graves of grief.




Friday, 5 October 2012

Vanishing Words


 I always wonder where do these words come from, where do they rise and where do they set?  Sometimes shining like the bright full moon. Sometimes like the shimmering crescent. Yet many a times like the moonless empty sky, deserting poets and writers as the rains do to the parched earth.

Words, where have thee gone ?
Leaving thy writer forlorn

These are the moments I am lost in wishful thinking, longing and awaiting the resurgence of words. Like an explorer lost in search of his own hidden treasure.
These are the moments raining with anxiety, emptiness and silence. Thoughts begin to scream at full volume but the pen seems to have lost all its ink and I do nothing but hopefully blink, trying to verse-fully think.

No rhythm , no rhyme
I loathe that terrible time
More so often then not
I am entangled in this knot







Wednesday, 1 June 2011

Wrong Direction

There were omens,
There were signs,
All pointing to a wrong direction.


A source which was luminous,
Looked like the pole star,
But pointing to a wrong direction.


Patterns were all erratic,
Left with memories antique,
On the wrong direction.





Prompted by Three Word Wednesday - http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2011/06/3ww-ccxliii.html

Submitted for : One Shot Wednesday Week 51 




Tuesday, 24 May 2011

Split Poet


He found solace in play of words,
As he butchered hope's tiny birds.
He lost himself in the war of words,
As he buried all his mind's swords.


From one insanity to another, 
He falls like a broken feather.
His mind runs a thousand times,
On the thought, which eternally rhymes.


Caught in his own mind's treason,
He appears to be single person,
But each moment his is many,
Alas the next moment he isn't any.


His moods swing from left to right,
As his thoughts, he sits to write.
His thoughts jump from right to left,
Until sleep makes his mind's theft .


Me vs Myself



Submitted for :