You are that rain,
Which after the clothes are almost dry,
Comes again and makes them wet.
You are that sand,
Which when becomes wet,
Sticks to the hand but one wrong turn,
And it falls by the lumpfull.
You are that weather,
Which spreads gloom all over,
Which let's the clothes be,
In that half and half state,
And doesn't let the sun shine.
You are that person,
Who has made me captive,
Not allowing me to completely recover from your loss,
Neither allowing me to be drenched in your love.
To all those of you saying
that I have changed.
Yes, I have.
Now run along,
you're getting left behind.
Don't hope so much so
that the light meant merely to guide you starts to blind you.
Is it something that I know?
Have I experienced enough though?
As humans we all lie here,
Soon to be buried in the snow.
Our world grows to be queer,
No humanity to be seen near.
Soon dries the lake,
Of life birthed each year.
This happening our core it shakes,
Not letting us forget our mistakes.
It is not something we can sweep,
To our conscience stick the flakes.
Nature's wounds have grown deep,
Us she cannot anymore keep.
We have only the eternal Sleep.
All of humanity shall only Sleep.
The Darkness of Love
Love is often the hero,
It is what keeps
The world going round
To some, it is perennial.
But love is both blind,
And what blinds us,
Knowingly and ruthlessly watching us burn
With its feigned warmth.
It is not love but gravity
That keeps the world going,
And love draws us into its abyss
Just like that gravity.
Love is romanticized,
Just like a disease that
Both in the heart and mind
Leaves all paralysed.
Love is our revengeful kin,
Keeping us warm
In the summers and letting us
Freeze in the winters.
The only reason you can fool anyone is because they trusted you in the first place.
Don't ever break a bond that is so deep, lest you lose everyone you ever had a chance of being trusted by.
Life is not what it seems to be,
This is as true as true can be,
Is life then not what we see,
But just a dream where nothing is free?
Tis like the bottomless ocean,
But also like a limitless sky,
You may get a promotion,
Like a bird you may fly high.
The downs we must all face,
With the virtuous Angel's grace,
For Time will see our resurgence,
As we rise from our penance.
Live not since you were born,
But because soon you will die,
You may well be reborn,
Equipped with a sure supply.
Live as death is not an option,
Time passes and it too will come,
Patience is our sole salvation,
Forever freed we shall be from this asylum.
Be not swayed by these words,
Life is still a dark abyss,
A person who is shy and tends to be more comfortable with limited number of people.
It is not anyone's fault that someone is born an introvert, an extrovert or an ambivert. It is up to them to change this part of their personality- but why should they when each of them have their own benefits? Being introverted does not mean that one does not have people skills. It simply means that it may take them some time to do a task which requires interaction with someone whom they have not frequently interacted with. Being introverted is in no way a hindrance to someone looking for a job. It will help them open up and once they get used to the new experience, it will become a part of their da...
You and I,
are like the sea and sky,
Meeting at the horizon.
Beautiful from afar,
Inseparable to the eye,
But so distant from nearby.
It was all fun and games,
We were carefree children,
Not knowing the complications,
Of the seemingly simple world.
Then we realised that dead Time
Could not be brought back to life,
Oh! The things we could have done,
The things we could have achieved.
But now we are old,
Not knowing when we shall depart,
Not having the time or courage to do what was once impossible only in our small brains.
Now we pay our respects to our 'utopic' lives,
In memoriam, in retrospect.
Be nice to your teachers they said,
For they can make your life heaven or hell.
But ours have made life like a garden,
Where by the hardwork of the gardeners,
And the sheer will and determination of the seeds,
Blooms a garden of fragrant flowers,
Each with it's own colour.
But some died before they could be acquainted with the sun and air,
They became a part of the soil,
The very foundation for those that bloomed.
Some said they were not meant for survival,
Only later did we realise that they were martyrs in a world of aspiring heroes.
I felt a void in my heart and brain in the same place where our memories were. It was like a pool collecting filth and scum and one day the drain plug was pulled. Now there's nothing to mention unless this pool be renovated. But what is the point of all that effort? What was has long passed us and even the memories are but fleeting images, making one question themselves if what they seem to recall was indeed their reality or just another figment of their beautiful and dangerous imagination.