a maiden morning ray
is all what it takes
hush a heart, writhing
woeful and ashamed
now that I am up, agonized
life treads, turns up gray
night snarls at me,
pardoned with eyes awake
blissfully proud and drifted away
in diurnal deeds of forte,
singing songs of merry
of facade, foibles disobeyed
©Written Frames, 2018
oblivious of what we people want
we weave dreams, illusive ones
which we never intend to support
we cry for inevitable
one anyway dies, one anyway lives, sooner or later
talons of fate for sure know how to collar
an iota of odds in favor, then eluding dreamer’s eye
in fact, the stage is set with a backdrop of failed trials
days and nights abound, we circle around
inquiring about the bull’s eye and what’s such in rage,
by then the passion of bowstring fades; the fancies
found in shoreline art weeping with receding waves,
lines in the palm portraying a different shape
we cry, we curse, we criticize,
and we lie to ourselves (Yes, to ourselves!)
forging a false belief, altering a dream within a dream
and, accept the unprecedented as our destiny
as if we humans are obedient kids, know not to rebel
I wonder how we surrender
to the upkeep, to the promises, to the luxury, to the assured bright
of future we hold our hope in
unless the promised timeline coincides,
future is what if not tomorrow’s ‘today’s time’?
I ponder what kind of dreams come true
or is it the dreamer who has more potential than you?
why do you agree to leave things behind, the things that are dear to you?
and hold on to things you never wish to?
the dreamer within is in deep sleep
with saddened beat and smothered heat
lips are bitten with a blemishing smile of a victim
scared and slaved to breathe, we lie there in hope-
to get hunt by fate in any shape, in any form
for the rebel inside us is no more
when standing in a desert with deserted hope
wondering what rivers to quest
having no thirst to quench anymore…..?
© Written Frames,2018
I am a lie
told by trembling lips,
or an assured pair of eyes
I soothe the one in need and
implode the others who believe-
believe in truth of your lies
I am a lie
a word of hope to condole
that everything will be alright
when things go tough and tight,
hope is what if not a beautiful lie?
I am a lie
a skill taught to survive
the malicious truth
when people scared to accept
they ramble in vaporizing rivers of repent
and rationalize
I am a lie
I am addictive and it is not a lie
I am loved and nourished
with me living is a lullaby
a true friend to hold
try me once, and
I will never leave your side
©Written Frames, 2018
a multitude of leaves yellowed and dried
with a finger on lip
a few bit their tongue tip
doomed to be crushed, silently they lie
or am I deaf? No, none of them cried;
seasonally promised of rebirth-
they believed
so are we? we are parched and dried,
plucked from our hives, tired of our fights
flown off to faraway lands- barren and bare
no roots to provide refuge and no touch of care
will we ever bloom again?
do we deserve another shower of rain?
make me believe we do
I will bloom, I long for you.
To believe is not about what you think is right. To believe is to hang on to something you wish to exist.
To believe is to hope.
© Written Frames, 2018
a venn diagram of vanity and virtue
the circles intersect in a community
ones character lies there
a portray of predefined traits
we accept what we already are
we admit what we already know
we grow in harvested lands
where wither the butterfly wings in husk now
when favorable,
and favorite is the herd of sweetened fruits
nobody bets on a barren land
if first flowers are yet to take roots
©Written Frames, 2018
contemplating mind
like clink of a spoon spinning in ceramic saucer
echoes of outer quietude
inside it stirs tumult
contemplating mind
like falling raindrops and soaring vapors
freeze in flavors of air, so love-torn
in tug of war between heaven and earth
contemplating mind
like avalanche of landslides
unclasping roots of patrimonial grants
surfacing new dimension of self-birth
contemplating mind
like wind blows on one fleeting summer night
chasing dried and yellow leaves
towards their rest in seeds of spring
agitating…
©Written Frames, 2018
Written Frames 
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