one of them

gushing wind and the cold night

no soul, no shadow by my side

it is deep and deadly dark inside

shuddering my self-pride,

spewing symptoms of inner blight

tears buffer in the eyes

pleading me guilty

crushing my assumed might

 

I think of the great good men

the hypocrites, all passing by

in their languid moves of pretense

betraying me with my knowledge

of who am I, but not one of them?

 

“Who are you?”

Do you ask yourself? I do.

 

Do I get my answers?

No. I choose not to.

 

in the dark, I see no one to blame onto

in its sheer silence, I hear no one to my rescue

distraction doesn’t come to me

I am hungry, I am starving, I am mortified

yet so reluctant to feed myself, I decry

having only my ego, my pride on the menu

by no means such hunger-pangs I shall abide

 

I sleep on it.

 

©Written Frames, 2019

The skill of escape is mastered by us all.

What kind of dreams come true?

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

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

upon people scared to accept

rambling in vaporizing rivers of repent

as we 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

Baseline

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 herd of sweetened fruits
nobody bets on a barren land
if first flowers are yet to root

©Written Frames, 2018

The Noose

cloistered jars of pickles and sweets

ferment in fury behind the doors ajar,

festooning you with an impulse to peep

the froth and fumes of constricted love

 

strenuous breaths with sneeze and cough

scent of flowers congests your nostrils,

mouth-breathing the glory of the days gone

you question my mournful mouldering

 

as if nothing happened…

 

©Written Frames, 2018

Freedom in love makes you fall in love with chains and shackles of it, willingly!

 

 

Obsessed

Not a single breath of you
I breathed in, is alive inside
Being so close to you was toxic

Toxic

Toxic

Toxic

I am poisonous
I am putrefying
Beware of my broken thorns
You touch it, you may die
Don’t push me away yet
Leave me where I belong

Domesticated,

Helpless like a fish,

A fish
Bought and brought up
In gaze of glass
Released into the wild
Baffled at big waters
Of storms and splashes
Hard to swim or dive
Learnt to float
But this fear of freedom
Where shall I hide?

There is a globe inside the glass
Skin shackled to the jar
Let it rot
Where it belongs
Here beside you
With your gaze stuck at the glass pot;
O you look at me
Observe me
See me through agonized
I will smile with blood brimming my eyes
For I am watched
If not loved and prized

© Written Frames, 2017

 

 

and how time flies…. 🙂 🙂

The fish always learn to shed off the skin of habit and break the glass to freedom and new opportunities…..

What is next to come? Only tomorrow will tell …..

 

Costume

a man’s masquerade

demand of action betrays his visage

words crack

the mirror of his reflection

costume of conceit is unzipped

 

turn back

to the pavement of perilous highs

there swings a golden braid of love

cling your flaws and jump

the pulley salved with belief

pulls you in a costume stitched

with one’s predilection

 

I cater for your eyes

my dalliance, if not in mine

in the end, ‘the end’

we all shall be loved

briefly, and

perhaps content

 

©Written Frames, 2018

We do not need anybody more than we need ourselves to know ourselves.