proposal

there is this place. there's nothing great yet ..l. It used to have green fields and a flock of birds always used to visit. peaceful. Infact the perfect one, during nights, where everything is dark, and the airport lights shine to direct the plane, its as if the best time to express your love. the roads, the place, I get lost to be found again. Peace.i have been so many times..

-nisha



Me-
this is the place, between two big fields.
not a special one,
no one stops here even for a second,
But i am here when i loose or gain myself.
Rocks,grasses and an empty road.

Its getting dark now,
look at the left,beyond the fields,
there is a play of lights,
basically its an airport, and the roads guide the plane landing,
but can you pretend that I decorated the roads,just to make this night
oddly special? While I confess.


This broken place,with stones, grasses and big
fields ant special like flowers, music or violins.
It shall never be a perfect memory?
But perhaps I want it this way.

Cause

when i will whisper you about
my imperfect love ,
It shall be the same,
incomplete,
unaccepted,
and
something that
will never remain
as a perfect
special memory.
(for you)


(But will be oddly special for me,
like the rocks, grasses and fields)

I have done the sin

 

Mother, I have done the sin,
I cant feel what they feel within.
Am an artist made of stone.
Blind, like the sun in the night,
walking on a road with holes.
I cant feel the colors.
That differs a skin from the other.

Noise, like a swarm of bees in the wind,
I cant hear the music.
In temples, and mosques,All appears to be the same.

words, like a woman born in the sea,
I cant listen to the song of the grass.
When mountains and stone share the same sky,
I cant see languages cry.
For I am just a stone.

An incorrect artist to the rights of the world.

[Courtesy= Gururaj Raghavendra

Sony salma Priyadarshin]

Papers cannot hold the rain

Papers cannot hold the rain,
neither will water remain
like cigarette ashes on tray,
Alcohol on your lips wont stay.Neither will I.
But in a corner in me, the sin will lie.
...When they say rules are to be broken,
I say, Cross the lines.
Cause Papers cannot hold the rain.

Sinking sun

 And what rises in the orange skies,is nothing but a sun sinking in the sea.

They can revolt

And the roots that can go beneath the soil, live in dark and fight against gravity to make you stand,can also revolt.And it wont stop until it makes you fall, not even at the cost of its end.

Summer of March

There was a dream in a chilly winter night, half seen and just began.
It needed one more night to complete that castle, move towards a place where it rains.But as the morning shined, It was a summer of march that left her asleep for ages.

Beauty

The soul of a pencil can break, if the hands that hold it are rough.
It bleeds and looses its life on paper,
And still very easily allows, its last signs to be erased.
you can call an art made from it as beautiful,
But what about those empty thrown away papers with hidden stories,
...secrets that never got a chance to unfold,
and some still left incomplete.
Beauty, does it not lies everywhere?