with millions of stars, the sky looks pompous,
i wonder where they get the radiant motive to shine,
while my own star, my heart, is all dried up,
soaked by the rough pores in rust, formed by emptiness,
even the crack of dawn and the creek of dusk could be heard,
and to share them there is none,
i think, i ponder, i wonder and i would,
give up anything to be one of those in the sky,
that shine away innocence,
unaffected by the whiplashes of fate.
Oh! I would trade everything to be one of them,
never pale, ever smiling, just as everyone wants.
named my blog black and white heart,
many wondered what it meant.
how can a blood-red heart be black and white,
how, ask me how.
when there is love for even subtle, generally-ignored things like a crumpled autumn leave,
when there is sympathy and empathy towards the weaker beings,
when there is a zest to know why one has to be strong while another has to be weak,
when there is the kindle flame deep inside, burning only to seek truth, when there are questions burning to be fired at the injustices of the world,
when there is this void of unknowable knowledge, as to why there has to be so much suffering in the world,
when there is this herculean rage inside, to bring down the traitors of humanity,
when there is a special respect for women,
when there is again a murderous rage inside, for how most men treat women,
where there is angst to show people how aberrant us human lives have turned,
when there is this restlessness and immensely overwhelming pain looking at how we humans sabotage our own well being,
what else do I see but the colors – white and black,
which form all world for me,
every speck of sand,
every breeze of air,
and ever drop of the sea.
swinging between extremes,
my heart is but black and white,
void and veracious.
Hope is not a guarantee that tomorrow’s pain would vanish or that it would never come.
Hope is something that locks me with pain in fact, eternally, but tells me that I’d stand undeterred when the wave eventually hits me.
Hope is not a medicine that heals,
Nor is it a weapon that I can use to parry away evil forces.
Hope is but the very breathe that allows me to live.
am your today’s neglect,
it frightens me so much,
now i reel in fear that tomorrow will make me a neglect of your very heart,
realizing which, keep aside the dread, time collapses into a colorless frame,
fading into dark seems to be destiny,
that which I, but have to welcome.
and i do.
no day, no night //
breeze brushes aside all known colors of life //
dear ones go //
and come another life, we are running already //
things happen so fast //
in a blur, towers burn down to shackles //
do we really know life //
or its zillion strange ways of weaving and breaking bonds //
or its zillion voices shouting out the meaning //
of life //
of loss //
of love //
of pain //
we need to keep looking back //
to stumble upon something meaningful //
the shackles are hardly of the towers //
crimson bushes conjure spells;
hold me tender is their call;
reckless hands get the scarlet wrath;
tender hands get the scarlet fragrance;
i would say;
you could be a little more cautious (in life);
is the message you try to teach.
where from did you learn this art;
of filling heart;
with black and white;
in equal parts;
you spill black, when i finally am settling in the too bright white;
you paint white, when i eventually start seeing solace in the dark black;
why these unbearable swings of torment;
why not paint me scarlet once and for all;
i fly away with white wings,
into the black void,
breaking bond with the scarlet forever.