Blank

Confessions of a blank soul,
Let me pour out here,
What started as a state of mind,
Now seems a never ending void.
Words scream for attention,
As memory stops the heart,
From wandering back to inspirations,
Ones you need to write sense,
Its been a long dry patch,
And I crave to pen down something,
That gives me a sense of satisfaction,
Not just to escape life,
and Hide myself behind words,
But something purer, more pacifying,
Something that relieves the inner side,
Of having conveyed what I mean,
Jobless or not, but a worthy one,
That which when I read,
Connects me to myself,
Whatever it be, It indeed is,
Somewhere inside perhaps,
And seems like It'll be ,
Another long wait,
For I don't see it coming,
As long as my mind refuses,
To leave it's shell ,
Or unless the heart rebels,
And breaks this up,
This cage so strong,
Something I call,
The state of being blank!

The wait..

Looking back, I see what a waste it's all been,
Bags unpacked lying bare,
The tickets still on the coffee table,
Within four walls, walls that ensnare,

With the train whistle, signalling,
My destination was now here,
The back of my mind knew,
This could never be it, it's nowhere near.

But sensibility prevailed,
And I've walked these streets for a while now,
Counting days, tranquilizing the nights,
Avoiding every possible why and how!

Things often go wrong, never did any for me,
I plainly missed faces i wished to be surrounded by,
And when times started getting tough,
They did appear, setting it right.

But the bag now seems eager,
To get packed again,
Find it's way on to my back,
And run away in the same train.

So when it stops by my place,
I could raise my middle finger,
Scream out loud on its face,
Bad times don't forever linger,

I don't belong to those cushy plush offices,
Nor to the currency minting meadows,
My people wait for me ,
And in their eyes, my belonging shows,

To hell with highs and the lows,
It will warm up, this feeling so cold,
And i'll stand strong and smiling,
It's not gonna be long before I reach HOME!

Smile !

It feels like a different day,
And it doesn't feel right,
For I see a dull face,

The one that only knew smiles,
Soaked in the nectar of life,
One that made days, defined nights,

Wonder what made you so weak,
People, time, hopes, whatever
Tomorrow when you open those eyes,
With the first rays of the dawn,
Things will be normal again,

But what bothers me now,
is the imperfect end to this night,

Not sure if you know,
The nights do talk to me,
And this one tonight, complains.

Everything will come and go,
All that would remain ,
Would be smiles and their stories,
Don't let the records tumble,
Make it happen tonight,
Stretch those lips wide,
And spread it as you always do.

Pushed down, everyone is,
It's standing back that counts,
Standing back and taking a stand,
Stand for? You know it beter,

All i know is I dont like it this way,
And am sure neither do you,
Then what you waitin for,
Clear your mind, Pump up your heart,
Search for a reason inside,

And let me see you smile,
through the eyes of this night,

Whatever the trouble,
Motivation is self, I was told,
As for the drive, look around,
You've not wasted your life,
Forget laurels and accolades,
You earned something big,
The faces around you that shrug,
When you are down,

If you don't find it in yourself,
Find the reason in them,
Let yourself know,
The healer is purer than than the pain,
And don't ever force the night,
To complain against you ever again .

This one from Manhattan!

Life has just been moments, which,
Have not yet grown into years,
Days lightened up by smiles,
Have not yet seen nights of tears,
Things you can't avoid,
Have not yet crossed conscience,
The edge, still beneath the feet,
Is yet to manage the six foot compliance,
The smiles have not yet faded,
The skin has not yet wrinkled,
Life's blooming, against all odds,
The buds somehow still stand sprinkled.
Enough having been said of journeys,
There have not been any falls yet,
It's still a story of two,
The world hasn't entered the scene yet.
I have known this road, yeah, the road of love,
Perhaps the most difficult to tread,
Don't you worry about me,
I know how decisions are made,
Give me the shade of your curls,
And the Sun shall become a friend again,
Give me the light of your love,
And I'll have stories of nights to sing,
Place your hands in mine,
You'll see the world in them then,
But it's gonna be a long trip,
Peaceful? I won't claim.
Don't you worry about me,
Speak for yourself,
Home is still in vicinity,
But the destination no where close,
I have made my choice,
Now it's your turn,
Wanna come, then let's go,
If not, then just return.

The chosen one.

A book, veiled behind layers of Words,
Lies open, right infront of me,
For a while now, trying hard to comprehend,
I stand here, Now aware of what was to be,

All that's written, All that was meant,
I see names bigger than mine,
Fighting hard to assert their mastery,
over it, that which changes lines with time,

A book, as amazing as the anonymous author,
Skillful at deceiving the reader,
For the fear of getting deciphered,
And getting dragged into the routine radar,

I see faces brighter than me,
Scratching their heads, rubbing their palms,
Coaxing the book to give in,
To expose it's original self, by virtue of charm,

The same trick as used by the book,
Not sure, if it might get tempted to reveal it all bare,
I stand here, with a black smile ,
On these still pink lips, now aware,

Of all that the book is about,
Though still unsure, if it would act agile,
And give in to the charms I've talked about,
But I stand here, with the same black smile,

As if telling the book, that now,
My dear friend, You stand deciphered,
word by word, bit by bit,
And don't you worry, you don't belong to the cupboard,

Whatever else you've got, go ahead and show,
But whatever you feel, & however hard they try,
Oh dear, I think you, by now know,
Who was the one who saw it all through,
Who was the one chosen to read you!