Somewhere inside

Blessed, almost omniscient,
This mind refuses to sleep.

Insomniac, since ages,
This body bears the brunt.
But this soul divine,
Wanders, as does conscience,
Seeking truths,
Truths that don't matter today.

Though wander we all shall,
Intelligence doomed us into this.
But isn't truth paramount?
Isn't it worth the chase?

When castles fall,
You choose to fight or you flight,
Mortal tendencies, you can't resist,
But immortality has might.

Ephemeral feelings of the innocent minds,
Your lives guided by the misguided kinds.

Misled once, never again,
People, straighten up your lives,
Takes years to realise the truth,
It's only love that survives.


In hope that this sermon makes sense,
Yours truly may close his eyes,
I hope sleep comes to me tonight,
Now that we have risen over notionsn of truths and lies.

Almost through I just realised,
Somewhere in between, words rhymed.
Though Aryan gets his moments now and then,
He keeps it buried all inside.

Valentine's

Drowning at the deepest depths,
Hope can be found, even in a twig.
When the mind is shrouded by dark thoughts,
Life sneaks in, gives a reason to live.

You reap what you sow,
You repent truths you know.
But the only thing that matters in life,
Is that no love should ever die.

Its only love that together binds,
Our fragile hearts and fickle minds.

On this pious night,
This Godless man says a prayer.
May love take over our hearts,
And we never again hurt, those for whom we care.

Amen!

Adios, Amigo.

Peace is what we all deserve,

Love, not hope, is what we preserve.

Hatred, we must learn to forget,

Like promises that couldn’t be kept.

The human side of us,

We must both accept.

It was nobody’s fault,

Our destinies sealed our fate.

Life lives on, we must too.

It’s time now to let go, for both me and you.

Fare well.

Of stories and endings

The world remembers tales

Of blessed starts and tragic ends.

But ask them who lived those stories,

If they want to keep up with the trends.

The protagonists would want to rewrite,

The story that is sold as theirs.

A story that goes on and on,

The end? Who cares?

They would write pages and pages,

The tale shall not have an end, only a start.

The story must live on,

Till death does them apart.

Wouldn't that be a tale to remember?

What would it feel like to witness such a scene?

Alas, all tales have to end,

The story trapped somewhere in between.

Like perhaps chapters,

Maybe even the commas and semicolons,

The final full stop is what matters,

Where the characters bid adieu, their hearts forever forlorn.

Does it make sense? Maybe it does.

Or may be not, I am not sure.

What kind of an end a story deserves,

If at all, it should meet an end premature.

Time shall teach the poet,

How to write prose and contemplate ends.

Happy or sad, he would have to ponder,

The kind of end of his preference.

( P.S: 

I think I have said this earlier,

I will say it again, since, critics I have none.

An end is an end,

There never was a happy one.)