The Origin

You reach to that ocean full of pearls and the depth,

try to reach up and catch a breathe,

surface is full of air and the one you know,

it s a place where you will never find snow,

crawling up to the surface and you face the labyrinth,

all you can feel is the deep ocean stink,

wondering how to overcome the reality of the fragilities,

one climbs up and falls out of those unfound 'normalities'

Unanswered steps and those missed creepy crawls,

insanity and begin to wonder what has earth found,

life, life which never begun but it rose to that sweet little sound,

mystified and petrified by the deeds of the undone souls,

rise up move on you have reached the ultimate core,

search for you have the right to the fulfilled store,

all of your thoughts have those meanings,

shake yourself up to the surface because you only hold the steering,....

Definitive Destiny

Definitive Destiny

Roamed, rode the road before, with the same air around,

Grouped with the same feeling but the journey this time was straight and found,

Fiery and feisty was the path that led to the shine,

I was on the path until I saw a shrine.

Met a man, without a name, with his head covered with snow,

I kept on wondering as to why he was carrying a glow.

Lived in the shrine around that holy road,

So far away from the rest that along many miles no one could be heard.

Took my time and stayed at the shrine for the night,

Unknown to what was there under his mighty plight,

Brought on to the table, the book, along with his pipe,

Kept a piece of bread, and sat along with his dignity and pride.

Picture this, old rusted, dusty, worned off,

Book was heavy but it carried a strange light.

Turned the page and found out was carrying my name,

With every single page carried my glory and fame,

Stored and lost in those pages, wandered,

Who was this old man, and what is this shrine I started to wonder.

Moved on to every page and found out the turn of events,

Till I reach the page which told about the old man , his shrine and waited for a further advent,

The pages were blank, fresh , waiting to be written,

Confused and bound, I must be mistaken.

The old man stood up, gave me keys and said,

‘I m the One, who doesn’t belong here,

I write the rules, those which I never share’.

For it was time to march forward,

Because he had to write what I was supposed to do and moved on.

Returned back on the same old road to find a sign,

“He was never here”

Carrying a smile, Roamed, rode the road before, with the same air around,

Chapter 4

Move On

A week has gone by; I have learned to fly on,

The mark of the coffee cup on the table has yet to dry,

And I feel happy, that for this week I haven’t cried,

Good times started rolling, and it’s time to march on.

Past was past how surreal and bizarre it may appear,

Yet for the time I spent, those was the golden moments,

Frozen by the history of these so called mysteries,

I call it the hysteria of the your utopic delusions.

I am now entering the phase where I’d have to be left alone,

Alone and free from you, and all sorts of yours memories,

I’d like to erase all kind of your inconceivable memories,

Burned the cigarette just like those memories of yours.

And at the end, I realised, you were not the only one,

But still my heart weeps for you, for the so long journey,

The journey of that demystified long lost files,

Where I learnt to raise my toast and legalise those long lost files.

Fools Gold

The inner feelings of a funny man,
running desires of virtual dream land
blindly following the sandstones of that desert
He could feel the orange sky overhead.

While they wondered he could imagine all the fabrics beneath him,
slowly and slowly running down that stream,
blood was so pure he could feel it reach the shore,
Gushing through the last hole of his body through a benign force.

thrived for that last breath of the air, 
freedom was all he could imagine in that air, 
all he could see in the sky was that image, 
blindly following the figure of the unfolded sinner.

Desperately seeking the advice of the deep beneath the unrest,
hide himself from the creepy crawlies in that shady forest.
Met a man who taught him to fight,
and the man joined the forces to ward off his plight

trained with the rest of them to fight,
came out with brave laurels and worthy sights,
got appointed as the leader of the troop,
with this early rise he marched forward for the route.

Shinning down that glory road of the jubilant movement,
we march towards that road to freedom,
follow me soldiers ill lead you to glory,
as the sun shone there was no one to stop them getting victory.

Wonders and surprises that carried there way,
the prizes and the loots they merried away,
were not enough for the sole souls of the dead bearers,
there wasnt a single one who felt his soul lighter,

The captain asked his men is anything left,
they were all so greedy that wanted one more theft,
the tavern they looted was nothing mere than a rotten ,
there find was just some books and leaves which carried a curse.

He lost men for every road they travelled,
it was the work of the curse that made every stone a gravel,
carried the dead soul on his burden,
without food and water every step seemed a hurdle.

Reached the end of the route and found that old man with his flute,
Said the old man with utmost wisdom,
cut loose the greed and the curse would be freed,
blinded by the greedy motivation, he found it a hard inspiration.

With the blow of the air in the flute,
the magical old man, brought back the miserable past of the destitute brute,
realised the effect of the events , the loner , the wanderer,
gave back the loot and set himself free from the greedy truth.

The Fragile Cocoon

To be born free or dead alive,

the uncanny mortal won't be free,

from those unwanted parodies,

time won't freeze neither his formalities.

Unrest his feet touch the ground every time he is in the air,

blindly following the instincts of his basic needs,

he develops an unwanted mystical flair,

covering them under his rusted deeds on which he feeds his greed.

Passion driven his desires uncover his calls for success,

throughout the way wanting unlimited access,

access to things he wants to lay his hands on,

were frozen beyond his high rise emotions.

The words were written as deep on the stone,

he was not the king sitting on the throne,

the sooner he could realize the better he could digest the fact,

he was just another of the god's made draft.

Death is not the end of the journey,

neither the life is the complete road,

there is a long highway one has to board,

death is just a tunnel between the life and the highway.

"Paradise built upon the fiery eyes wide dreams,

tend to end numerously in shouts and screams."

---Nishant (18/01/11)