Art

I wait long enough for it to come. Trust me I have had first hand of ideas that speaks to the face of humanity but I can’t. If it doesn’t comes at all wait for it patiently, wait for it under the hot scorching heat, wait for it during the hours of work, wait for it everywhere, everytime, Wait.
If you have to sacrifice opportunities, waiting for it then do it. If you have to lean back and cry in pain waiting for it, then mourn. And if you have to hate the boredom of such process,  then die peacefully.
If the wait for the worthy is not your cup of tea, leave. Patience is the only quality you need to have and the only one you are tested through. Smoke the dust, drink the devil’s blood, live a sinner’s life but learn to love patience.
An idea is not the kind of expression you would want to keep it in your heart all by yourself. So let it out, let it fearless bird fly in winds of nirvana. For only in those little moments of nirvana, you may have the faith to write. It is worth the effort, that is to wait, for such is an artist- drawing blanks on the canvas of his mind under bright sun and somewhere at night, struggling to define him through his work, struggling to define life.

Tender (love)

What I feel each time I see her,
I cannot call it love, for it will only
Abuse or praise my tender heart
Who is yet to know either and judge.
And how she looks back at me
Dancing her eyes, rolling them all over me is something else.
My friends, older than me, tell me she is big enough, out of my reach,
Yet in my heart I know that I love her and the sense of her being.
I love the way I wait hours to look at her when I go down to play,
And when she comes in early morning, as fresh as she bathed.
Isn’t it all love? I asked them who mock me.
And in return they say,
She’s only to give you a chocolate or two,Not the things you don’t even know of.
I turn around and walk towards home,
I didn’t understand what they said.
Yet another morning in the scorching heat,
Outside her house in the society park,
Holding my bat, I’m waiting in sweat for her to step out and smile back.

Dreams

Bring out my dreams,
In bundled stacks of papers,
Rainbow coloured, so lustrous from distance,
Skillfully- designed and wrapped,
Presented to each one of us,
Standing in queues, gazing wide open,
The labyrinth that is to break,
To come past it and win is this game.
‘Give me my dreams’, I screamed at them,
Those who carried the skeptic  box from the dominating doors of His majesty.
‘It is, dear child, for the worthy,
And you are just as spoilt as a smoker.
At the sight of those words I was infuriated,
I took the box and beat it hard,
Tried my best, exhausted and wasted,
I summoned to try one last attempt.
I closed my eyes and focused hard,
And spend some hours to my use,
My vision was finite yet I saw white,
But by the time I managed the light,
The box was gone. Someone else,
Worthy in time,
Embraced himself for this devotion he had.
In the box was nothing tangible,
And for that matter,
Nothing at all.
Yet the sight of an open big black box,
Made my dream too distant in a while,
Nightmare! it was all by chance,
That a meek tamed pet, was taken off to streets,
And killed, ruthlessly thereby!

The lost one

Where would you go
If the winds would let you fly,
Across the street to the bakery shop,
Or into the mountains for a quiet laugh?
What would you be inside the place
where you belong,
Would you be honest and have the will,
Or just sinfully play along?
Would you dream of the names,
Memories of your childhood,
People as they were then,
And how lively you have been in past?
Would you for me
Watch the snow through the window,
And race your mind into a memory of us?
Considering the things lost, would you let me in?
Would you let me sneak through your thoughts
And for a moment let me think,
The person you were and that you dream of
Isn’t inside the greedy skin.
Should you stay at all today?
Today when I have lost,
All of life inside  me that is,
Is disturbed dramatically- wholly or still.