I once had branches That burned in my backyard A pyre sans desire A fire drowned by its fire And at night In the dark When ghost grew like fruits From the shadow of its seeds From the ashes of its roots One could hear In the cast out whispers that they kept Broken words bandaged Pain yet un-wept And they said, they said In the black waves of bright flames We are faces without faces Nameless within our names And if night be a star in the ocean And infinity an eternal motion If silence be the words without sound And self a state never to be found Then the world with it’s weight held in a grain And poets with their pens dipped in pain The weathered visages with their vermillion words And the horizon a home for forgotten birds Is there to be seen, is there to be shown And not to be alone or utterly unknown
O the desire to be Loved by all And the ache of letting go When it is harder to fall Because of the world with it’s quiet words left to rot On transparent eyelashes Of eyes that dream, of eyes that dare Of eyes that hold, of eyes that care Should I wish upon myself an early demise Would the darkness in it’s view find it wise Why then sometimes I want to be The silence that shapes the sea Why then sometimes I want to be Someone whom none can see
Despair, beware I am a sky without cause My pain, insane Do not ache for applause Stare in the mirror O horror of my mind What you see is what you are Be gentle if not kind And whisper unto the wind These fables of your own For you are no Pietá But a statue turned to stone
I always felt that the poet behind this mastery of words must be carrying an ocean of thought-provoking original ideas and philosophies; and I often wondered how must it feel to know so much, to carry within oneself the understanding, the meaning of life (for the lack of a better term) at such a young age (don’t contradict me here)…but after getting acquainted with you a bit, I can attest to the fact that you don’t carry anything within you, you’re pretty much it yourself. That’s where the enormous credibility that your work holds from the very beginning comes, I feel. You’re the ocean for me.
To the poet whose poems have inspired mine to the very marrow, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am in a dilemma here, whether to accept your compliments or not. On one hand it makes me balloon up with gratitude and happiness to know that someone such as you admire my work to such a degree, needless to say it is my humble opinion that your words are the final authority upon all my work. On the other hand your encouragement raises in front of me another peak to master; the desire to be better, to again gain your approval ☺️ always and everytime…but nevertheless thank you so very much Pragya for always being there for me 🙏🏻 I hope you keep liking my poems till the time that I am able to write 💜💙
If anything I am being modest to my core…and not on purpose but because I am limited by the language which is unable to express in it’s entirety the depths of deference coursing through me…Thank you for being my muse and evergreen inspiration 💜💙
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