START OVER
You’ve got a chance to start over everything,
every habit you ever thought of letting go,
every hobby you stopped working on,
every small detail in your life you kept overlooking,
every morning that made you rush through your coffee,
every night that made you feel,
that tomorrow should be written differently,
every possible glitch you wished was corrected,
every thankful gesture that you skipped being thankful for,
every meal,
every sidewalk and every park
where you thought cellphones were more worthy than the ones actually breathing,
and every other thing you wished to happen or start differently.
This is your chance to try and make it happen.
You are about to write a new book,
make sure the things stay the way you want them to be.
Make sure you live a little,
apart from being alive.....
A Change....
After all we are nothing but humans,
following a long lived pattern of society,
we are all nothing,
but humans.
Be it in the patriarchy,
or be it in a rape after the party.
None choose to speak about it,
or
long before they can articulate they’re made to quit.
Be it in the misogyny,
or be it their agony.
None choose to take it out of the door,
this is the plight, it’s core.
Be it in a marriage,
or be it an affectionate bond.
None of the two authenticate a luculent ‘NO’,
neither reason to ‘LET GO’.
Be it in the fright,
or the will to fight for their right.
If none can stand up for them,
then do the least,
stop the obnoxious blame......
Be it in justice,
or in the cause against this prejudice.
You ought to stand up for it.
The society ain’t gonna change out of the blue,
if you truly wish for a change,
well let’s start with you!!
I wonder, me being a flower to you.
A little bit white and a hint of blue.
I wonder, if that'd make you smile.
If not that, then a pale yellow.
I wonder, if that'd make you say hello.
I'd grow ears, rather than petals.
I wonder, if that will make you talk.
I'd be ready for a long such walk.
I wonder, if I could stay so long
I'd actually, if it weren't nature's song.
"For today has passed,
tomorrow is yet too long.
For today you be mine,
tomorrow it'll again be nine"
I wonder, if I'd be a flower by then.
Just to wonder everything again.
She,
She was kind of like a metaphor.
Though to be an incomplete one,
she was one hell of an incomplete metaphor.
The one, with whom you gotta
search out of the world to compare with.
She's kind of like a personified story,
penned to be a real one.
She's a one of kind, poem.
That can blend itself in all forms of verses of life.
Hers is the voice which alliterates through
her repetitions in my dreams.
The thought of her,is the one like a perfect
climax to a soothing life.
She's kind of like an omnipresent simile,
the one that can be like everything.
She just can't be on the latter part of the simile,
for you won't find anything to be like her.
All our smiles,
with few bits of sorrows,
and load bits of joy.
From the point,
people start to live and lie,
to the time when they shed and die.
A lot of things get in,
and get locked.
All are anchored in 4th dimension,
all are docked.
A bit piece of paper,
was it so,
it had all the smiles and sorrows,
Right from the first of walks,
all but flashes of tiny bit of talks.
With a bunch of people on it,
who had kept the past, bright lit.
Few continued being on it,
while some falsed to be a fit.
A bit piece of paper,
Neither it did bring back the time,
Nor it ceased the sceptic caper.
It just held the world for that moments' crime.
All those moments were graphed too tight,
For what they didn't change at anyone's sight.
An utter random moment caught up in time,
with a little bit of sigh
and a bit of smile,
neither can they be held up to file,
nor can be scaled, for much of a dime!
That's the catch no one gets,
Not every photograph makes it to paper,
Not all of them can be displayed upright,
they are all caught up in brain and heart,
Some name it as memories,
Yet are simply,a photograph.
We'll meet somewhere at the world's end, to walk down the streets that don't bend.
To the distances,
where things don't need to be mend.
We'll walk them down,
with whatever lies ahead to fend.
At the ends where it rains upside down,
where the skies aren't blue but brown.
There,
we'll meet there, where we'll have clouds to drown.
At the ends where the winds don't blow,
where the stars too have ceased to glow,
where the time paces a bit slow.
There,
we'll meet there,
where rivers will stop and we'll start to flow.
At the ends where our voices won't meet,
we'll have our words scribed on the falling sleet.
At the world's end for sure I want to meet,
to revert the time right to our first greet.
Not so as to change it all,
but to have lived once again before the last fall.
Just a notion of thought,
well, reading this might make you think, that it’s false, that it doesn’t happen this way, but still have a go and think about it for one more moment.
We meet a whole lot of people as we walk our way through life. Out of which we specifically love a few.
When anyone one of them dies or find their way away from here to an afterlife, we grieve.We cry in their memory.
It’s nothing bad about crying and expressing your sadness, but have you ever wondered that, all you do is a bit kind of selfish.
Everyone cries at the demise of their dear ones, but what act actually we cry for is somewhere pointedly centred towards us.
We cry because, we can no longer be in the company of that person or we couldn’t spend more of the time left out there.
All the 'reasons', 'becauses', and everything else includes, we not being able to have our wishes or live what we thought of, with them. All of the reasoning is true but the only thing to point out here is ‘WE’. It’s just about us not having to spend time with them, us not able to have a good time with as used to, us and us. It’s good that we all consider them as a part of our life’s equation, but nevertheless we don’t cry over that part being gone, rather we fret over how are we going to balance our equation of life.
Nobody cries or grieves thinking for, it would have been great for that person, if that person would have been here,
how good it would have been for that person to be here, to be happy.
These are never the reasons one cries over. If are, they’re seldom.
There are very few of them who can reason their tears to others.
All of this just gets to one point,
we all are selfish, though we may have thought of it unknowingly but yes all the reasons do point out what bit of selfish we are.
Not a bit of mean selfishness, but what I would say of it is , 'it’s just another white lie’.
