bench ..

comes a story , old and cold

rain pours on this same road

flashback turned her old and grey

years did love her all the way

when young she came like a rush of wind

touched by her soul , people smiled 

she tucked on the bench close to me

till the sun dawned inside

after all these years I visited the street

the rain like always poured 

the rain of endless dreams

she tucked on the bench , now all grey

still I fell for her rosy smile

here when the sun stood all high

tricked sunshine on her wrinkled face

of a story cold and diverted ways

of a familiar zone taken unknown name

and now when she sits close on the bench

I'm happy to know , she remembers it all

the road , rain , love

the sun and its silent dawn

the cold story and the warm end 

Betray me , my earth

I can compete these floating clouds

I can Invoke the necessary heart beat

And Surrender to the music loud

Control me not , I’ve evolved released

The soul has externally taken over

Let me sway to what this dance leads me to

Yes its my destiny , a dream I breathe

I slip and stand and wildly glance

What makes me fuse my spirit with this heat

I restlessly yearn , to fall and finish

And free me of this fight beneath

Don’t judge me by my dishabille

As spirit never came with clothes

Enclosed is my freedom , in dawn of my dance

I indulge in sins , greeds and bleeding wants

Measure me not by my mystic glance

I won’t renounce my poised rage

Do not give up on me , my bulk , my frame

All I wish , is to forever dance

wiLL they Sail through ?

The sunshine dropped on them like a whim

And they emerged white and lovely

unperturbed by the fall of yellow

Blooming in the ubiquitous light

He clinched them tightly, close and high

Meant for an apology , they rested outside the door

Cluttered in his hands ,for the disappointed lady 

Inside the door she resided, outside they lay counted

Priced in quantity , priceless because of the cause

Fault lies in between the two humans

And the plucked daisies bear the task

Of acceptance or rejection , taken or thrown 

Till he wonders how will the story be , once he knocks

She waits and ponders , how will he make up for it

The daisies might suffocate outside the door

And the fragrance might die , before it does the magic

Where will they bury the essence then ?

Who will apologize for the dead daisies ?

SouL - CuRRy ..

My absence from my blog has been disappointing for me . I once started feeling I can no longer write. Foods for thought somehow betrayed me and I became extensively unclear with everything associated with me.
I lately turned out to be a photography lover , insanely foraging for pictures , to find that one perfect click that would make me fall in for. Fall in a way that I write again.
I also traveled places , of which very few people know :)
I was busy editing stuff , editing a thing that I want to turn out beautiful .
But then unclear still laid the mind , and today a thought crossed the crazy old forbidden lane .
I was looking at pictures . Of people I know since I happened in this world.
There is this weird thing that takes place in our journey.
Most of us are super cute as babies. Chubby cheeks , big broad eyes , calm of sleep and consistent in laughter.
Apart from some child-like creepy habits , we are all incredulous and loved .
 And our picture , no matter how silly , is always perfect.
And then we grow up and teenage takes over . And we loose the broad eyes and chubby cheeks and tend to rather flinch from that look. We follow popular patterns , grow pretentious , turn obsessed with some or the other useless kind of fashion ( rock , punk , pop or whatever ) and end up loosing our identity.
Then we enter our 20's and rediscover ourselves. We detach from forces that made soul wear things that caused discomfort . We switch roles , back to what we were . Though in a bad shape , our nature tries to battle what it went through and attempts a recovery.
We then gain beauty that is fragile and vulnerable to changes . We think more now , a part of a pure self . We tend to share less , a part of the years that went by , years in which we were torn in between righteousnesses and madness . We grow up , from a baby soul to a soul that understands what it went through. More over , we return partially to what we were .
What makes us now picture perfect , is the calm once lost , the laughter once inane and the love of people whom we know, regained.
So when the next time you think you aren't looking sufficiently beautiful . Think , did something fake struck you ? Did you think of harming the soul ?
Let the curry cook . Once its done , it will taste amazing . Thinking is indeed, food for the soul.
 The soul curry was gulped . And I liked it :)