Vex

Creator, you gave him life,
And taught him how to live,
Now, they mourn,

His wanderlust has taken him,
To many hells than heavens,
Transgression,

The roads of peril he must now crawl,
Puts no fright in his mind,
He cowers in delight,

What did you have in mind?
When you stripped him of his mind,
He’s not complaining, he does not mind,

His sneering smile,
Writhing in virtue,
Sadistic

>>>>Picture Courtesy: http://mattfitt.com/gallery2/v/Dart/Nuclear_Cry_2.jpg.html

Bird Who Flew Away

Walking in the middle of nowhere,
I saw this bird lying on its belly,
Hurt and his wings were torn,
Tucked him under my arm and took him home,

Gave him water and some cereals to eat,
Nurtured well, he now stood on his feet,
His new feathers were shining like chrome,
And he was probably missing his home,

And then one day he flapped his wings,
And flew in circles & straights,
I should’ve known and taken the cue,
That day the sky turned a brilliant red hue.

Field of Dreams

Here I am, once again, training in my field of dreams,
My body aches and my muscles scream,
With every foot step I take,
To myself, a promise I make,

I aim my passing shots at glory,
In great delusion; everybody has a story,
I sprint, I dash, and I run,
And kid myself, Boy! Isn’t this fun?

A promise, broken many a time,
A field of pasqueflowers; sublime,
Will hit the road, not yet,
I still have to win my bet,

I run and I run,
Believe me, this isn’t fun,
Cerulean skies calling out,
Cheering me to win my bout,

So here I am training in my field of dreams,
Silence is golden, as it seems,
It’s just me and my thoughts wide awaken,
It time, again, to take the road not taken.

Foray Into Insanity

A small twist here and a turn there,
Sparkling water splashing everywhere,
A burrowing experience, an iterance,
Mind’s altercation and latescence,

The white wall stands as an oath,
A testimony to your sentiments and both,
The red notepad of destiny you tote,
Still living the script you wrote,

It’s just you and my foray into insanity…

Journey

When death became a slumber too deep
Striking manifestation of thy self
In a strangely beautiful world

Season

The month was January,
The winter, slowly fading in my life,
Pleasant evening walks,
On the fields of pasqueflowers,

The month was February,
And the birth of my new found joy,
All was well until the final bell,
And I was made to look like a puppet, a toy,

The month was March,
My best friend’s wedding,
Forgotten memories, and an inflated ego,
There I went, uninvited, rigmarole,

The month was April,
A thought of a new beginning,
Washed away by the winds of desire,
Was too close to the funeral pyre,

The month was May,
My true love’s birthday,
Always hung a heavy heart,
Never got off to a good start,

The month was June,
When it ended all too soon,
Drenched and pained,
This time, it only rained,

The month was July,
Realized Emily could only lie,
A lapse of season,
Emerged uncut and brazen,

The month was August,
The showers of misery seemed unstoppable,
This time, the winds of desire – a gust,
Only to find there was no wind beneath my wings,

The month was September,
This day that year, was born,
A Sunday child, who knew no fear,
Yours truly, my dear,

The month was October,
The mother of this life,
Was like a warm clothing,
In this setting of the early winter,

The month was November,
The rain of misery continued,
The teeth chattering in the cold nights – Brr…
Was it my mind, or the feud?

The month was December,
Life was freezing,
Hibernated in the labyrinth of my mind,
And dreamt of the fields of pasqueflowers