Poverty makes you numb, Hand without hands. A living zombie without death, A contagious disease without any sign of recovery. Nobody dies of heartbreak, but does lacking: Hope : things can go well. Trust: there may be a future. Help: to survive another day.
Cactus has thorns, as it’s difficult to survive desert, It’s heat and temperature may kill him unnoticed. Situation defines, decides,describes destination, No option to refuse or deny, coronation of Crown, Waiting pain, unlimited maime, Everything meaningless, poverty makes you cry.
Sitting, by the window; I can see: Things and places, moving backwards. There is calmness: of chaos and worry. Fighting a duet, to win and end,for once, for all.
Few lights are off, few shining more, In this sound night, what a mystery they behold.
Turned off lights; how nice, peace, and a good night sleep. Turned on lights; how lively, vibrant and willingness; work more hard.
There are trees who have tale to tell, Millions of journey who lived and passed by.
Ahead is a temple, closed but decorated, Might be the God tired, reviving, After hearing a tonnes of prayer, listed,unlisted.
Night, A beauty in darkness, many of us holds. Looking from the window, I whisper my favourite song, Such is beautiful, this passing night.
I lived and loved, Nature being natural, A wide clean sky, with no clouds roaring. A clear view, my eyes can catch,
Night A reflection of “what”, “how” and “when” “Why”,”where” and “who will”; Questionnaires and answers yet to find, a short, but long,
Dare I not loose this opportunity, shall I not hold it tightly, a night so precious. not may happening at ahead, Who Knows Time
Yes, I adorn clothes their; torn and worn. I fill my stomach, leftover; bitter and wetter. I have messy hair,cheesy attire; Dirt hooked up; crime booked up.
Now here;then there. Searching identity; everywhere. Sometimes beaten, sometimes chased. Running away, where to stay?
Sky is my shelter, bare ground my bed. When you cry, I mourn; when you laugh, I sigh!
Watching you, observing you; I grew up. Saving self, working help; I grew up.
Dare I choose; If ever I could; Complain, compare.
“This justice, unconditional, worth, not to share”.
Yes, I am; nowhere near. Being like you, not in my list. I am in hurry; I am hungry. With a wish;
Memorising date and facts; mystery of history, Well in past. From might to could and right toshould. Textbooks to calendars; marked and noted. Chapters which sung, the rusted gold, paralysed bone. Here is, Knight ready, his sword greedy; Serve and save; vanished and tarnished images of king and queen. Dirge ballad, exalted force; Human agony of mind, not heart; flows. Slashing without rhyme, lacking rhythmic line. Graphic and plots, twisted with maline. Play judas and singing Facsimile. Death bell played, before time. Who knows, what’s one’s crime! States besieged and perished, Man to extinct, with fate sealed. Left nothing, but dilapidated, obscured. Few becomes the narrator; Glorious war, Valiantly fought. Many; Unsung fool, murdered; Yet justified. Who fought whom, an eye for what; be assured;
Music has it theory, whenever it plays it either shocks or takes out a shock, ha, ha!
There is hardly anyone who doesn’t has any kind of music on its preference
But, have you ever heard The Rainy song, maybe some of you might have heard it, if not, then thanks to my discovery!
For one side of people it’s their firstlove, of course, we had our first rain before our first kiss; it’s the music we grew up dancing with. And why not, it’s the sound which comforted us on our painful but just happened: break-up, and later again we thanks it, when we find peace further in our life.
A cup of hot coffee, and the window: matter not, glassy or wooden, for people like us this rainy song is the life we are alive till death apart.
Wait, how could we forget the universal line: human species are full of contradictions. May be its not contradictions but the experience they have, defines their behaviour( this is what sociologists says)
And for them, this song is nothing more than the experience they bear in mind. I still remember, while on my way to visit my village, an old enough uncle declared, his whole chronicle of flood in his village, that’s when he shifted to the nearby city, though he was saved, many others could not, he told me that with every lyrics of this rainy song he misses his hometown( by somehow, it was raining that day). Well this is just one of such people, we all know many others…
[I think:(it could be good that by this, he misses his hometown, otherwise there are people who feel shame sharing their roots). Talks apart. ]
Since it’s about a music, how could we forget the lyrics and lyricist! His appearance is very gentleman type, a fluffy tummy, wearing black -white large hat, and whose voice is same as we make with hungry stomach.
And then when he sit to write, since his torch is on and off he can’t write nicely. sometimes its continuous, sometimes not; with a break, sometimes not.
With all his struggles, when he dare to complete, he shows it to his great composer windy wind to compose, and last all their co-worker comes together, ready to begin… This Rainy song… And why not to leave interpretation, since it’s 🌧raining I enjoy this song:the rainy song…
This pain on my wings, I got through falling down… For once, I was the queen of my dreams, For once I was proud of my wings.
Ask me not, where not did I fly, the garden, the mountain, the rivers the glittery town.
Over the cloud and close to sky, for once I thought, the world as my own.
What a pleasure, a history divine. A love to life, a life not benign.
As of my proud, I flew through thunder, Oh! I fell down, as no wonder!
Falling high, my wings torn apart, hidden beneath the leafy blanket if nine.
As for now I can not fly, Can you guess, the pain of mine?
Watching others to fly and dance, I look above and begin to cry.
Though sometimes, I question the cause; blame my vows. But AM I A BIRD, IF DARE NOT TO FLY!
Mirth of fighting with the mighty wind, Joy of singing with the rhythmic rain, Way too worthy, than this lamely pain.
I might save my tears for late, if I fall again derailed. But for now, I love, this sky; I will start trying again. AS FOR NOW, it’s wounded wing, BUT IT’S NOT AN WOUNDED BIRD…
What is dream? What is aim? What it is people long for? She started searching, since she was kid, She was different, she well thought. A long notes, a lots of lecturers, heard and watched, as they said. She thought, it was money, to grow rich! So she started, methods for such; She tried something without a plan, not knowing how and what to look for. Suddenly, it wasn’t her dream, it wasn’t required. Once again she found a new dream, She thought it was to find a lover, someone rich, love her more, a worthy man of her love. “I will devote my youth and old, happily together nothing to bother”; So she searched, a perfect man, in every man she could find; She met many, but noone worked out, as they were on a similar line! Handsomeness, loyalty, and fidelity, all wanted;
but not from self, from their partner; Teenage passed, in this wish;
once she grew, she will find her prince. In such way, time passes, People came and went, nothing changed. Noone found her worthy of their time; She asked people, all whom she knew, Few said beauty, few said money, few said self-esteem, all she lacked! So what’s now?
she changed profiles, changed her beauty creams she found; From organic to cosmetic all she tried; All failed, as by this time; People she met, few had broken past…
few wanted just time pass, but she wasn’t ready for her compromise;
Long has she saved her true first love, for someone, who loves as their own.
So, again everything failed apart. Now, she was broken, deep inside, all her childhood, teenage, and old; All just passed, all in void.
Now she was all herself again, neither she was rich, nor had the handsome prince. She has to be just another bride, just another groom! No white horse, no empire of her own; She has to compromise, now she can’t frown. All fantasies , all fancies, all fairy tales so far, vanished, made her own a clown. She lost herself, she failed herself as she thought; This pain as she said: “my heart bled like never before, as we see a woodcutter chopping hard and hard”.
She had noone, she thought for, No friends, she cared for. Though she is living, but not alive; There the question rises again…
“What is dream, what is aim, what is people long for…”
shortisokay 