Seeking Light

There's a difference between dreams and delusion
There's no pride in prejudice 
And there's a silence in hunger 
There's an echo in the cry of longignes 
A resonance in destruction 
What writers have different from others
Except the ability to rendezvous with words and pain
A shallow dive into oblivion
Only what's broken can be healed 
Being fragile is to be weak
You can't let your pen bleed.. It's a war
Its a curse.. It'll make you weep under auroras
It'll cheer you up as the autumn breaks 
Its not just ink taking shape over wood pulp
It's the energy into motion 
There's a difference between invasion and to rule
There's an ongoing coup over my thoughts 
The toxication you left and with the suffocation I beg for truce 
Envisaged the past.. Stranded I see my future 
All it takes is an idea.. A rebellion of present
All it takes is a thought.. A revolution of dead
Ready to be reborn

By- Kshitij Sinha
10/5/2020

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Once you tell me something

Once you tell me something it can't be retracted It's like flickering light in northern twinkling stars...A domino of separation of anguish and anger  Blizzards On the sea far from all but coastal Remember in the tiny cafe you sat facing this summer, A book of introspection as you flipped the pages Pages of the chapter titled " Once you tell me something it can’t be retracted" Your whole body changes... The way you smell, Your reflection How it feels when you avoid my touch Like a distant moon, you shower your lights in the despair of meadows and in the blink of midnight The us will be no more than a victim you and a distant I Killing me in the leaching presence Leaving me at the mercy of mine a parasite of my own demise I’ll see it as an ephemeral moment of evaporating droplets, It’s a struggle to hold or to let you go now Yet all I could ever do is to observe and comprehend in hindsight "You’ll say my detachment has grown stronger and I no longer feel...
Read more

Non Zero Sum Game

Conversation between them She: Sometimes he sits on the terrace stargazing, Deeply fallen for I do not know t whom: like he makes me fall for all his art. I stare at him. Like he is staring at that empty sky. I grab his hand, point it towards the darkness and then towards me, telling him I am his star. He: Who is that he.. Is he or is he you Is he everyone around.. One trying to weave his dreams on the rotten grounds Does speaks or does he hears.. Is he even alive or he does stares... Staring at hollow nights Where I'm not just a person I'm a myth.. A star of skipped sleep She: You say I am a myth, And you my love, are a star of skipped sleep. You slip into the mornings;  And I slip into some more darkness. They say stars are the past we see, May be that is why, we shall meet at the distant horizon, where the sky touches the sea. He: A montage of crimson yet pale sky Aren't we all ill.. fallen over what he have and what we'll never possess What is an horizon.. Except a ...
Read more

Cafe with the red door

 My words they don’t speak to me anymore…They have gone silent. I tried to write a monologue ended up with a paraphrased well-rehearsed dialogue where it was me my pen a barren thoughtless ambitionless dire dread sunken low endless void sheet of paper a truce I was determined to extract a reunion of me and the words a paraphrased well-rehearsed melody. I’ll call my new testament a revelation yet again the door was shut a creek on the bolts and a sudden jolt as all that was left was a seer clear serene vaccume devoid of light sound hope dreams and the desire to get up…I was paralyzed my hands were trembling my pen aching to move an inch, to explore the great run of meadows some description of waves mountains the wind playing with your hairs a cuddle under moonlight cigarette’s after ages few stanza about the windows the first ray of sun and all the words that rhyme, my pen aching to move an inch succumbed to the wounds of fantasy a café with red door and a table peering all that y...
Read more