Location  – Montreux, Switzerland

I seek a shore, that grants me peace,
The perfect sight to put my mind at ease,
Where the world ends and starts again,
A dead end to end all pain,
A place where the land meets sea,
A place where every bird flies free,
Filled with red leaves stands an autumn tree,
A poetry portrayed to awaken the poet within me!

There’s always a high, that follows every low,
There’s always a path, whichever way we go,
There’s always a battle, between the right and wrong,
The right always wins, that’s retold in every tale, every song!

There’s a time for everything, as the saying goes,
When is the right time, nobody really knows,
But when it comes to us, we know it for sure,
Enough is enough, now is not the time to endure!

Now is the time, the moment to unite,
The spark within, its time to reignite,
To come together, gear up and fight,
For what is just and principally our right!

He tried to rectify the errors of his past,
Though he was short of time, in the few moments that will last!

He tried to write a tale too long,
Lost track in-between, wrote it all wrong…

He had new beginnings, he faced the same end,
A broken tale with nothing to mend

Fragments many, of a life gone by,
Turned to fiction, truth woven in a thread called lie

Of a wanderer at heart, that he always was,
Wandering on random ways, left with no purpose!

With memories left to be forgotten someday,
As he walked on, on his broken way.

Many twists and turns were still stored in fate,
It seemed to him he was life’s favourite bait!

Back to the question, of what to write,
The writer pondered a lot, but nothing seemed right!

His words were empty, a tale with no track,
The end was an irony, a meaningful conclusion it lacked!

He wrote of days long gone…
Of memories many, remembered by none…
Of friends he met, and foes he made,
Tattered glimpses of a past, that will soon fade !

Of long talks…over matters non-trivial…
Of excuses to meet for workings unreal..
Of a rose not given…of a sentence unsaid…
Of a call unconnected…of a letter unread…
And so the tale, went on and on,
Of random moments turning to memories to be retold later in some song!

Of love, or what he believed love was,
A random verse, to explain his loss,
Of random twists in tale, to set things wrong,
Indeed, his tale was turning too long !

He faced highs, he faced lows,
A murky life full of emotional blows
To give him support was his favourite quote,
Life’s Like That… he always wrote !!

He choose the latter and wrote a ode to the night,
Of empty roads and a faded moonlight…
His coffee arrived steaming hot,
Ecstacy for him, for ideas he sought,
He tried different ways to create a tale,
Every concept he tried, eventually failed.

His writing was flawed, he knew it by now,
He sought an inspiration, had none, yet continued somehow.
At that moment in that cafe, his glanced turned on the window at the rear,
He visualized a scene, his reality, of his college life’s last year!

There he saw a lad, young at heart, full of life,
Living on his own terms, no worries, no strife,
He stood outside the cafe on a random night of November,
A day before his birthday, as the writer bleakly remembered.

(may be continued…..)

Have rolled the dice,
Altering my fate,
Every second is precious
Better early than late…

Tossed a coin
Called my bets,
An impromptu call,
That one regrets

Lost my gamble,
And all at stake
Living a nightmare
Waiting to be awake

Coz it was a game after all
Either I rise or I fall!

The writer wants to write
But words are rare…
His thoughts are lost
He is painfully aware….

He has lost the writer in him, the one who could write
For now the words written just don’t seem right!
Losing his grip on reality, losing his grip on life
The writer still attempts to write, another worthless strife!

A night he remembers,

A night of long walks,

A night of memorable talks.

Of coffee in the cafe at the corner,

Where he often returned as a wandering loner,

Of co-incidences many, that happened that night,

Of the last good-bye, under the street light.

And so he comes out of his thoughts,

That night is over, so are those walks,

Moving on from the night he remembered,

On a random night of December.

Life’s being good or so he says
A journey on unexpected ways

He met people, he made friends
He faced turns, he faced ends.

Time moved on and so did he,
Between bondages many, he tried to be free

And so he moves on with fate,
From life to the next phase, better early then late!!

{ An entry for Klash (klashknk.wordpress.com) }

The officer was pleased. Everything was in order. The troops were well-prepared. This time the dacoits can’t escape. There was no escape route. The infrastructure was in place. The wall on the east was fully constructed and guarded well. The southern forest was well-manned by commandos.  And the northern cliffs had the best sharp shooters of the army, ready for them. The dacoit’s damnation in hell was certain. “Damn them all” he said aloud. And then he realised something was wrong.

“Damn? There’s something that strikes, but I don’t seem to recollect”, he wondered.

Cadet: “Sir the dacoits are coming from the west, on boats over the river.”

Damn! They had forgotten to build a dam!