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A passing thought

Every time he tried to rise.. there was a force stronger to pull him down
Motivation he sought to clear his mind…
Motivation to move beyond obvious…into the unknown peace yet to be found

That’s the story somehow

Written words…plots…papers…books…all seem irrelevant now…
You keep saying…I keep hearing…that’s the story somehow…
Moments…minutes…days…years…all are memories old…
Yet all the time spent with you, still seems new – a tale always retold…

Time seems frozen with the words you said…
Who knew then, where time will tread…
Not knowing the future seemed bliss…as one realises now
Memories of a not so distant past is haunting somehow…

Stories start and stories end…
Some too twisted…one can never mend..
Yet every tale seems incomplete now…
You kept saying…I kept hearing…that was always the story somehow.

——————————————————————————-

Note: The above piece is inspired from the below verse written by a very talented writer I once knew :

Lafz…alfaaz…kagaz…kittab sab baimaani hai…
Tum kehte raho…hum sunte rahe…bas yehi kahaani hai…

Bliss

Old Days…

Old Memories…

Old thoughts…

Old endings…

Obstruction…

Destruction…

Loss…

Pain…

Obsession…

Confusion…

Silence…

………Blank……….

 

…TRAVEL …

 

New Beginnings !

New Places !

New Roads !

New Memories !

New Days !

New Thoughts !

 

BLISS !

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We are… after all… travellers of a different time
Different wanderers with different tales… different stanzas that complete a rhyme
Shadows of our former selves.. faded and old
Shadows with different stories.. some forgotten.. some untold…

View from my room - Different Times Different Skies

The view will change from time to time
Every season brings a different sky.. every song a different rhyme..
The art so created has the same artist as its creator
Same applies to life…if in troubled phase now , you – the artist, can always repaint it sooner or later..

Two damaged hearts…

Two damaged hearts chatting one night…
Contemplating what’s wrong.. discussing what’s right
Of friends and love.. of relationships old…
Situations discussed…Memories retold
And in these discussions..realization too…
A connection exists through these tales few…
For both may be travellers of a different time..
Yet both have lives that fit together… like a rhyme
And of many emotions shared.. one concludes between the two….
"You love me", she says… "And I love you !"

A bar, a story and some rum in-between

This tale is of two strangers who met in a bar one night
What can I say… it was love at first sight
Perhaps the rum helped, in retrospect they agree,
In each other’s company, that night, they felt free

He was a young lad, single but shy
She a wild girl, always ready to fly
Rum was a common factor along with friends
A story started that night, perhaps joining two broken ends

He wasn’t perfect, still sought love true…
She too was imperfect, had her share of breakups few…
That night they talked, a conversation that lasted too long
Connecting two hearts like two stanzas of the same song

Thus, stories are made, over chance meetings few,
Some are re-written by writers, some lost with no clue
This story survived, a glimpse I wrote tonight,
What can I say… it was love at first sight

Just some quotes reproduced….

“There I was, cold, isolated and desperate for something I knew I couldn’t have.
A solution. A remedy. Anything.
…I hated it. Alone and confused was the last place I wanted to be.
Somehow I knew I deserved this.”
― Brian Krans

 

“…at such moments of extreme panic and anguish you do manage that trick with time: you are at last free from the illusion that time is linear.
In panic, time stops: past, present and future exist as a single overwhelming force. You then, perversely, want time to appear to run forwards because the ‘future’ is the only place you can see an escape from this intolerable overload of feeling. But at such moments time doesn’t move. And if time isn’t running, then all events that we think of as past or future are actually happening simultaneously. That is the really terrifying thing. And you are subsumed. You’re buried, as beneath an avalanche, by the weight of simultaneous events.”
― Sebastian Faulks, Engleby

A rhyme he wrote again

A rhyme he wrote again,
My writer friend, Mr. “Insane”
He wrote lines random, made no sense,
Just to express his thoughts, a random pretense

He wanted to express thoughts too many,
Tried talking to ‘friends’, heard him none, if any…
His thoughts weren’t all grim, some were positive too,
He sought resurrection, made failed attempts few…

He was a writer too grim, yet had some hope left,
In the darkness that loomed, the thought of light wasn’t bereft
He too hoped for a way, to set things right,
He too imagined a dawn, that will swept away his dark night

Someday, sometime.. on a different day, a different year,
His troubles will seem a matter of the past, he will have no fear
He will find love, he will find peace, he will find his life,
Which seems lost now, he will grow out of this strife

The writer may be grim, but his heart is true
He may be abandoned by people, his friends few
Still he survives, struggles, and will live on…
Reshaping his fate, his destiny, setting right every wrong

Someday, sometime, on a different day, a different year,
His troubles will seem a matter of past, he will have no fear
He will be loved, and not hated, the way he feels now
His troubled thoughts, his emotions, he will outgrow somehow.

For in words he sought his destiny…
In words he forged his life…
In words he tried to rewrite tales
Old snippets minus the strife…

Through words, his writings, an attempt he made, 
To express thoughts, his musings, that will fade..
Through words, an escape he sought,
From a constant battle of thoughts that he always fought…

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