Time and the Wooden box

A pampered box of wood;
scratched, cut, and demolished;
stands in the corner of my heart.
still to be noticed, silenced to be heard.

It holds the memories; raw and baked,
tiny and huge, accomplishments and failures;
from beginning to the end; from young to the old.

The vein in the box holds blood,
the blood and wings made to fly,
but didn’t, couldn’t, and can’t.
time and time, it holds to run; but never it does.

The wood is breaking, and decreasing in self,
trying and trying, but couldn’t find a thing,
when the hope keeps flying;
escapes memories from the torn-hole.

The Midnight Werewoman

Once upon a nightmare,
Under the oak tree,
Gazing the October sky,
Painted darker than black,
I flumped onto the blood-red ground beneath me,
Oozing melancholy of my gifted wounds,
Asalia tears betraying my iris-coloured iris,
And falling down on my lonely scintilla.
The cold breeze ruffling through my grey furs,
The rust lining my spine,
The blackened sharp nails with bits of flesh,
My intangible ugly halo shining bright.
The darkness of this light hurts me,
What am I?
The screaming pain in my bones,
Every full moon,
Splitting my soul, one by two,
And every time,
The tinted truth in the glow of this darkness,
Petrifies me, haunts me,
The slices of life, smeared with death around me,
The instant burning rage,
When I switch into this animal,
Failing to realise,
The shrieking mistakes,
The apologies lodged in my throat,
The wailing human soul of mine,
Through crevices in my heart,
Can I still be forgiven?
This isn’t my choice,
It’s the nature’s imprisonment to me,
The waning hues each time.
The lone wolf in me is still breathing,
Weary and frazzled,
Curled up in her furs,
My human side struggling to take over now,
Waiting for the Night’s final veil,
Perhaps, it’s over for tonight,
As I see the sun rising,
I notice my white skin coming back,
I’m human now,
Till the next full moon,
Once upon another nightmare,
A werewolf and her hopeless despair.
            
-Manu

Few but all things will change

Few but all things will change,
after this night of nightmares ends,
the way we looked at the world and now we do,
the death that seems new normal will haunt;
the path we mustn’t have taken,
the dread of death must have been stopped.

The boundary-wall of blood weaving its height
and never looks down,
the sprawling hands of death catching the light:
an eagle who scavenge in town,
Nothing to spare but to kill and drink,
the blood of smiles, and flesh of hopes.

This darkness in lights and everything seems bright,
so bright to see them tomorrow and day after,
the passing days and unbearable tides.

The crushed tomorrow and cursed today,
the night of deaths and moaning days,
a death as dust and a thought embedded:
nothing ever last is and it shall go,
but imprinted on hearts will never fade away.

IF I POETISE A MOTHER..

Eyes that shine with experience,
Wrinkled lines on the forehead,
Subtle and solemn face
that hides fears,
And Smile of a silly teenager.
Eyelashes wet with worries,
Some silvery hair strands waving out,
Endless prayers of well being,
She recites
And sole responsibility of hers,
She believes,
To seed happiness into lives of loved.
O! Maybe the angel itself has taken birth
In human form,
To set free the mortals
From worldly tribulations.
Indeed She is a mother.

What’s a world without the gentle caressing of a mother….?

She’s the one who shows the least pain when we fell and have a wound. She hides her worries for you. She is the one who stays up late just so you could complete your studying for the examination next day

When you grow up in a teenager, she deals with your new grumpy side where you say idiotic things to her, she never even take those words and stick to them and be mad at you for your whole life. Still she is the one who helps us when we have an emotional side up on.

And when you do grow into a beautiful woman or a handsome man, she gets filled up in pride and watches you carry out your life as perfectly as she aspired.

In and all, she spends her whole life growing you and then when she leaves this world, she is all satisfied and contented as she completed as sole responsibility.

A little tribute to our mothers.

A FAMILY, NOT AT HOME | FRIENDSHIP DAY SPECIAL | POEM

Shared, Cared, celebrated,
the moments of fallen days,
nostalgically memorized,
some path traveled with an army of own,
the ruling legends, a family, not at home.
A group of persons,
met in different phases of life,
a stranger at first,
and a friend at the end.
some met at childhood,
some at young
and some will be with me until I die.
They taught and learned,
lessons and chapters,
of life and lies,
the funny, the funky,
bros and sis of mine.
With pros and cons,
with twists and turns,
we burn a lot, we fought a lot
and survived, at the best of all.
we had hard times,
we had best times,
we are growing,
we’ll have more times.
Let’s not thank,
just live along.
If life got a second,
from its end,
Let us ask for, one more friend.
HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DAY

Read complete poem here


DROPS OF THOUGHTS | AESTHETIC LINES

Few drops of unattended thoughts,
travel all the way from the clouds of imagination,
not entertaining,
but pertaining to something within,
falls on dry hearts.

Confluence of love | REPOST

The love of yours, To the love of mine,
The affinity of heart-beats, To remain alive.
The eyes of yours, And the eyes of mine,
Enough to see, The world of ourselves.
The arm of yours, To the arms of mine,
Enough to reside, For the whole of our lives.
The lip of yours, To the lips of mine,
A completeness, And cheers to the life.
Your trembling soul, To my closeness,
Your bowed eyes, And my yearning life,
Makes it adorn, The coveting soul of mine.

FIRST LOVE | REPOST

The way she passed the bridge of my memory,
I lost my way out of the senses.
The lights of courage in me was diminished,
Flaunted by the winds of first love.

Her gaze of glitters stared at me,
Like she holds secrecy of wings,
A breath that dissolved in me,
felt like a fragrance of undiscovered life.

I hated being intimated my own thoughts,
But it does happen to me,
Like a life that was not the same ever since.

She could have seen me,
A glimpse of me to her,
Or a never-ending gaze,
Could be something there,
I must have done,
But that moment of love,
Is a love that loses to win.