The clock on the lost wall

Right there,
on the wall of lost time,
sitting is a clock.
Looking through the eyes of time,
everything and everywhere.

There isn’t solace,
but a sadness that keeps getting deeper with time.
If you know and look into it,
you will find it hard to understand.

The petrichor,
the dusky smell of wooden trench,
used long back to make its body.
The rare collection of colors put into it.

Wind in its own acoustic comes to make him feel the lost time,
like a golden memory which cherishes us to laugh and cry at the same time.
It does seem like how the bread of memory pilled with lost time taste.
Maybe there is no other beauty glow like the time.
It keeps the beauty of dusk and dawn,
the sun and moon, the dark and the day, the world and I.

A Life with Lenity

Whimpers in the maze of tough thoughts,
A life with lenity.
A thought of seeking coincidence,
With wondrous epiphany.

A morning that seeks night,
But couldn’t.
A night that seeks dawn,
But couldn’t.

It stays within,
And asks quietly,
Whether you’re,
what you are
or not??

When not heard,
It stays where it belongs,
Like a snail in its shell.

A Masterpiece

Sitting besides the blue-ish river of Atlanta,
Staring, the filled sky with grains,
Glittering in the nights.
He beseeches for a masterpiece.

A thought, that can change,
his life, before, it ends.

Carving, through the muds of soil,
he began his journey of life.

Some emotions, like an ocean,
with devotion, and his imagination,
created some wonderful creations.

Dolls, to play with,
Sculptures, to decor with,
Utensils, to cook and eat with.
Love and emotions put into it,
to live with.

Paving ways to the thirst of his creativity,
to accomplish, its starvation,
to achieve its thoughts, of giving life,
life to the cluster of soil and water.

Now scattered, within itself,
asks for relief, in search of something,
a masterpiece,
to mark his name,
in the history of this world.

Never found, was a masterpiece.
Found, was never a masterpiece.
Life squanders, to a limitless,
infinite, search for the pearls.

Never seen but catching,
Attentions of all, calling,
hidden inside,
deep and within,
the structured, boundaries of flesh,
Craving, is a masterpiece.

Ashes of Thoughts

Stays somewhere,
little ashes of thoughts,
dawning in the middle
of some stray stars,
alone but surrounded,
by meaningless bushes
of burdens.

A walking thought,
starts running,
on some unknown roads.
irritated, hopelessly,
trying to escape,
from all the realities,
that caused enough.

A howling truth,
begins to kill,
every breathe in the flesh.
like an enemy,
of its own.

Hope, a myth,
breaking and germinating again,
and at last,
betrays us all,
a life stays with hope,
and dies, in hope.