The Walls Have Ears

The walls of concrete,
Hides the voices of anger,
Sadness,
Love,
And pain;

They say walls have ears,
Maybe that’s why they are keepers of secrets,
The best of all listeners,
Standing still and devouring the words,
Stained with tears and maybe blood,
Painted over by the happy colours,
Decorated by the frames of happy faces,
And the forgotten paintings of old houses;

No one takes a glimpse of it,
Unless it has a face, a disclosure,
Frames, paintings, and mirrors,
The walls of concrete,
Hides the voices of anger,
Sadness,
Pain,
And love.

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The Tears of Shakespeare

Her smile rests like the elegant ship on a calm ocean,
Her laughter lingers around the broken pieces of her heart,
A band-aid, 
Not strong enough to ease the excruciating pain,
Her tears are told to be silent,
What remains of her broken heart is told to be strong,
For it is not the moment,
She is still sailing through the calm ocean,
Where the voyagers put their white flag up,
Where the world is reflection of what should be,
Rather than what it is;
She will wait for the moment,
When there’s no soul nearby,
To let the elegant ship of a smile crumble into a cry,
To float among the thundering night sky, 
As her precious tears fall,
The pieces of her heart,
Merges with the theatrical storm,
Even her shadows cannot stand such agony,
Such is her story,
Even Shakespeare would cry.

The Road Begins Here

The road ends here,
For her heart has been taken over by fear,
Will she choose to stay,
And have some heart-wrenching words to say?
Will she choose to keep moving,
And have happy words to sing?

The road begins here,
Another broken piece of her heart she needs to take care,
For she is as fragile as a bird with a broken wing,
She will be the bird who decides to sing,
Despite her broken wing.
The road begins here.

Blinded

The great cascading mountains were hidden away by a blanket of dusty air of Kathmandu,
The glorious mountains could be seen once in a blue moon,
Oh, how magical the sight was,
It was thrilling even,
It only appeared when the cloud of dust settled,
And when the forgotten moment took stage,
I’d stare with sudden awe,
Like the magician revealing the beautiful dame,
From under the covers,
Or the rabbit out of the hat,
That is how it felt,
The dusty air of Kathmandu,
Revealed the beautiful dame,
That glorified the pupils of my eyes,
It was a moment of ecstasy to be alive,
Surreal even,
To a point where my existence,
Would seem pointless if it had not been for nature’s glorifying revelation,
Hidden all throughout the year with blinding dust,
Revealed only when Nature decided to take its course.

The dust, of course, had its hand stretched out,
Taking the breath of anything or anyone,
That had the audacity to breathe,
Just like the great mountains,
We were forbidden to be revealed.

#19oct, 2017 12.15- 12.21

Words & Paragraph

Your words,
Were tinted with roses made of glass,
Words that made me feel loved;
You became my many chapters,
Though you left after a paragraph,
And what paragraph it was,
Epic and beautiful.
Gravity was not to be blamed,
That thirst quenchable paragraph had it all,
How was I not supposed to fall for you?
Those rose-tinted words,
That epic and beautiful paragraph,
Had it all,
This is where I made the fall,
But you were too afraid to catch me at all,
Like a fallen star,
I fell,
But I am not to be wished upon,
For the pain,
Is too strong it’s worth.

#Oct122017