"The Wind is not enough, bring in the Storm!", Demanded the great old Tree to her Gnome; A baby Tree was killed, The sad broken heart could never be healed. The calm sky turned grave dark, A beholder would howl and bark; The happy clouds started to weep, The heart that was broken was just too deep. The wind howled with such agony, Scaring away that walked the great land and the sea; The flowers shook with sudden fear, As the Great Old Tree shed her tear. "Let the storm fill the void that linger.", Said the Great Old Tree, that lost the baby tree on the roots of her finger; The Moon was wounded with silence, Of the baby tree that was a home to many winged friends.
-28 Feb, 2016
So much tear, So many who fear; So much pain, Timeless death; Innocent blood, Raising the flood. So many cries, So many lies; Bloody war, Bombs flying afar; Children running, Parents burning, Homes destroyed, No pain they could avoid, Schools shut down, Humanity dis-crowned, Hunger everywhere, No one to care, Little palms, Asking for alms, Political lies, This is where Humanity dies. God exist? I do not know, for this, Why is life full of sorrow, For the ones who have no tomorrow? I wish I could save them all, But, alas! How can I when I am afraid to fall?
How could they know you were there? How would they know you would be here; The past, Dark, it may have been, Your present, illuminated with every artistic beam; Because of that very darkness that closed you in, Like an enigmatic butterfly, Your heart grew out of its caterpillar like shells within, So many days you cried, Rivers and oceans alike, No one heard you, but you, You needed your hand to hold you up, And love like that between the fresh grass and the morning dew, That moment when you grabbed the hands of your shooting star, Has taken you billion miles and far, Only few knows where you come from, Few knows who you may be, But only you know, you were there-you cease to exist, And the real you begin to soar out like the butterfly of a soul you are. How could they know you were there? How would they know you would be here; You tell a tale of a man, Who grew out of his dark and yet hopeful shell, Into a white butterfly, telling a peaceful tale.
#2 Oct 2016
It turned out to be a beautiful day after all, The ghastly dark clouds seem to bow down to the glorious rays of the Sun, Charming rain only appearing as serene drizzle, Over the land of nostalgia and leisure; Whereas the Sun blushes over the presence of the lovers, Who tend to fall in love more in this allegorical romantic weather. The sky sincerely illuminates the land, Where the humble trees find this gesture, graceful and grand; We tend to feel more compassionate, Illuminating with love- the world of hate; How can one not fall in love with this graceful nature's gesture? How can one not be compassionate to the loyal creature? These genuine feelings of appreciation and compassion, Idolatrous in every humanistic way, are the only solution. This is the power of graceful weather, Creating Poets and Writers, each one a healer; As the Sun softly sets, with every word trying to enhance, The love between the weather and the writers and the poets, become a true Allegorical romance.
Jan 20, 2016 #HappyInternationalPoetryDay
I walked a mile away from you, But your memories followed me through; I did my best to hide, But you were the last thing I could avoid; I thought of replacing you with someone capable, But then I realized you were irreplaceable; I tried to mingle with those around me, With due respect, I felt like I was drowning in a spiteful sea; Then I sat with a paper and a pen, That made me pour out my feelings for you like an incredible rain; Some might even say, This poetry is a showcase of vanity, But little do they know, Being in love with you is a beautiful insanity.
Then suddenly it hit her, The gushing blow she felt, cruel power, Her heart shattered all over again; How can she let this happen? How can she forget her heart was too fragile? The pain she could no longer bear, She drowned herself in her own tears, She lost herself in her own painful scream, She couldn't recognize nightmare from a dream; Nor could she recognize what pain was any more, With all the grave scars, she bore. There She was lying on the cold floor, With broken heart, love became just another folklore; The pain lingered long after her tears had dried, Her fiery sunny soul had grudgingly died, With broken shards of her heart and her painful moan, In the depths of darkness, she was again, left alone.