I feel betrayed; how the world is turning back slowly and giving me back what I gave to it, or perhaps I wanted to give it, only in the opposite direction. It’s like I”m living a half lived life; a doubtful, somewhat dead life that seems so colorful to everyone, forgetting the dark side it hides compressed within it’s backyard. Should we be like the mineral deposits carried by a river, travelling through ages and ourselves as it starts from the mountains and then goes through beautiful valleys and dirty plains, until it lasts it deposits it’s load to form what they want of themselves?

Maybe it was all my mistake. My agony, my fiends, my acts of untrue friendship and escaping reality that sent me here; a prisoner at the gates, not knowing whether I stand out or I stand in. It’s like I am stuck up, knowing, living a virtual life that is unlovable, weak, ugly, maybe all the cusses high school boys use these days, and all the plastic that is said to be killing the environment, establishing what I call myself today. It’s the single speck of doing wrong, the single fear of people, of judgement, and as I would rather say, of myself, that haunts me through my dreams and on every step I take. Maybe if we would promise ourselves everyday that we would go without hurting asingle person, including ourselves, we would not be a lost jewel of the glimmering world anymore. Yet, I’m not so sure.


Midnight colors

Beauty echoes through the mountains and beneath the trees,
I will wait, for the sun to shine for me.
My heart is beating fast, I am losing sight.
Maybe it was the drink and it was the fight.
But wait, it was something else.
It was the twinkling eyes,
Her angel voice.
Maybe I was being pushed down,
But holding on to her,
I was alive,
Dreaming of death and dreaming of love.

I saw a canvas in front of my eyes.
I painted it the midnight blue.
It was the color I saw in her eyes,
It was her aurora's hue.
Maybe I was scared,
And maybe I was drowned.
But all I saw then,
Was the masterpiece of God.
He had it speak.

Confessions of the mirror

I see black and blue; shadows reflecting upon me and my ancient soul have got little to speak but the words of hate and detest, and people’s ramblings of nonacceptance to the perfect answer to their sky-stained navel-gazing. If I look far enough through walls and through doorways and alleys, I can see a traffic policeman trying to control the traffic on a tired Sunday evening, where a gauge of young drunk men are somewhat causing curtains beneath his eyes. But what words has he got? Other than the usual cussing and blabbering that only the twilight is there to hear for you. Almost it is the same with people, who atomize their each and every desire and sin in a gold covered box, which only when they see in the bright light reflecting a ray is filled with an abundance of coal, with a few flowers in between, all of which are completely distorted and damaged.

If he could have spoken through ages, or killed his own inventor, whom I believe could be a troubled old man inspired by the still waters of a lake at sunset-time on a desert plain, maybe he would not have suffered the envy, abandonment, hate, name it, of people who are maybe trying to open their eyes and wet them, for a reason that could be little other than self-impression and the creation of an incarnation, that they speak before going to sleep, and before their children’s examinations, and when their company is flopping or their writing is going from bad to worse. He would have shattered himself into pieces, and acted as a symbol of the nearing of the black could, and laughed as it so that body being carried away to hell.


Treacherously dangerous

Clamped in suburban vibes,
Catastrophe and solitude,
The skies are burning wide,
Songful writer of disgrace,
Eating from an ice-cream come,
Outside the city gates,
With cancer in his nerves.
They forsake his roasted brain,
To let it be and be alone,
Looking into the shattered mirror.
What did it say to you,
With mouth wide open and eyes squinted in abandonment?

It told me a story,
I have it within myself.
It speaks little more than my subdues leaves of flame.
Spellbound heart of mine,
Let life happen,
And let them laugh.
Someday you shall laugh along.


Inspiring Quotes-2

I am displaying before you a menagerie of beautiful words by beautiful people, put into sentences that could inspire all-

  1. Let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right, always. – Rainer Maria Rilke
  2. Nobody deserves your tears, but whoever deserves them will not make you cry.- Gabriel Garcia Marquez
  3. The best way to find out if you can somebody is to trust them.- Ernest Hemingway
  4. I don’t hate people. I just feel better when they aren’t around.- Charles Bukowski
  5. The best revenge is massive success.- Frank Sinatra
  6. Life would be so wonderful if only we knew what to do with it.- Greta Garbo
  7. If you tremble with indignation at every injustice, then you are a comrade of mine.- Che Guevara
  8. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.- Vladimir Nabokov
  9. In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me lay an invincible summer.- Albert Camus
  10. The unexamined life is not worth living.- Socrates

What do you think of my writing?

Yeah, I am publishing this post again. Though it is only with the call of time, am I doing this. But have I improved? That is all I want to ask. Some people said that I had found a voice of my own, some said that I had found a style. Also in my latest poem, using incomplete (hanging) sentences received mixed opinions. What do you think? You may also give me any useful criticism ( the decorator of everyone’s writing), or you greatly appreciated words of praise. Have a wonderful day ahead!