on language of love

And there is vanish mode, there is silence, there are solo journey's, unfilled journals, unposted letters, unread poetries, shared drinks, tea moments, longer distances driven through, slow drives, random things, untouched kisses,  random thoughts, feel a miss a lot, emojis, pics occassionally, not really sure how to things...oh i am dying moments...limits of language is the limit of our world...oh no moment of any kind...just a little more things...and you are the reason for the love of the day of the day of the day of the day of the day of the day of the day of the day.......

Grown up

On a tiny slate

Where letters know
How to disappear;
With whom does the rain play alone?
No secrets; but the rain must be sad
Inside the walled houses
Live the numbness of wisdom
I wish why you can’t come inside,
Than play barefoot 
In search of insects and mud castles
You grow
You sprout
Make us wet with conscience.
Silence, please make some noise this time.

Un-Poetic

It has been a long time
Since the
Ink has done to a
paper
What spring does to
Neruda,
Because I am not
asking again
Who am I

True stories

The shadows that cinder my trail,

Because the way forward is yet and soon later

By what is left, by the move to unknown.

The shadows that cinder my trail,

Because the light leaves behind,

The darkness of the past,

Ahead and with us

The light of the present,

Is that we see,

And in this truth ultimate,

If this is not true nothing else can be true,

Whereas those not in the picture,

Makes what is the picture of life,

And the shadows that cinder my trail,

It signifies for all perhaps,

Ahead is what the shadows leave us behind.

The unlit light

On the other side of the ocean of silence,
The remorse of truth that breaks you down,
Hoping for just another meaningful lie,
Those poetry beautifully unwritten,
Are the pain of the soul that believes in.
For whom does the stars wait eternally in the night sky
For whom do I hold the umbrella, when it rains so distant
In the moonlight of blossoms of waiting,
Morning shall blossom to a new fragrance.
In the burning sea, at the shores of my heart
The waves that beat and disappear, in silence
The fallen flowers and leaves,
Of days that pass by,
And the trees that wait on the trail,
In the corridors of shadowy silence
whoever waits, and wails in prayers
when did light come,
In these dreams that never sleep at night.

The time shall come

The time shall come when
The least of all,
All this nature and its riveted species,
The emotions of all pursuits of hope in love ending in cry,
And the splendid games to fix it, and break it kicking buckets
Shall time it to finish.
The time shall come when,
To see the unseen so fearfully and hear the unheard so endearingly,
To break the mirrors,
To break the slavery and love apathy,
Shall time it to finish.
Kill all messengers, messages won’t end though.
Deface all faces; you may just face it though.
De alphabetize all words, the ultimate
De grammar all languages, welcome to calamity.
The language of cry, hope and love,
The language of all destitute that we relate
No substitutes to all lost and hush,
Why cry in this world--
Which has broken all mirrors to see its face?

The Torchbearer‘s paradox

Recall the moments when you stood amidst the crowd
Reciting anthems in praise and in prayers for
Replete with instances of walking aback empty handed
Revoke it when the voices shout you down in the crowd
The lifelong yearning that recapitulate like a sea tide,
Don’t ask if life is worth any of the games you play.
But if a prey bird can fly back or revisit a trap, lest it fears a gunshot
Gunshot waits, if you walk aback, go ahead astride on memories
Surge through darkness, searching to light up everywhere
Because you are the one who only walks and the way belongs to you
Oh the torch bearer, you walk alone, and you make the way;
Never ask, whoever follows you, whoever shall it be?
But you span through the darkness, lights up the ways,
Yet darkness alone follows your trail.