These Iterations

x equals two
then four
then ten
then fifty
then one hundred million
whatever… who cares?

x should equal two
then zero
and stop at one.
These diverging equations
are breaking me apart,
my pieces are flying off
and never returning.

These iterations never
tend towards convergence,
if only there was a way
to truly find out:
the answer, the purpose.

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A little perspective…

Your mountains and your hills,
Your sunrise, your sunset,
Your waters, your rivers,
I wish I could have put them
all in a suitcase and stolen away.

There was a sweet smell
in your atmosphere;
the beautiful sounds of
your beautiful people.
I brought some of it with me.
I left some of me with you.

 

Black and White

There was a white dream surrounded by black blotches.
The death of dreams is painful but nothing encompasses,
the bleeding heart that wails at a lost hope
that was hopeless since the beginning of a sad kaleidoscope:
this life with no color but black and white shards
of broken dreams that were never explored.

You stand near me from afar in a window;
the hope that surrounds the empty tears on my pillow,
resonate your hopeless aura in that silhouette framed
in a picturesque darkness of desires inflamed.
The white dreams turn into a dark red nightmare;
blood flowing out our hearts without care,
and we die a little, no screams heard,
just a passing wind, carrying broken wings, but no birds.

And I hope with a heaving heart for a lost cause,
and you move on into a new window with a new vase
that caught your eye, and I stand here deprived,
of a dream that was never meant to be strived
for or against in this world of blackness
that has no light and melts only into a pool of sad demented darkness.

A/n: Inspired by a beautiful painting I saw by Shen Wei today! Hope you enjoy! 

Nunha Farishta

گلِ بہاراں، چمکتا چہرا تیرا
ہنسی تیری، مسکراتا چہرا تیرا۔
کدموں کی چاپ، بھاگنا دوڑنا تیرا
شور و غل تیرا، ڈانٹ دینا میرا۔
کہاں گیا وہ زمانہ میرا؟

دنیا خالی خالی سی ہے تیرے بنا
ننھا سا فرشتہ کہاں رب سے جا ملا۔

Chocolate on the inside, chocolate on the outside

Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, for us,
too good to be true, oh no,
too much to be hope, for long.

Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, as us,
locked in a world, our own,
too far gone, to really know,
what was inside and what not.

Did you ever think, my dove,
there was such a thing, as love,
glee captured inside, outside,
too much to be thought, as fun.

Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, as too much,
sweet on the inside, outside,
middle, up, every which where,
chocolate suffocating us.

A/n: Too much of a good thing can never be really a good thing. This one was inspired by a long forgotten conversation. Have a great week you all! 🙂

Must you dream?

It hurts for me to see you bleed.
But you must bleed.
Oh you must bleed.

It aches deep
when I hear you scream.
But you must bleed.
Oh you must scream.

It kills me to break your dreams.
But love, you must bleed
and rot midst broken dreams.

It hurts for me to see you bleed.
But you must bleed.
Oh you must bleed.

And yet you still dream,
such strange wild dreams,
and say I must dream,
oh, I must dream.

Of thoughts and wars. Of dreams and dreads. Of hope and the loss of hope.

Thoughts are endless.
I thought I would leave it.
But you evaded perception.
Surprises are surprising.
And you surprised the unsurprising.
I thought you would know.
I dreaded you would find out.
I wanted you to not to.
But you did.

Thoughts are endless.
I thought you would stay.
But you elude me now.
You leave before I leave.
The good die young.
The best leave early.
And you were the best of worst of the best.
You thought I wouldn’t know.
I dreaded to know.
I wanted not to.
But I did.

Thoughts are endless.
I thought they would diminish.
I thought these paths shall be cleared.
But thoughts are thoughts.
They are flimsy.
They are airy.
They can’t be caught.
They can’t always be brought to life.
We were defeated.
Our sword thrown down endless chasms of hopeless conjectures.
Our hope was crushed.
Our souls were beaten.
Tears were shed.
You never dreamed to see mine.
I always dreaded to see yours.
But dreams and dreads are all flimsy too.
Because we want tears not to be shed.
But they are.

 

Never admit you are wrong

Never do, never do.
Admit not, whatever you do.
Being wrong is a sin,
in this world of righteousness.
Pretend, my friend, always pretend.

For if you do, admit to one wrong,
they will put all your rights in that box.
They will say you’re wrong in all,
when you were right in being strong-
strong even in admitting your folly.

But what shall one sad soul like me do,
I cannot say, “I was right” when I was not.
I cannot say, “I was wrong” when I was not.
So, I suppose, I shall remain forever so,
wrong in being right
and right in being wrong.

We were but children

 

We were but children, I reckon:
living in our own fantasies,
laughing at our own jokes,
crying at our miserly miseries.

In those childish days, I used
to find your smile contagious.
It was like a sweet disease,
painless, yet so dangerous.

We were but kids, I suppose:
playing games, always smiling.
No one imagined life a play,
a sinister err, almost killing.

And here we stand separated,
forever, travelling,
forever, in opposing directions.
But children know not the pain of parting.

So, we grew up into adults, I reckon:
knowing not how to smile
or play games or live.
We just pass through this life-senile,
knowing not who we are,
what we want, what we live for.

We just pass through this stage,
looking for ourselves, finding no more
than mere trinkets to keep our hearts beating;
and through life, let our minds keep running.

A/n: The artistic photograph inspiring this post was a piece by Joana Kruse titled “Growing up”
It can be viewed here: http://fineartamerica.com/featured/growing-up-joana-kruse.html

The Quantum Blizzard

This is a queer existential dimension:
Who were mere boys a second past,
have transformed into men,
and who were but little girls,
into grown women.

Time, eternal and everlasting,
stays static, stuck on the same,
yet moving, always moving on.
‘What is’ becomes ‘what was’
quicker than you can say ‘It is.’

Infancy blossoms into youth,
and youth wilts into wisdom.
But wisdom is outdated,
so it is shunned for what
shall be ‘what is’ for a millisecond.

Life falls into death,
and death into nonexistence.
But one wonders, sometimes,
if anything ever really existed at all?

As dawn turns to dusk,
and young men to dust,
who knew, if ever, anything
really was, ‘what is’.

Perhaps, we are all shadows
of a fickle, intangible present.
Perhaps, nothing exists,
perhaps, everything just existed.

A/n: The image was retrieved from: http://coolinterestingstuff.com/is-time-travel-possible-documentary

The Muse

There he sat with a glass of poison in hand,
an acetic smile on his handsome face
promised nothing but a life of disgrace.
Swirling the red liquor, he appeared so grand.
He was the color, the taste, in a life bland.
Raised eyebrow; seductive look in place,
he was ready to inspire and lace,
with art and literature, all of land.
He opened his mouth and Music sprung out,
he breathed and colors bled,
burning the Canvas, igniting the Pen!
But when questioned, he birthed Doubt,
and when challenged he said,
‘Leave the politics to mad men.’

A/n: The last line is from ‘Buddha for Mary’ by 30 Seconds from Mars, a song that inspired me with every single verse. On the other hand, the image was retrieved from http://www.denzomag.com/2012/11/daily-design-inspiration-229/

Freedom? What for?

Caged by my own desires:
I wanted to be alone.
An angel came to set me free;
but Freedom, I never sought.

Those other birds in flying flocks
know nothing of sweet Solitude.
Chirping hymns or songs of love,
I let them fly, I let them go.

Inside my cage grandiose,
I stay perched in my place,
thinking of a magic trick
to free my heart of its restraints.

A/n: The beautiful image was taken from http://favim.com/image/219439/

Metamorphosis

I was flying so high,
up above the sky
when you pulled me down
into the sea to drown.
Care you not for my dreams?
They are obvious, or so it seems.

I was a free bird with a wish
and you turned me into a fish.
I knew nothing but swimming around,
dreaming of a sky above ground.
Soon, I came to terms with the sea,
but then you shaped me into a bee!

I had been a fish, silenced,
never a sound had I uttered.
Now, my own buzzing
gave me a headache so killing.
Flower to flower, I moved about.
Sick of myself, internally I did shout:
“Oh Providence, the cruel, you gave me nothing!
I wish, for once, you would change me to something
deserving of my Greatness
for the world to witness.”

A sinister Voice called back,
which I heard, scared, taken aback.
“Thy greatness deserves to complain as much as thy can
so We shall turn thee into a man!”

On Flying and Setting Free

You were here, always here,
it was I, who was nowhere
to be found.
I lived in some other dimension.
I travelled through other galaxies.
You are still here, stuck there.
And I? I am still travelling farther
away from all.
Let me fly, let me soar,
don’t hold me back.
Let me run, let me fall,
but don’t stop me.
With that, I set you free.
Go conquer the world,
make your own world,
or go with the flow.
Live your life as you want it to be,
and let me fly my own flights;
let me be, let me be.

Demented Reality

Sometimes, it seems everything is perfect,
you’re there, I’m here, the world- beautiful.
Sometimes, it seems anything is possible,
waterfalls- upwards, birds flying backwards,
time standing still and us- everywhere, everything.

Then reality creeps close from behind,
assuming the shape of a tyrant, demented.
Waterfalls- downwards, birds flying forward,
time moving on and us- nowhere, nothing.

Think of me, sometimes

Think of me, sometimes,
in the far away Neverland of dreams.
Where the Sun shines eternally,
where the trees stand tall and bountiful;
the birds chirp songs of love,
and streams of pure sparkling water flow.

Say my name, sometimes,
to test how it feels on your tongue.
Don’t let the winter chill your heart,
or freeze your words, let them flow freely.
Let the spark grow, let it transform into a fire,
let it burn, combusting all thoughts,
leaving but memories of sweet happiness.

Blind

Never shall my soul
be acknowledged;
never shall my heart’s
beauty be realised:
For all the world sees
is the thin paper
shell of the never
ending depths of
brilliance.

A/N: Slightly cynical, I know, but I wrote it at time when I felt really lost. Everyone saw what they wanted to see in me. I found no true recognition in their words as they depicted a perception completely skewed away from my perception of myself. Alas, the time has past, leaving only a few words and a poem behind. Enjoy! 😀

Thoughts and Dreams vs Words and Reality

Words may overpower your message-
Incoherence yielding no wonder
Let the thoughts prevail
and let words falter
for there is no wonder in words
only false charm and dignity.

Dream, for dreams are meant to be dreamt;
broken by reality only if reality prevails-
let reality falter and dreams rise.
Moments of dreamt happiness shall suffice
to break lifetimes of real miseries.
Dream, for broken dreams make
the best of songs and the best of poetry.

Dilemma

Where are you? I want to know
where in the world are you.
I miss you,
even though I don’t know who you are.
Is it normal that I miss you,
even though we have never met?

Who are you? I want to know
who in the world are you.
I think of you,
even though I know nothing about you.
Is it normal that I think of you,
even though there is nothing to think of?