Delta One

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Where is this home which I cannot find
I have gone to the farthest horizons-
And to the hazy shores
Yet, this home which is missing
I could not even find its door
So I climbed the mountains and sat in their sinful peace
But the home I was looking for–
I could not find its lost keys
Even the desert was as empty as it could be
Because the earth oozed this cold bitterness
I turned inwards to my soul
But it was not at ease
And I tried looking for this home then
In the heavens, people and even trees
They were as haunted as they could ever be
And maybe vagrants are not meant–
To find a home
Or maybe it was never meant to be
So I turned away from myself
And maybe that is why home was lost to me
Or maybe, within me there was nowhere to go
So it is was cold and hollow as it could be
And even the stray raven has a place to go
So maybe–
It was not about where I am going
But where I was coming from
But alas!
Even there I could not find
A place to rest my torpor
And that is why the space was as daunting as it could ever be

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Of Sunsets and Life

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971734_494634307298022_257740671_nNever a comforting thought–that. But ah.. sunsets. How your heart sets, skips and does wonders during sunsets.

The grief ridden eyes find solace in nothing except a deep lingering sleep. They will say–it is common heartache…but nay. It is naught but that. It is grief. Not an inbred shift of innards. It is like a setting sun.

The worst thing about storms is, that before they strike hard, there is calm and peace. The worst thing about calm and peace is–that it never lasts and is immediately followed by storms.

Thus sets the sun. Deep into the horizon–to emerge again. But in all its glory–things repeat and stay the same.

And so–the little prince could not find the words and the nerves to reply. What would it say? They were forty four sunsets. One after the other.

It was not heartache. It was just an empty void.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

All i gathered about life. Each and everything. It must and can be summed in these four words. Not mine. NO. But they were written down by T.S Eliot.

‘Life is very long’

And thus…we go on living. We don’t know why we are doing so. But simply because if we don’t–life will stop. We don’t know what to do. So we keep walking.

SO we keep watching sunsets. And brace the long long life.

 

 

The Birth and Death Of Dreams

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It is moments like these when dreams are created and are given birth to.

Moments of solitude. Moments of silence.

When you stare at the blue of the sky.

And you look into the depth of the sea.

Moments when the two blues meet–where the sky meets the sea.

Yes, dreams are made there and then.

********

Alas!

It is moments like now when dreams die and are killed.

Moments of sorrow.

Moments of pain.

When the sky is black and the sea..

The sea is glittering darkness.

Where and when…the two blacks meet.

Yes, when tears run down your face.

There…there dreams fade away in your eyes.