Pain is the only universal equalizer,
It affects one from within and spares no miser;
It’s a sense of approval from the ones you adored,
It’s a penance for denial of moments you ignored.
In this world of oblivion through these sands of time,
Upon this stage set brazen with will of mankind;
Arises a need to brush off this burdensome lament,
From the shadow of bygones into the patronages’ crescent.
Resting in peace comes from a two-way release,
A cleanse of the soul and the acceptance of grief;
For the passersby will remain alive in memory,
I pray for the strength of their beloved family.
Every new book bought, has a scent it’s very own,
Every new page turned, sends shiver down the bone,
Every word I read, between the lines you speak,
Every pause words took, the heart kept bleeding on hook.
Few days it might just seem, fresh like wound still green,
Few nights it might sting, like nightmares leaving still,
What makes us different beings is sense of every feel,
That wakes us up from dreams and shows us next page 3.
On this another new years eve, next page fills up belief,
What might be lost in time, what held you like its mine,
Saucer of mismatches exiting moments it fetches,
Till I surround myself to thee, this conscious self would not feel free.
This book might lose its smell but the pages keep on speaking,
Through a language made of feelings bit by bit dispels,
As I read it again, your page has got me hooked,
But for me sense to live, this page I must just turn.
When the light ain’t burning so bright;
All you can do is shiver in fright.
When the tick of clock gives a scare,
A true little heart begins to dare.
When the night-light shines upon my window;
And the gentle wind blows through spaces too shallow,
A cold sweat drops & all I do is swallow;
My head goes down memory lane & everything turns mellow.
As I try and close my eyes,
You enter – A surprise,
Little rabbit in disguise,
Giggling so sweet; with eyes so wise.
Little rabbit I wanna hide;
Within my arms open wide,
With you in mind, danger subsides,
Your breath became my lullaby, that distant night.
I find it better; keeping to myself,
This facade of a jetter; taking space on the shelf.
The perpetuation of mind’s boggling pretensions;
Can’t make ways for the inner conceptions.
I find it pleasing; talking to myself,
I find my mind in rut over same old touch & smell.
This blockade of memories; gets this heart to submit,
Flushed by gentle blows of dope- I mean this brain goes back to shit.