Sitting by the shore
On the edged jetties
Trailing through the fingers
Those cusps of clouds
With eyes shut, paused thoughts
Breathing all of nature in me.
Gathering the voices of wings,
Savoring the music of the lonely wind
Here I sit, not to go
But to make this call my rescue abode.
Let not your creation be the thoughts you keep running from.
Rappelling down to the vortex of thoughts
I could hear my voices echo
Some teeming with urgency
While some, lying in angst
At the corner of the damp pillow.
I wished to swipe them out
But alas! “Your creation”, they exclaimed
My brazen thoughts and those voices
Work but in tandem
And I’m the only one to be blamed.
Often circumstantially we hear the word soul and most of us can rarely associate with it. The distraction by surrounding chaos and meddling humdrum affairs, disunite us and plunge us further and further into the whirl of illusion where we are transfixed and unstable; the instability, with time, becomes soothing and it transcends us towards the pit of our trivial existence. The existence which is nothing but vagaries of life bundled with real collision by mammoth conscious push into an unprecedented territory.
Divulging into reality from skies of dream
Look around young man,
This place is not how you thought it would be.
Don’t lose hope and lose the sight
Good things will happen, stay upright!