Chaos

I hear the electricity passing through the wires, beneath all the cemented wall,
The ticks of the wall clock amplified, synchronized with my pounding heart.
Its one. Or probably two. The concept of time doesn’t make sense anymore, at all,
I’ve left this body in the hands of present, while pendulum-ing between future, and to where it did start.

There are questions. Tougher than the last time. There is grief. More hurting than the last time,
There are floods of emotions, and loss of soul, and anger and fury and so much more. Much more than the last time.

As the fingers move on to next word, poor keys on the board bear the burden of my pain,
My legs move slowly, or my head, is it my head that’s spinning faster than it should, I can not make the difference anymore.
Its numbness, overall, in general, all over, and confusion and chaos, being tied next to the barn, thinking about a grand escape from my slain, but in vain,
I rest here now, with palms folded, to whoever above listens. Give me reason to believe in you, damn you, give me reason to have faith furthermore.

There must be a reason, as a part of Your grand plan, they say. Oh now, but, is there?
Show some honour, show some respect. Show that you care, show that you hear. Show that there is love, show that it wins. Show me why you messed up, how things from here would spin!

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Last mile

Standing there, right there, in front of me,
In front of me, in that crowded hall, that’s when I first saw you.

Oblivious to my presence, you kept mumbling,
Mumbling a song, and tunes, when you’d forget the words and added ┬ánew.

You tried to look sharp, oh but I could see,
I could see how you fought the sweat, and the nervousness, yet looked pretty, oh! What a view!

Two summers, two winters, and in between twice of each seasons have passed,
Twice of each seasons have passed, over 700 days have gone by, but how did we happen? I’ve got no clue.

It is not a story written in the heavens but on this very Earth,
On this very Earth, where the platter of our being is garnished by thorns, we less knew.

I am sure, oh yes I am sure, I tell you my pretty soul, there’s more,
There’s more, to this story, more to us, more left in us to fight for the stories we drew.

One last lap, left to run together, hold my hands,
Hold my hands, let’s walk that last mile, ’cause the ones up above know, I love you too.

sil

 

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So much more…

I was color blind,
But with her I saw clarity, so much more.

I lacked what they called laughter,
But our jokes cracked me up, so much more.

Life usually seems so waste,
But there is always more to it, so much more.

I realized so many dreams,
And still had dreams so many more.

Letters stopped coming. Seasons changed.
But I had ink bottle still half full. For I had to write so much more.