The two love birds

Unaware of the language they spoke.

Twitting a song beautifully composed.

Dancing together, weaving a life that is yet to spring.
…
Unaware of the emotions they illustrate.

Fighting for one another, feelings exposed.

snuggling like a bird with its lover in its own world.
…
This simple connection I didn’t notice

This simple bond I didn’t understand.

These two love birds I always saw on my tree.
…
This simple life they created is serene.

This simple fondness they held for each other.

These two love birds I call my own.

The Kite

I am holding my life in my hands.

The wind is pushing the kite forward.

But I see a bird in a distance flying towards it.

On its way across my kite, it claws it and rips it away.

Now I’m holding a falling thin string and my eyes follow it.

It’s too late. It already hit the ground.

War

War is a stream of blood.

Yet, also a stream of love.

War is played by weapons.

But, also played by words.

War is a package of depression.

Though, also a package of success.

War is a game planned with trickery.

Yet, also planned with strategies.

War is rage.

But, also discipline.

War is insulting.

Though, also respecting.

War is a step towards death.

Yet, also a step towards a newer generation.

Random thought…

Consistency promises fruitfulness.

What was everyday is now almost never.

Trust blooms love, honesty tightens the bond.

You: my flower and a pure knot,

Until a tide came in,

Washed my petals away and made my knot loose.

Now I am wearing unlaced shoes.

Far, Far away

In this hole I sit,

Millions of miles away from reality.

In this hole I think,

Millions of pages filled with rubbish.

In this hole I eat,

Millions of bowls with peoples spit.

In this hole I cry,

Millions of tears for what I’ve become.

…

A plant that took long to grow,

Every passing day viewers, questioned it.

They fed it. Pampered it. Loved it.

…

That plant now a tree.

Every passing day, viewers cursed it.

They abused it. Complained at it. Hated it.

…

That plant now a paralyzed soul.

Every passing day, it tried to hold on to hope.

Lived in denial. Prayed for mercy. Spoke with optimism.

…

That tree now far away in its own world.

Every passing day, staying very still in heavy wind.

Depressed. Crumbling. Dying.

…

That beautiful plant was me.

That grown tree was me.

That broken soul was me.

Decaying in an endless trail of painful words.

…

I am far from good.

I am far from evil.

I am away in a space my mind created.

I am far, far away in a place in which only words float.

…

I am far from happiness.

I am far from anymore sadness.

I am away in a never-ending wreckage.

I am far, far away in a debris of my broken self.