I had always been intrigued by the very idea of poetry. Be it the deepest thought or the simplest truth, expression in verses makes our beings more reflective than the often direct and monotonous tone of prose. A poetry can mean different things to different people in different situations. Thats the beauty of it!! It takes us to a wonderland where we our the masters of our own imagination while words are a mere form of expression.
The Hand
Alone I stand, Alone I fall,
Unhearing, undebating a coercive call.
Silence in the night, silence in my mind,
Conceived thoughts concealed behind.
Appears a hand, slow yet busy,
Endearing me, eager to bind.
The hand gives me direction, shows me light,
Enchanting, enlightening my muffled nights.
We share thoughts, words, our lives,
Unwebbing dreams under small hives. Not across the deep seas we see,
Nothing beyond the skies we want,
Yet destiny seemed to be mocking me,
With a deliberate yet blissful taunt.
And one day, the hand speaks,
It wants to grow, wants to fly, wants to leave,
Unconcerned about the love it made me believe.
Enigmatic moments of mourning hearts.
Wanted, unwanted the story parts.
Now, sometimes I wonder,
why we wish,
why we hope,
why we care,
why we hope,
why we care,
why we wonder,
why don’t we just stay away and surrender.
And as I weave the mask of freedom thread by thread
Lives snatched apart, memories undead.
As i had said, i said
Alone I stand, Alone I fall,
Unhearing, undebating a coercive call.
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