One's personality is both a composition and reflection, but if I have to choose one of them, I will choose reflection as the "self" is more important to me than "me". One's composition may change, walking across the cultural landscapes and climbing the social ladder but one's self is tied to one's reflections. The fun part is that reflections are not bound to "Time-Space" barriers ( it is not time-space) and respective mental constructs, which have grown so thick over ages, that they had reduced the image of humans to Sisyphus, rolling different sizes of boulders on hills of different heights.… As the name of this Blog indicates, knols are my perspectives on topics of interests, sweet/bitter experiences or just doodling :)

Monday, November 28, 2011

Oh my heart you are very cruel

Oh my heart you are very cruel
That you want beyond solid’s rule
Every tear reflects the endless picture
Neither colors nor sounds can adventure
My blood losses heat its heat, when run
It is neither the cold money nor gun
Open eyes are empty, closed are full
Death can’t dare to swallow, life can’t pull
No form can fit it. Is it formless?
If it snatches satisfaction, is it harmless?
Does it fly? Does it swim or flow?
How it comes I really don’t know
If I could read my heart’s Atlas
There would be triumphs of desire’s surplus
My heart is beyond the reaches of Arts
I don’t know how it ends and how it starts
My blood and sweats are ready to buy
Either you desire sorrow or joy
No distinction is between wise and fool
Hearts were cruel and hearts are cruel

Your tales are sweet and my dreams are sweet
Your tales are sweet and my dreams are sweet
But we are engulfed by blood and sweat
You are inherited wisdom and wealth
But you are not looking in good health
My heart shakes when I open my eyes
You are not colored, what show your dyes
I closed my eyes with your sweet tales
Sweet dreams were there but not for sale
I saw additions and multiplications
But not disturbing anyone’s vacations
There were subtractions and divisions
But they were of growth not of decisions
When I awake of my dreams
I was scared of laughter, snores and screams
Face of living earth was looking formless
Even the growth zones were not harmless
I searched order but there were none
With differences what could be done?
Equation is the fact that rule orders
When it works, it doesn’t bind to borders

Coming back from school

Sun runs to middle of sky
And singing lips run dry
A child with cheers and joy
Runs to his father standby
It is what remembers a school boy
The moments loveliest than any toy
Eyes are closing and tired is greed
And he is unable to read
He comes out of school
Cloud is darkened and breeze is cool
But he doesn’t run with joy
He is no more a school boy
With heavy steps and head
He was a walking dead
A familiar sound awakened him
He was a child calling, “Hi dad”
Walking with father, the school boy was glad
Books, computers, squirrels and cat
Dark clouds, snow are all what he chat
He is no more a school boy
Though his reading lips still run dry

No comments:

Post a Comment