Are we born as whole ?
Are there parts of me
Buried inside someone else's soul ?
An incomplete puzzle.
Bright and lovely yet one piece short
Of forming a dazzling image.
A portray that longs to be finished
Awaiting a last stroke,
That slight brush of pastel pink.
And now behold the art that has emerged,
Out of mere blend of shades and hues,
Where earlier what was only a canvas,
Splashed with a mess of random stains.
Why one must feel such a way ?
As if the blood in my veins begs
To be run and course through,
Wild and free like an ocean, untamed,
And the beating of drums,
Mild and soft, quiet and vacant,
Pleads for an upheaval of a storm,
Relentless, reckless splurged on by a force,
Disturbing it's unending inertia.
And now watch it go feral,
Finally lose the shackles and chains,
And thunder with a ferociousness
Of a cyclone that had lain dormant,
Perhaps too long.
And the lungs take in a little air ,
Every now and then.
But how they ache to drown themselves
In the depths of a sea,
Urge me to suffocate them,
Just for only a moment or two,
And now hear them devour and lunge,
As if they never breathed air before.
A beast starved for ages finally finds a prey.
A hollow void the soul carries with it
Everywhere it goes.
To quench it's undying thirst,
I feed it with tears of gold.
With the warmth of a candle
I try in vain to ward away it's cold.
Unaware all along that,
What it craves is a raging inferno.
And the coals buried deep within,
Shivering and frozen rigid, are now
Finally set ablaze.
Watch them burn with fervour,
And ashes of which you won't find.
And I yearn and yearn
How the dry crusts of earth for seasons
Hold on for the soft touch of rain,
That smoothens it's rough edges,
And finally melts it's core.
So that tiny strings of roots take birth,
Where once laid a seed.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
