Untold minds

The  Scribe shore of sorrows are still crowded with many faces some are familiar, but others are more dense with the depth many boats yet to reach from the wild sea, from far and far away and my eyes were struck with one face, the one clear crystal face your face, resembled the tales of past decades the  sagas of murder, bloodshed, and survival your eyes were floating like the ice burg, destructed titanic but they were sharp, strong and unimaginable the shore smelled the aroma of desire, with fragmented vibrations there emotions emulated the Aristotelian tragedies in stage we exchanged our masks, and enacted different roles with its hamartia's, and climaxes , but abrupted and scattered many itmes yes, the boats are arriving, like the lightning and thunder where distances are merging into new measures the dark sea of sorrows and the crowed lives are narrating a poem, where the diction is dipped in the thick blood of dead memories    

  Normality   Many were there, just near the mango tree “it’s getting time” the elder said His words echoed in my hearts Like the thunder which hold the breath of mine yesterday   My eyes were in a hurry In search your presence there Where the air stained with the puff of loss Snatching all around in that funeral ground like a hawk   The ceremonies had finished, with a silent pain My tears flood to the Ganges and it floods My heart was numb as I was in the evenings of Manhattan Draped     memories of our past in this tapestry   I back to my room again, with the burden of your memories It crouched into my head like a short sprawl and i fell down Countless were my breath, where i was panting for air My nerves were struggling for survival in my mind   They brought me to river Lethe one day Where I took a shower in the rain And I met you there, with an enormous strange I cried out your name with my sil...

  Feathered wings fairies  Visible were  the moments, sitting near the wodden tables wide across the horizon's of NAAC room chambers of serious discussions and digressions silent witness of the traumatic symphonies. Looking back to that room through the narrow eye of existence where I found my wings feathered with hues of carbuncle the moments of epiphany played with lasting rhythms of wired paces. we conversed eloquently in those spaces the tears, laugh, even the silence were pregnant with  multitudes of meanings there the souls get converted to fairies of magical worlds transparent , but tilt with  unknown emotions of known feelings.     

  Spacing the memories It could be the reason for my deep breath in the land of buried memories of colourful hues Perhaps, each step had the fragrance of being loved more dipped in the lush of interior chamber of heart That pathways, the room, the corridor  or even the log, panted years ago and you placed it there dragging my soul more close to the time machine which fly right away to the moments  of our togetherness in this city of dreams The void, the voices you left here, touching my soul with more deeper interpretations and touched me more a lot with the  certainty of eternity you, carved something beautiful by took time of patient waiting and you left with a note of  reminders of eternity to step in Here, now, I again, in my second chance spacing all memories in its proper positions with care and my passion for eternal glimpse  heading on to my destiny , which is eternal.