Wednesday, August 8, 2012


The voice ends or is tending to.
And the world beams it's heavy hand
To grapple off the podium,
Dragging the very surface I stand on.
I look back, smile and envy the long day
That took from the unending music
Of true nouns I every which way walked with.
And so the unreal objects that I danced with.
Am I in a time different from what I lived?
Or am I now with a soul that's lost
Into the everlasting silence I once craved for?
Ah! That silence that I only spelt but
Never seen or felt until now.
Scared away now, I crave to rush back,
With a longing I can no more sing about.
Is that a lost word? Or a world lost?
An unjust act thrusted upon me, benumbing.
For the yet-to-take-birth thoughts I stand forth,
Carrying truth with my breath and word,
And inching towards the time I shall live again.
The voice never ends.