The worst experience
Gives the best abilities,
The best memories
Becomes the worst weaknesses.
Such is the irony of living
We love to ignore,
But it always come true
With no exceptions…
The innocents dying by drinking the black rain,
The rain that is poisonous but the naives are clueless,
So they drink it to soothe the burning heat,
That is making their skin wilt away.
How can this be a cheerful event?
But the victory is celebrated on the other side of the world.
The explosion of the atom was earth shattering,
That it left it’s mark on the future generations to come.
How can this catastrophe be anyone’s celebration?
How can this disaster be anyone’s new beginning?
This can only mean the last days of humanity.
The pills that you take to make yourself well,
Are they really a cure or a new bane?
I take one and I get effects that are conveniently ” side “.
I take two and I get dependent on it,
Still it doesn’t take away the real problem.
The doc say why not try three!
Is it the real cure for years of suffering?
Is it real antidote for life long illness?
The doc sees me for a min or two and announces that I am hysterical,
But who would not be hysterical if they are dying inside,
Who would not be hysterical if they are being torn apart each and every moment of the day.
Is the pill a remedy for an age old curse?
If it was the real medicine then life would have had an antidote too…
The young heart knows not much,
It follows the attention.
It cannot distinguish good from bad.
It just follows the path of impulses,
The young heart persevere,
It persevere even if it hurts,
It can’t let go, it can’t let it flow.
The young heart is pure and naive,
And it always fall for the trickster.
It is the irony of love
As it takes you down before it takes you high.
Young heart learns soon,
Young heart understands soon,
That most of the times you have to choose to love what is good for you…
They come like a cool breeze out of nowhere,
They feel like you have been waiting for them.
They make you forget even yourself,
That’s how their magic actually works.
Just when you get little too comfortable,
They will show you what they are really made of.
When you can’t stop worshipping the trickster,
They leave you with nothing but plain dejection.
They are playing and playing till they get bored,
They are taking and taking till you have no more.
They will hurt you and ask you that why you cry,
They will ignore even if you are dying.
They are nothing but something just like spirit,
They will only mess you up because they are toxic…
The waves of emotions come and go,
But the still and steady coast of relation always stay.
The impulses of the moment drives you blind,
But the love that grows is slow and kind.
The people that attracts your senses may be intriguing,
But the ones that nourishes your soul are rare unseasonable rain.
Don’t fall for the breezy strangers that sweeps you off your feet,
Instead keep the gentle comarade that catches you when you fall…
Chirping of the night creatures,
Humming of the electricity,
The light people are falling down,
And the night children are wide awake.
The stillness of the air makes the sound of pen on roll crystal clear.
The smell of the moist dry earth soothes like no other .
It’s the night that is showing its magic or the work of the ink,
That the clutter in my mind no longer lives…