That silence in her
Pushed a clot of blood in me
Knocking the inner voices
Palpable only to the contrite self.
Rubbing the dryness in her eyes
A solemn me argued
I shall be the shore to your flow
Damp and precise
Till the limit of being timeless
With time I have realized that war heroes matter to people only till the time of war. Goodness in men is left under the bridge till we encounter an evil. A villain will fascinate us till he hasn’t turned his face upon & preyed us. We are poisoning goodness, the more we get accustomed of being normal to hate.
What the Joker has to say :
“As you know, madness is like gravity…all it takes is a little push.”
“Nobody panics when things go “according to plan”. Even if the plan is horrifying!”
“If you’re good at something, never do it for free.”
“Smile, because it confuses people. Smile, because it’s easier than explaining what is killing you inside.”
“Do I really look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I’m a dog chasing cars. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it! You know, I just… *do* things.”
Why is she so good?
Why can’t she be rude, manipulative, and hunter as the world has been to me? Why she carries my burden as her own? Why her eyes express love to me till the death of the moon? Why she pauses for my insanity? Why her eyes role back on my imprudent jokes and yet she laughs on them to make me smile. Why does her face swell up in gratitude whenever I present her even a petite rose? Why does she hold my hand all the time as if preserving me from wandering? Her actions exclaim a kind hold for all of my inhibitions, my failures, my reveries, and my futile wisdom. Why she still has that ring made of a candy wrapper, which ingenuously I did years ago. Why she caresses my hair whenever I lay my head on her lap talking naively about my endless desires.
Is she an angel everyone desire meekly or a saint or a blessing, I don’t deserve? That touch of her fingertips, her soothing skin, and her brown celestial eyes, her benevolent vocabulary, her magical odor all mazes me to this sulky world. The way she hugs my fallacies with her gracious emotions, leaves me with a tear in my right eye.
Oh the mighty God, give me strength, such that I can scuffle my vacillation, bring out the potent me and can give her what she deserves. The honor, the pride, the imminence of a BEING…
What hails me to continue?
Out of sync
To make hays of dreams in the latent path
Hurled feelings just to come out of some jinx
Traversing to unknown and then back to warren
This polite wind from the mountains temp
And frisking of my heart as that of a lynx
A pact of my soul with unheard vent
The dancing leaves on tunes of the breeze
Trooping on my conceivable session
Making merry to debauch the possession
Brokeback Mountains with their crown of pride
Those chattering rivers and their human link
Mystic scent of the uncanny hope
Warming my soul, my blood and my whole being
This roaming heart blessed with pure feelings
Thrusting to be felt by another pure one
Shielding it from the world until it happens
And happens with the point of no return
All of this comes to me in thresh of a wink
And it all hails me to continue,
Out of sync.