Pen; a shamefully legalized sword and
a paper of forced reflections, I am just
a rented massacre frantically walking on a narrow lane,
burdened with ostracized thoughts and glimpses of reality;
denied, I was once told that my words have the power
to change the stagnant and uplift the meek voices,
but I am a fiction; dead, poetry; marginalized,
a novel unheard
for all they wear is white and all I know is to stain.
Brooding Secrets 
Reblogged this on Ben Naga.
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Hi Ben, when people look up at the sky they get elated to see the pole star, shining so bright but there are a few who notice the one with faint light.
Thankyou for reblogging.
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A PODIATRIST EXAMINES HER LIFE
She sits alone, surrounded
By a molehill of mementoes
Tells herself it’s all good
On a whim paints her toes
To match the passing mood
Fondles cherished footnotes
”Kaloo Kalay no work today”
Life’s far too short for sorrow
It’s here today, they say
And gone tomorrow
The rites – and wrongs – of passage
Are frozen fast in frosted time
They’ve dug in their heels
A comforting nursery rhyme
Today? Future memories. Feels!
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And in this short span, we find people to fill spaces, some of words and some of silence. Life is beautiful.
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“Life is beautiful.” If we let it.
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Yes. True.
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Beauty;
Functionality of pen is quite similar to life
every time it empties; we have to refill it
similarly we have to rejuvenate ourself to remove the emptiness of life
but when pen gets older we throw it
In the same way ; we also die.
so; we use pen for expressing our life and emotions as they are very similar to our lifestyle.
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For all they wear is white …and all i know is to stain .
Your poetry speaks to my inability
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If your inability is able enough to communicate then it is your ability.
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