BEFORE YOU GO RELENTLESSLY TO SLEEP

Before you go relentlessly to sleep,
Bid goodbye to the songs of dusk,
The tangible lights of wisdom that made your day.
Feed your appetite with the the ambrosial food of understanding.
See,the galore of rivers stop for your gratitude,
While the pebbles inside conspire to resume the flow.
The cuckoo conducts a symphony with the autumn flowers,
setting the stage for your thanksgiving ceremony.
Let your heart sinks into the dawn of the day,
To mark the victories and failures of your day.
Humble your stature where arts bid farewell to philosophy,
where waters of humanity put out the selfish forest fires.
The prayers of farmers and the drowsiness of clerks,stretches their day and
When the Spirits of loneliness haunt them,
They seek for some Elysian fields from the days of yore.
And when the day is at its verge of death,
I go out to the fields to collect the berries,
To keep in the shrine of my heart of hearts.
Dancing with gratitude, i sing like a nightingale, and
There i go Where my blankets meet the darkness,
Inside of which two big tear drops fall down my cheeks,
Aiming the hamlet of heartaches.

A.C

Comments

All I Want for Us is to Feel Again

We were young girls Who used to play at the beach, Hugging, we watched the sun drowning. We danced till the candyman went home, Our skirts swayed with the wind, Cajoling us to stay a bit longer. We never thought this picture would fade away. I know this would never come back, But I want to feel again. I want to go back where my heart is. All I want is to be free and feel again. The colours and smell still linger with me, I miss the happiness I felt, The aches that watered me. My skin misses the way it felt, My hair misses the gentle kiss of the beach wind The bookstores and beach waters wait for us, They send a thousand silent sirens to us, When will we feel it again? The recklessness of age, the courage of freedom, the music in our brains, And the limbs that never stopped. The yellow city lights Gladly kissing the fine roads, absorbed our shadows,...

The Grendels

Horror is lurking behind every moment of darkness, Seeming to be human, we cannot distinguish you from Grendel. We see no Beowulfs coming to rip off your arms that aid you well. When every closed door warns us, Every stare seems to map our bodies, Every vehicle appears to follow us, Every touch seems to warn us, You, cultured and well behaved, You are the light of the day, You are the Lord of the people, Who metamorphose into damned dangers At the end of the day. Your venomous fangs go in search of Prey, You wait in the darkness with twinkling eyes, Admiring the power of your hands, That can open up hearts, And show the uncultured your worth. After every hunting, the sycophants who surround you, Kiss your hands and touch your feet. They wash your dirt and make your bed. They cure your sickness by gifting you scepters. Making you invisible, they uproot every Beowulfs to ensure your reign. Thus you flourish, never to die but to hunt and haunt. And behind your house, we s...

Twenty-Five

They say twenty-five matters, 25 is the age where you are asked to be responsible, You are supposed to bring home food, It's an age where your uterus has to be fukcing good, It is an age where you have to be fair And good as a nymph, It is when your wallet should have a five-figure sum. They say at twenty-five, You will be twenty-five times purer than ever, To breed and nurture, No dear not your dreams, but your children's. But that's not it. I SAY THAT IS NOT IT. It is an age where you realize, You no longer have the desire to live the monotonous life, You no longer feel alive at a celebration, You find yourself as the perfect company, You don't care if you die today or tomorrow, You want to puke at people who restrict you from doing things. You no longer want to be surrounded by people, And your skills are your only saviours. At 25, you no longer care if people love ...

THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

Search This Blog