Maybe This is 'Home'

I stand here facing the horizon,
Counting the kisses,
Maybe not, maybe yes
What are you thinking?
My hands are burning
Are you still choking?
Come, let's stay here a little while,
You ,me and your wings of colour.
Our loneliness keep us moving,
Fail me not in deciphering you
You still stay numb and cold
Breaking the twigs
Making a fuss.
Maybe not, maybe yes.
I showed you,
The twinkling eyes of woodpecker.
But you,
You made me listen to the songs of nightingale.
Maybe not, maybe yes.
Your wild smell
And the breezy air
Is holding me back from return.
Your wings of fruits
And the choppy waters
Are promising a home for me.
Your wildness wonders me
spilling around me
After every drizzle.
Come hold my hand,
Let me know you,
Let me walk along you,
Cuddle me close
Your blues and greens and yellows
And their symphonies
Cause the death of my body
And float my soul.
Maybe not, maybe yes.
Your lullabies with nuances
Of a spell,
Make me guilty.
Unleashing my fears
You protect my hate.
When pangs of nostalgia still
Disturbs me,
You tether me to this cascade,
Enlightening and whistling,
'Welcome home'.
And yes, maybe this is 'home'.

A.C

Comments

Recognition

'Happy Women's Day ' Those three words transformed her. It changed her imperfections into Perfections. It fastened her daily Chores. It gifted a smile to her Face. It motivated her Spirits. It gave rhythm to her Heartbeats. It made her Hairs dance. It increased the sweetness of her Lullaby. It brought back the glitters in her Eyes. It was the recognition from her Husband. A.C

Dear Gretta

Dear Gretta, Your songs are like a poem that was long forgotten, that gives a dejavu everytime I listen to it. It reminds me of New York City where you felt alone, where you were ditched by Dave and where you found yourself through Dan. You were never ready to compromise, you were fully conscious of what you were doing and never doubted your own instincts. Even when you felt a connection with Dan, you helped Violet to reconnect with him, bringing out the beautiful guitarist in her, which eventually got him back to his family. Yet you smiled for being the reason behind reuniting Dan with his family, you smiled even when you knew that this would leave you all alone again. You gave yourself truly into your songs that you could not tolerate the loss of its essence, the mere commercialization of it. You breathed music, danced and walked with it. Even when you knew that those are fleeting moments, the moments in New York City where every song in you...

Blame Me!

Blame me for not being you. For not reflecting your perceptions. For being me. For blooming the flowers of odd hues in my garden. For carrying a heart full of poetry and mind full of seasons. For being summer than spring, For being mist than rain, For listening than speaking, And for scattering than gathering. Blame me for deviating from the ideal human, Because my pursuits of happiness are different from yours. A.C

THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

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