Skip to main content

The In-betweener


Somewhere between love and hate,
I created a space to breathe,
A space of magic and madness.
Somewhere between earth and sky,
There remains a time of unconditionals,
Where rulebooks and laws are invisible,
Where timelessness hovers in the air pridely proselytizing music of another realm.
And yes,
When my existence lies somewhere
Between shackles and wings
I run to a space where
Tulips never die and
Lilies never bloom
And then,where will you find me?
You will search me in all realms
Of imperfection's journey to perfection.
But how long can I stay there?
I go to the labyrinth of
Years of tangled emotions,
Where tears get injected to smiles
And death to life.
Unable to differentiate them,
I grow into a tree of knowledge.
When the sun grows thicker and brighter,
You will find me
In the midway between heaven and hell.
Standing between bondage and breakage of nature,
Baffled and uncertain,
Will you be the serpent or the God?

A.C

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

THE DREAMCATCHER ( A Poem)

She tried. And made the hoops from willows to wove those magical webs. Wrapped the hoop with suede lacing. The string was woven onto the hoop. Hours passed. She wove some of her favourite decorations to it. Feathers and gemstones, hidden with meanings. Hours passed. But she wanted it  to be perfect. And finally, here it is. THE DREAMCATCHER. She hung it on  her bedroom wall and watched it carefully. Rubbed it with an artist's pride. The hoop smiled, ensuring the travel of sun through the mighty sky. She thought that when night comes  the hole in the center would only let Bawedjige( good dreams)pass. She would be able to sleep safe and sound today. The nightmares will never ever haunt her. For she has her Dreamcatcher. And Bawedjigewin( bad dreams) will be trapped in the web, to be dispelled at the first light of morning. She slept. The sun rays pierced into her eyes. She opened her eyes with the innocence of a newborn babe. The thought stroke...

#17

Everytime there came a music from the old devastated house on the hilltop.It wasn't jazz or melody or rap or opera. It sounded the broken soul. The long lost soul set to dwindle and shrink in solitude.Sewed into melancholy and dresssed in rhapsody,the hilltop triumphed over the hurricane of that season.And the music from the house gradually faded away,to welcome the next season. A.C 

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