The city of one

The body is a city of one gentleman called the Soul. And it is the cause of every drop of blood running from head to toe which forms tides inside. I apologize to envy it for it’s eternity, but my purpose to imtroduce this gentleman was hundreds of minds assuming its existence.

The beauty and the innocence of it is the the essence of all essences. My mind is the cause of all the knowledge and greater which resides in me unlocated known by my soul who wanders in my city. This gentleman knew me by my mind and what it holds. My soul was the key to vastness and knowing beyonds.

Thus my city was made by him the above, controlled him less and controlled by him more. And I fear not death which would be so beautiful afterwards but I fear my soul which would leave my city deserted causing me pain of sting of a thousand scorpions until and unless my city invites the almighty to reside in my lonely city and conquer him whilst he is gladly conquered by the love I produce if.

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Dreaming Vague

His maiden sang songs vibrating the strings of my heart. Our palms entwine to kiss and form Cresent from the middle corner.

While two and four eyes drown, every tree’s shadow touch our feets also making way for the stars shine right on our lashes.

Every autumn leaf on the ground dances as if drunk and swirls around holding hands with the breeze.

We quill to make two hearts beat as one. Fill my long showcased glass to celebrate a new found feeling.

My every step backwards is hypnotic until the wall pins me. A knock on the head to dissappear those mind clouds and eyes to open while the ray’s are the only one to kiss me and say there are hopes for you cinderella.

Invisible Heartaches

She sat by the lake staring at her vehicle keychain studded with the words-” love is poisen , coated with chocolate”. She never knew about it, about love and how love simply brushed through her in time. She could feel the lights falling over her like rain making her red, giving her bumps to stand and whisper again those words that were meant to be spoken to mend down things. But the gravity was too much which pulled her down and send messages through the cold to her heart-” don’t makes mistakes again”.

The water in the lake almost felt like her mind drowning thoughts , hundreds, instead of few fancy peddle boats. Life gave her pleasures, made her feel what love was like , something diffrent from the mainstream world. She had run highways to catch love but was still unsure what real love was like. She wanted to give love another word now, it blocked her vast imagination. Can you suggest some other word please?

Thus she decided to relive love in a more acceptable form. Smiling, she knew how to peace down the blooms of her love to paper through the ink of a poet’s pen. There was another love that lifted her up, unbound, intense to believe right love and love existed for her even if she let her heart go away and high in the clouds above caressing it. She had a hold on her back , she knew and wrote her love in a form of poetry so it would never die!

I , flee

I , flee

With love blooming in my heart,

and happiness glistening my eyes.

I , flee

Speaking words I wanted to say,

to make them laugh and stick their smiles.

I, flee

Around the circle of my beloved,

Seeking their shower and blessing.

I, flee

Now on orbit to reach others.

Only to expect more from the world.

I , flee

To sweat with terror for my doings,

And guilt the flowers of my heart to gloom.

I , flee

Back from where I came,

And shell myself in a cave like snail.

I, flee

Knowing I would plaster fake smiles now,

And would never be able to run like before.

I , flee

Only to start puffing my blood out,

So I would race their hearts down.

A walk of life

So I was in in my secondary and I read this poem by Shakespeare “All the world’s a stage” which gives a brief description of stages of life one has to go through. There is more to this I realised way after but for now I am just relating things.

For me my life has been a closed box(no restrictions) between two pressure forces on the either side one being the ‘ I factor’ and other being the ‘you’ which is ‘me’ the significant other. Both the factors have heavy force but there is but inside the box roaming that is the ‘ soul’. The reality is the heavier force pushes life towards its path with other lighter force constantly making feel its presence, but is it weak on the box? Now that depends on the box because it is Life.

When life moves on, things are done on its way creating other forces pushing it too but the initial heavier force must be the heaviest, which makes Personality.

All the way when life goes these forces create a process of cleansing or dirtying the soul until it reaches the destination, the end. We all make it till here and that is the ultimate truth but what matters is what do we do with ourselves in this span of time, what Karma or deeds. And Karma is a result of all of the doings.

Deeds are the vacuum cleaner or a dumper to one’s soul. That is the the aim. And when does a soul become dirtier? When you perform deeds knowing they are wrong leaving spots on the clean soul when it came into the mortal world. There are still other numerous ways to options to pick and apply to clean our soul. This is one of the easiest and straight. What mostly blocks the way of cleansing are Mistakes. I call it blocked because barriers can be overstepped by filling the box with guilt.

Mistakes are a major factor in blocking ways but a major factor in learning too. It also greatly lies at the level a mistake is made . Small mistakes can be turned right but they can lead to big ones too. But the big remain big and can be only be improved to get faded. The quality differs.

When mistakes are ignored they practically destroy the person later. And even after improving the big mistake the small thorns keep pricking because of the delay. We can always control ourselves and being humans we tend to make mistakes but one should know how to mend it after committing.

Following one’s heart has a deeper meaning. That does not mean ignoring brain which leads to drain. These two are parallels and we can always choose one, either, or neither but following one parallel is like moving your life train on one track line which results in crashing. Heart is beautiful, heart gives and takes pleasures for you but heart is easily dragged and cannot be a leader everytime. Thus, it needs brain to move ahead which makes a strong personality.

Otherwise, life is full of surprises or maybe you need to give yourself some of them but playing roles of life with hold on certain self-policies or ethics which is complicated but the best way to control hyperactiveness. Know yourself. Know where are we going. Know what path is factor pushing your box. Just don’t reach the destination be the destination so you know in your last moments you were worth the ill-fated world and made it till here. You left your footprint there before the soul leaves the box. Let the soul go further clean and free.

I was found

I was just a clay mould ,

Shaping myself amongst other sculptures.

Hidden in the crowd of vastness,

I felt my legacy getting lost.

My hands wouldn’t reach out to hold,

Stay themselves for the right time would come.

Filled with filth and dirt,

I wanted to get clean for a palace.

This time wanting a home away from home,

Someone found me between the lost.

And dressed myself with flying colors,

Where I was placed in the palace now.

I turned the essence of the place,

To attain the value of the sculptor.

Washed wonderfully with colors.

I am just a canvas now,

Carefully getting washed with colors.

 

While I lay in slumber all life,

The painter woke me up with a kiss of his brush.

 

My painter is a dateless human,

Who makes me by stroking me with colors.

 

A box of little colored pills lie on the side,

Bumping out to make meĀ  what I am today.

 

With every color the brush steals,

Getting mixed up like two rivers falling in the ocean.

 

My cheeks flesh red with a pink shade on the brush,

and eyes in shyness by his detailing.

 

With my nose twitching on the smell of my colors,

Letting hair down drowning others with black.

 

Why does he know every pore of me?

Only to smile in the end of his doing.

 

I am painted now,

Only to leave his tender hand of brushes.

 

I am complete now,

To travel homeĀ  where no one knows a pore of me.

 

Now they stare on the canvas,

Not knowing I wanted to hide colors to my painter.