| Saturday, May 26, 2007 |
| Weathering it out |
Rainsome feeling in the air,
All is lovely but unfair,
For alone would I love to be left,
But misfortune deprived me of time,
Not only time but the lovely rain too,
For which I dance to a peacock's tune,
What makes the rain so special?
Not only the romantic feeling created,
But the lonesome feeling,
The soft talk with rain,
The lovely company of the tall trees,
The pine drifting through the terraces,
Everything is ecstatic,
How much I miss all of it,
But what does time tell?
That I must wait till then,
But not stop from working,
Could I ask something?
Hasn't that already happened?
Am I not stalled,
And lost in myself,
So I forgot the rest,
And procrastinated till felt. |
posted by bereaved vendetta @ 6:01 AM  |
|
|
|
| Friday, May 25, 2007 |
| To dear, with love. |
Simple messages did I pass,
In complex words using art,
An art called playing with words,
But now what I fear,
Is what I had anticipated earlier,
A strange split,
With no questions,
No realisation,
No answer.
I left myself puzzling,
In the puzzles I created,
Wouldn't it have been better,
Without my personality's interfere,
Which is what has left me so numb,
So stalled am I in dreams and desire,
Stuck in confusion and wonder,
To bring out truth and fact,
The mistake must have been mine,
But it's never to late to apologize,
And so am I,
Not wanting to make the mistake,
All others do make,
And my capabilities are bound to make,
So if you bothered to read this ,
Let me admit something straight,
I miss you too much till date. |
| posted by bereaved vendetta @ 7:04 AM |
|
|
|
|
| In Bewilderment and Thought |
When confusion is the state of mind,
About what has happened around so untimed,
Slow is everything going,
And nothing is flowing,
Not only from mind and heart,
But from soul and love too,
What cannot be decided,
Will be left undecided,
Until that final moment strikes,
But is everything already decided,
In golden letters unchangeable,
What if it wasn't so?
Would have it been much more?
But life comprises of only two,
Happiness and sadness are they called,
To me it still seems so,
Everything is so best alone,
With no one else to show,
Nothing will be a race,
And everything at your pace,
No need is it to wait,
Neither is there any hate,
No need to give,
No need to take,
Neither is there any bluff,
And most of all,
There will be no love. |
| posted by bereaved vendetta @ 6:47 AM |
|
|
|
|
| A strange medley of what I can give the world of my greatest possession, creative writing. |
| About Me |
|
Name: bereaved vendetta
About Me: Optically, subjectively, and figuratively: EQUIVALENT Focal plane....
See my complete profile
|
| Previous Post |
|
| Archives |
|
|
Powered by |
 |
|
