e d g e

1.jpg

Turn back
walk away
it is the
the end
of the cliff,
there is
nothingness
ahead
some roads
taken, often
don’t go
beyond

let go
of the fear
that comes
from standing
alone,
at this
seeming ends
edge,
this point
the thoughtless
motion
needs to stop,
and rationality
be given
precedence

enjoy the view
feel the air
rejuvenate
the self,
victory
is not always
in going ahead,
neither
is there
any defeat
in turning back

you’ll know
when you do
and they’ll
see it too,
there is
something
about that
precipice,
that returns
you back
with an added
edge.

———————

Vidur
26Jan17

Advertisements

this rogue heart

devil heart.jpg
Devil Heart – Pic and Sculpture by Jack Roman

temporary words
sewn together
the random
fallings from
a trickster heart,
weaving stories
with ink on paper
reality disguised
secrets leaked
all under
the guise
of a writer’s art

threads stolen
from wherever
the lusty eyes
tend to fall,
the sun, the moon
the seas, the sky
one time or
another
all complainants
against this
thieving heart

don’t match
the precious
beat
of your heart,
to the temptingly
worded colors
of this
deceiving rogue,
it has no qualms
in stealing yours
for that’s
what really
fuels its fires

I have no options
but to bear
with its misgivings
for I am
its captive
in more ways
than one,
read if you can
between the
lines
that’s where
the soul
seeps in.
———————-

Vidur
25Jan17

r a i n d r o p s

bathing.jpg

 

winter blues
gray mornings
cloudy skies
steaming coffee
mood interrupted
thunder calling
rain drops
released
in a burst
amidst visible
electric flashes

eyes turn up
neck leans back
them falling
one by one
touching skin
releasing
their magic
breaking
into an
infinite more
before stealthily
dripping down
secretly
smuggling
the added salt
by pretending
still to be
ordinary
drops.

—————-

Vidur
24Jan17

i d y l l

idyll2.jpg

there must
be a place
where
freedom
lives,
undefined
by narrow
laid out
norms

the waters
of life
flow
unhindered
and pure,
without
the blockage
of artificial
restricting
walls

the trees
flourish
not in rows
and lines,
but in the
randomness
of wherever
the seed
that falls

the winds
that blow
between
demarcated
lands,
carry tales
of warmth
of welcoming
hearts

the breathing
are treasured
and not those
that are
dug out,
where happiness
is not
a goal
but just
a way
of being

there must
be a place
where
the soul
is calmed,
and angels
tread
freely,
without
fearing
a fall.

——————

Vidur
24Jan17

d a r k

the dark
moonless night
when even
shadows
choose to hide,
you search
for reflections
amidst those walls 
of darkness
within,
holding
consciously
the precious
breath inhaled,
the deathly silence
in this
deeper dark,
redefined
in utter
defiance of
the singular
beating heart,
a being
listening
desperately,
for any
audible 
signs,
of the
breathings
of another
heart.

––——

Vidur
23Jan17

the book

magic-book.png

All in all
it was just
another book,
short stories
of people
as some of us
do creatively
write.

Some making
sense
and some
leaving
you wondering,
at the abruptness
of the end,
some characters
continuing to jump
from one title
to the next,
some
left behind
to be never
referenced again.

The boredom
of the author
sometimes
quite evident
in the penned
lacklustre
mundane themes,
yet the
hidden talent
often
gripping the reader
enough
to ignore
the clock’s
unstoppable ticks.

Like a pizza
topped with
garnishing galore,
not necessarily
always
great to taste,
all elements
of possible
human drama,
liberally added,
as if to meet
a greedy
publisher’s list.

Pages turned
one by one
till I reached
a blank,
just my luck
to buy
an author
based on the cover,
suffering from
a writer’s block,
the common
malaise that
does affect
us all.

And strategically
placed,
on a corner
untidily scribbled
penciled words
read –
‘the rest is yours
to write,
in the colors
that you choose,
my pen ran
out of ink,
and from hereon
yours own words
will
just have to do’.

—————–

Vidur
22Jan17

s a n d c a s t l e

sandcastle washed away.jpg

Borrowing water
from the
waves afar
somewhere
on the shore
painstakingly
a prized
sandcastle,
she built.

And in a
moment
of rare
distraction,
as she watched
the setting sun
pass on
the baton
of light,
to the dreamy
translucent moon,
an ignorant wave
intoxicated by
the change
of guard,
swept her
fingerprinted
hand molded
sand
away.

Till day
she walks
that lonely beach
looking for that
invisible spot
where her life’s
foundations
she had laid,
and somewhere
deep in the
recesses of
a wistful heart,
she still blames
an innocent moon
for stealing
her home away.

Trust sometimes,
is as fragile
as that
precious
sandcastle’s
frame,
once gone,
it not only leaves
the fear
of building
it again,
but the search
for reasons
as to why
it didn’t last,
is as endless
as finding
the spot,
where it had
originally
been built.

——————

Vidur
21Jan17