Slinging scribbles

Its a quad circle I live in, That travels back and forth only to be leave behind what I put forth, Its a quadrilateral maze I live in, travelling in squares, living in circles. The epiphany is ethereal, whether sickness that is subliminal, or pain but trivial, So is my joy, euphoria as over as it started early. Its a polygon that has caused its delight, joining four but seems four thousands! Earlier, to my play was a symphonic delight, Violin that purged and beguiled, Now its the country music, Mandolin that purges and beguiles. I call thee, my mother, make my promises full. I call thee, my father, make my payments full. My sister, I call thee too for sweet tales and long discussions. To me its a tale that's passing time. A symphony of incomprehensible relations, Musical quad that I love to live in, Rhymes only when I would love to, Otherwise, merely a circle that happens over and over again.  

Silence that pervades the test, And dreams that were made but put to rest. Its a dull night, Not even a beggar's sight. Its only the blades that are making the run, Its just the fan, the clock being the other one. Its the night that tasted many a water, That shared too many whispers on the platter, Just as today, just as now, But unlike yesterday and how! Not a musing of past that reverberates, Not a person that was dear and that mates, Yet novelty must remain new, Like on a blade of grass with only a speck of dew. Its no use getting used to the night, For it will do nothing but leave a harsh sight. Let the zeal for life be tested, Let the silence be not wasted.  

A new high, a new vigour, a new strength, a newer new, Bright stars, exuberant class, a shy smile, a newer new, They stole my heart, they played the only innocence as their card, there was much more yet it was their innocence, that claimed and settled and how! Its a blessing, its gaining the lost feeling... its filling the feelings! There are moments and there is a moment that moments all moments. Lives were indeed mysteries but only without a cause, If not, then indeed a misery. My miseries subside at this very moment, As they found a new saturday, as they found new souls, my new love to teach? rather, to learn, to enjoy, to love, all over again!  I look forward to protect you, With a concern which is far stronger, than anything else,  Which is to protect me! A new high, a new vigour, a new strength, a newer new, Bright stars, exuberant class, a shy smile, a newer new,  

He is ferocious but blue-eyed, For there is not a tinge of ferocity in him, Its just his eyes and his brushes that seem ferocious. Yet he is not your fear, for there is not a tinge of fear in him, Its the wild strokes that seem violent. Yet he is not someone who spells danger, For there is not a tinge of danger near him, Its just the colours, dark and darker that seem dangerous. There is a candour  in his strokes, an unspoken honesty. There is valour that dignifies the fact as it is. There is truth that they speak, inanimate yet waiting to be heard, His Colours add life to lives and ignite the lost emotions, They speak the unspoken breathe, They also speak of him, his hidden fame, The poet is your pet, that he says, He prays, people claim your talent And providence be kind enough to lavish him with fame.

The world started with a womb and it grew bigger, From the words 'given' to 'make', relationships were made, Solitary confinements were reduced and yet pursued, As we knew, so did we forgot, What's for us and what we could accumulate, Eventually to the need, we all succumb, That's the only hay that we make. Its a meaningless trail, to find meaning and mean the findings, For we find nothing but a vapid play of emotions and drives, No cry will last, no smile will ever fade, Its a psyche's call, cycle byfar, Till the last breath and then again, the womb till it grows bigger......

I can afford to let go, Even if it means letting love go and inviting pain, For I have been burnt when I was bright, or I thought. Its the pain that was stronger then, now it doesn't matter, For I lived in influence that made me strong, Its a habit to breathe gimmick, Its a soul song to smell foul, Some things are to be seen and remembered, To be reminisced for their beauty, Somewhere lost in gaining strength and travelling afar. Being akin to show-off the strength and so being used to it, Love makes me weaker, so much that I do not need it anymore. I can afford to leave and let go, For I had no choice to decide once upon a time, long ago...

Sitting on a leaf, thin, light, weak, not me, its the leaf, Its tender, carrying a baggage, treading cautiously, not the leaf, It might break, it does; it might fall, it doesn't, its just me, Breaks at monotony, suffers at the stroke of impatience, but its the leaf that guards, not me. Stories that have turned old, experiences that have turned sour, Nothing that surprises anymore, not to the leaf, not to me.  The tragedies of future have already been eroded by insecurities, As the leaf is living, leading, carrying, driving my speck. The speck is just a synonym for space and time, Tiny yet a black hole, clinging to the leaf like a body to a soul, Let's name the leaf, shall we? Or is it just a mystery for both, 'you' and me. There is a sudden euphoria, a strange mirth in floating and flying with a leaf, There is no achievement and yet there is accomplishment. Its me and my leaf, or perhaps its just me.