Slinging scribbles

There lives a sinner not in Sinbad, He thinks he sins but not so much as much he sees, Much lesser, lesser than a few, purer than the impure, to him, it seems, He doubts a lot, over him, over her, over all for he is not sure, For the soul purest on earth regaled in him, for the only admirer of truth and providence was in him, as he would like to believe. 'A sinner overlooks the sin, not the saint, until he sins', he scoffed in disguise, The world was a farce, a morbid reality of the degeneration of humanity, corrupted by intentions, maligned with actions! And, the sinner, who thought himself as a saint, thought he knew it all! To him, he was the judge who examined the crime, knowing there was one! He knew the truth, in his own graveyard, But alas! he forgot he had committed a crime, convicting none but innocence!

Threads woven with ever changing needs, wants wanting with ever changing wants, the thread that separated needs from wants seem thinner than the thinnest of thoughts, the brouhaha over life that was supposed to give and take but never laugh for lover's sake! The bulleh shah of love laughed at our love, for in happiness, we saw bliss, the childish nature to love some and to forget some, to address the needs, to demand the wants, to chase, to get first, to forget then Where is your will, he asks! To plant the seed and then let it grow into a fine tree, to nurture and caress it, further let it breathe free, of course lost while you gave up, your pretentious love and your pretentious suffering! He laments, this generation will never see love worthy of love, for there is no love that retained the fringe of time, But, I, rock the boat, and I make an unabashed claim. I make a promise to promise my love, one love, forever.

There lies a twig which longs for the leaves as also the roots, There lies path, somewhere middle, which has two equals, One that started till the better one found its way. Its here, where lies the sun, who loves the east as also the west, Both, in two equals, yet in the east it rises and and in the west it rests, Perhaps, two loves can never be one, perhaps, two equals can yield either one, To love one you need to sacrifice one Duh!The simple math in which two never makes one. Split in love, Regards, Smith.

I performed a soliloquy of us talking. You perched, poised on the couch narrating a story, and me listening as intently as my ears can, eyes stuck to your gesticulations for they might disturb your exercise. Not a movement is made for your dear attention is at stake, I dare take a breathe to live longer to hear the peculiar lady's tale! The convivial has defied time but has revived faith in honest intentions, the propinquity caved in to the temptations, that had been kept at bay for so long have been surrendered to a lout, my lady, you want to make an ideal companion out of me? How lucky could my luck be? Pray, tell me, why you took a prime number when composites were never afar? I performed a soliloquy of us talking in your presence, for I made a photographic memory of our schmoozes, for its those moments of absence, for its these moments of presence.  

A Santa cap hangs forlornly on the stand, stranded in the carnival of dust, The jingles of the bells have long been a  passé , Longed then, lost now. A corpse lies amidst a neatly laid structure of woods, breathing ashes, living; leaving the ebullient flames, Prism that emitted a thousand behaviors has just passed, longed then, lost now. The apotheosis of life is lost in struggle, The journey of give and take has finally ended, Now its time to turn into a residue and respect the grave, Seems like a chimera, the search for the terminal! We want, we got, we yearned more, we lust, we struggled, we burnt.  Longed then, lost now.  

My love, will you sing me a lullaby? That makes me sleep and not care about the day I wake. In your soft palms, I wish to rest my head, And forget that mind can actually think. I wish to snuggle in your blanket, And glue my feet to yours. For I wish to believe we are conjoined, if only for the night! There is not an iota of my body that I want to leave behind, There is not a part that I don't want to carry, For every kosher bit of mine is waiting to be enlightened by your relic! O my lover, please put me to sleep, Sing me a lullaby, For its in your voice, I find my rest. For that's where the nightingale finds its nest.  

Far far away where the light beckons for seduction, It allures many, scares a few, darts the lucky fewest, remains unknown to rest. That light twitters, illuminates, brightens too as also shuts, It bears the ignominy of pain, pretense and yet remains the most sought pleasure. One such light I have, Its the only twilight I treasure. It allures, scares, darts and yet remains unknown to me! For thee I search, for thee must remain mystery, for you are bound; for its my duty. Of all the experiences I have had, I want to remember this one, I want this to culminate into a chain, To be able to hold my head in pride when I am grey, To be able to say; this was the true light I treaded! If I had a sandglass, I would replace the sand with gravels, That would ensure that the time sedates and passes with ease. But for you, I must wait, for there is a hope, for I know the light will meet me, for I have reached the horizon. for I know its love.