Mélancolie de la pluie

Mélancolie de la pluie

Mélancolie de la pluieMelancholy of the rain

 

The roaring clouds, the pouring clouds.

This turmoil’s instability.

The fervour of the cold winds.

The strongest petrichor.

This turmoil’s inability to sooth.

 

While the love of the pluviophiles

Soars high above the clouds;

The land beneath suffers a havoc

Getting drowned in the rainwater

And the noise of the chaos caused thereof

 

As a single drop slides on the window,

And someone’s gloomy eyes glued to it,

The mist is simply a reflection of the condition,

Of someone’s mind, of someone’s heart,

Or just turmoil going on in nature.

 

This lacking solace of nature

So shared by the heart, makes wonder

If the claps of thunder are the screams of joy

Or the cries of anger, led

By the daunting streaks of lightning

 

And then the night crawls in,

The changing hues of the sky,

Orange, pink, purple, indigo,

The shimmery stars are still dimmed though,

The rain is still boisterous though,

But the darkness hiding the dark clouds,

Tells everyone that the turmoil will end.

 

Why was suddenly the darkness

A sign of hope? The silence that it brought,

Better over the sound of battering rains?

For once, there were wishes of a harsh sunlight

In the sleeping night,

In the hopes of it vaporizing the flooded chaos.

 

But nature takes its own sweet time,

Time to weep, time to unwind.

Collaborated/co-authored with 
Vatsal Thakore
Blog link: theinceptedpath.wordpress.com

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A mind with the void!

A mind with the void!

I take my pen and I put it down,

My forehead is now adorned with a frown,

Why can’t I put my words on to this paper?

All my thoughts have turned into vapours.

 

I don’t know what to do,

I don’t know, isn’t there anything new?

I have always feared this moment,

I don’t want to go through this torment.

 

Can anybody put some thoughts?

In my mind,

A void I find.

 

People expect me to write,

They expect me to fight,

But can’t they see me suffer?

Oh, they’ve always worn a shutter,

Never leaving a chance to mock,

They simply cannot understand my writer’s block.

 

This World.

This World.

In the world of expensive phones,

In the world of automated drones,

In the world of global warming,

In the world of constant swarming,

Will I find?

What is there in my mind.

Will I find?

A life that is aligned.

Will I find?

Some time to unwind.

In the world of crisis,

In the Era of Nemesis,

Will I get to hear a soulful song?

And a chance to mend, what has been wronged.

Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!

You know what they say,

Don’t behave in a childish way,

You’re not a kid anymore,

These things should’ve been done afore,

You can’t sit like that,

You can’t eat like that,

Don’t you understand?

You’re not a part of that band.

To them, I ask,

Why can’t I still be a child?

Why can’t I explore the wilds?

Why can’t I make mistakes?

Why can’t I keep things at stake?

You cannot take away my liberty,

I don’t accept your surety,

I don’t feel that adulthood is fun,

All they do is run,

 With the age,

Rises the rage,

Walking down the stream,

There’s a suppressed beam.

Their laughter is somewhere lost,

The sunny days have been replaced by the frost.

But, you know what they say, 

You can always relive your childhood days,

You can melt a snow-flake,

You can start over again,

Living life like a child,

It’s never too late to explore the wild.

 

Indifferent Minds!

Indifferent Minds!

There are some unspoken words,
There is a whole new different world,
In my mind,
You would find,
An unbalanced mixture,
And various other texture,

I know, 

A new day brings new thoughts,
But, the old ones are yet to seek,
They’re still lying there,
They’re still bothering me,
I’ve to let them free.

Attain some tranquillity,
Add a little stability,

Because of an empty mind
Is a devil’s home,

And,
Everyone out there shares the same story,
There’s no difference left anymore.

The Search.

The Search.

I see a face.
I see your face,
There I trace,
Bits and pieces of myself,
The pieces of my heart,
From where should I start?

You know, people change.
But, everyone I’ve met is strange.
Different in their own say,
A little similar in my way.

Are they really different?
Or are they really like me?
In them,
Bits and pieces of myself I see.

The search never stops.
The curiosity never drops.
The answer lies at your entrance.
The purpose of your existence.

One Day

One Day

There Would Be A Day,

When Our Voices Will Be Lost,

There Would Be A Night,

Which Will Take Away The Sight,

But There Comes A Time,

 When You Will Rhyme,

Turn Into A Poetry,

Turn Into A Masterpiece.

That Is When You Will Find Yourself,

Immersed In The Magical World,

Of Syllables And Words,

Life Will Turn You Into A Poet,

Or You Will Become Someone’s Poetry.

 One Day.