" So many things around, so beautiful,
Why is it that you cannot see? "
" Its not my eyes, that are blind,
Its my mind, that often blinds me "
Memories of a life spent together,
Some moments should just last forever.
I refuse to just hear,
I want to listen,
To the tunes that you play ;
Beyond my comprehension.
Coherence of the heart and mind,
A rarity, a perfect unison hard to find,
While one strays, the other does remain,
A life to live, an experience to gain.
In search of a purpose,
The thoughts that trail behind..
Nothing is true, nothing is false,
Its all an illusion of the mind.
I scream aloud,
But no one hears a sound.
No one can hear what i say,
No one sees life my way.
A desire to carve my own road,
To silently unlock the code,
Read my mind's every word,
Fly away like a bird.
How it is to have a wing,
I want to feel everything.
Walk a mile in the rain,
Live life like there is no pain.
I want to show that i really do care,
My deepest emotions i want to share,
Dissolve boundaries, break walls,
Reach out anytime someone calls,
Without expectations,wanting to give,
Make a painting of the life that i want to live.
I often spend hours thinking,
What i feel, i write.
Its simple contemplation,
To differentiate between wrong and right.
It makes me want to taunt myself,
At my self-created plight,
Of varying life's colours,
Sometimes i see red, sometimes white.
I dream all day,
I dream all night,
But what I'm looking for,
Is simply nowhere in sight.
A past to cherish,
An attempt to make the future bright,
Whilst groping in the dark,
All i ask for, is some light.
Live within the walls of reason,
Or to escape to a different world,
A universe awaits to be discovered,
Amidst imagination,
And an urge to experience.
Sometimes, a song is all it takes,
Or a few simple words,
They just stay behind.
It makes me believe,
Small things make a difference,
A phenomenal difference.
If it feels right,
Its liberation.
Else its just bondage.
Irrespective of how strong the wind is,
A simple wish, to fly high.
So much to think...
Or made to think so much?
But its all so futile.
A mental block remains,
Indifferent and intentional.
Of all accusations and claims,
Perspectives and conclusions
The book is not closed,
May be its just yet to be opened.
