he sings the most beautiful song.
that the sky becomes a reflection of the heart
that he can barely carry in himself.
the words on his lips
they break, they sound different,
they sound like the first cry of a baby-
the violent coming to life.
they run and collide and shatter
against the rough indifferent surface
of this dying world, a not-so-bad world.
he becomes a not-so-bad singer.
as he runs out of breath and love
someone places a coin of gold in his hands.
he means to feel grateful for this compensation,
but all he can do is hold his tongue, hold his tears.
hold his bitterness in himself
and sing another song dreaming, waiting
for an honest reply, a genuine care,
an understanding gaze in return for laying bare his humanness.
Tag Archives: genuine
The morning drips from the hands of clock.
Soon there will arise a sky that tries its best not to look empty.
Soon people will walk about the streets
forgetting the sun that they had been waiting for,
forgetting the night they struggled to survive.
I almost collide with a person like that, like me,
who try their best
that their forgetfulness seems as genuine as possible
and rely on their faith that no one will be unkind enough
to give voice to what they see and know.
The longer I live, the aversion
I once had for all fakeness
is replaced with some kind of pity.
Leafing through the pages of my picture book of dreams,
he smiled to himself and said to me-
I can make all of them come true for sure,
you can fill more pages, you can dream more.
The mirror with my face
lost in the light,
lost in thought of love soon to arrive,
while I wait not knowing how to calm myself down.
Where I hold a hand that touches me
like a rare cloud he found on ground.
The roads all lighted,
the words all sweet.
Our heartfelt smiles
at the end of the reel.
Going through my picture book of dreams
I smile at him, for not knowing better.
Not knowing that all I want
are for these dreams to die on these pages.
Cause I see the drop of tear that
glistens in the mirror
when my love threatens to leave,
forces me again to change
asks me why I can’t get rid of this mess,
why can’t I be calm again.
Me, wondering how to act
like a gentle cloud that I am not
not wanting to be genuine,
when I get love only when I am not me.
The road all lighted
The words all sweet.
The world going silent
under my scream.
Can there be a me
who wouldn’t second guess the
genuinety of people and relations.
Who wouldn’t live on scarpes of leftover love.
Who would sigh less, and smile better.
Who doesn’t wake up to relive
every sadness till date.
Whose time is not trapped and wasted
on crumpled papers.
I hope there is.
Cause I have lived too long like this
and though I thought
I could do this forever,
but now I am tired.
Today, just want to go to sleep
and wake up somewhere else,
as someone else.