A wish,a wish,
just say I will.
Even as the clouds gather
and the sky turns darker,
a sense of belonging,
a pride in living,
creates a prayer.
As a flower blooms on a Monday,
in December,it will never see May,
yet all it has is to hope,
for it is possible for it's will to elope
the chains,the times' ropes.
In the song of the world,
every note,is in order,
and the larger picture,
has a balance,
on so gallant and dynamic,
that it ushers everything
from the beyond to the twig,
to its place,in an illusion
of catacombs and many a maze.
And when a note is struck
or when something goes muck,
the song does not die,
but resides down a while-it lies
at the level of each,
as per the need and reach.
At a pace,each of its own it seems,
yet whose hand can paint the tree
or heat the sun,one violent and
the other so piquant a green?
But within each of us,is a note,
in the song of the world,
it is the same spirit,
which makes us the same
as different from others.
And by the strength of being a note,
which together we all wrote
and will write,there is a need
to move,to keep upright
and walk past,those,
who spend their life,
in demeaning the value of the light.
Forgives is not the coveted fruit,
as it is not right to be mute.
Yet squeezed not be too,
as the inner will is greater
than that urge to kill-
except in an bit to protect
the truth from the mystic.
In the tales ever so fond told,
there is always a hero and a lady-
between the mundane there is truth,
which is too stuck,that it seems to escape,
those who either forgave or gape.
As the night takes over the skies,
we known this is a passing.
And even if the world be dark,
there is light in the park,
the azure is always lit,
for even if we were to turn around
a while,the true belief will always
be there alive.
In a question of survival and to live,
it is not possible to keep things still.
And so as the world moves,
in circles,we too run around
the bushes and make and create
and destroy walls ,
which satisfy our inner call.
yet all that matters is you
and life is truly lived by the few,
who know,though the earth
seems a trap,that they may
be bound a while,
if they sing as they should
into the night,
the world will revive,
their highs and thus
they can fly high
and far away from the sonorous
melee of earth and the myopic kind.
So be ready to be lit,
and see your self,where you fit.
The true strength of life-the grit
to walk the last mile,
the trust in your self,
that you are right,
comes from the voice,
so sing aloud,
you are not one in the crowd.
To everyone,each is special
and things seem all too well,
until,illusions take over
and turn the voices into
something which shoves,
and make them the harbinger
of a brutish drawl.Yet that too
is nature and once we see it,
we can make it better-
by searching the right tune,
by making us immune,
to the ways of the infidel,
who has no belief,
not in God or other such,
but in himself.
Truth is not the end,
but means to an end.
Illusion hurt-
the world may seem curt,
yet what matters,
is yourself
and what you do and
where you dwell.
So forget,not forgive,
those folly handed
fools,who claim
that something else rules.
The world is of lazies faire,
and forces might dare,
but as long as you care,
don't let them mar
your life,you kind,
which is the way of divine.
the light shines the brightest
