Thursday, August 22, 2013

Carry on my wayward son. There will be peace when you are done.

Udaipur, Rajasthan, India, April 2013




No one died and no one lived.
Such was the wonder of this strange war.
We both were alone, in our own corners.
Tried to come near, but remained so far.

My eyes are red. They are always red. Not for the lack of sleep, though. These eyes have seen too many dreams never taking wings. I try to dive deep into my eyes, but I close them soon enough, afraid of getting lost in the unseen and unknown paths which I keep hidden from myself. We blink too often. Hesitate. The roads of the outside world are long, hard and treacherous. The paths within our hearts are worse. Hidden paths have hidden wonders, I say to myself. I listen to my heart beat from sunrise to sunset and fail to decipher its meaning. I lean gently on the windows and watch clouds confiding their big little secrets to the cold glass.  I climb the slippery boulders and stand atop and search the answers in the lightning and thunder. All I receive is a shrug from the wind.

I am a bird fluttering its wings for a long time, looking for a branch that can hold the weight of my own high hopes from me. I am a dry leaf, denied the comforts of sleep between the pages of a book with a happy ending, and swept relentlessly by the winds of time. I am a blind man looking for its cane in the middle of the road. I am riding a wave without a name. I am a sea waiting for its shore.

I look for the answers in the beautiful blank pages you gifted me. In my mind, I write a thousand words on them. Words of hope, courage and optimism. But, there is no poetry between us, says the paper to the pen. These words crawl unseen and I am only left to hear the sounds of the fluttering pages in the soft wind. Your address is still written in the corner of the page. I hope that you receive these unwritten words, even if I keep them safe here with me. Perhaps, a few answers are only flowers yet to bloom. They will be revealed in its own time at its own pace. For now, I walk a confident walk, revealing a brave face.

The verse is still incomplete.
The colors are yet to be done
My eyes are yet to give up, and
The blue and brown are yet to be one.

P.S - 
1. There is no poetry between us... Song by Gary Jules.
2. Carry on my wayward son. ..Song by Kansas
3. Photo Credit : Me
 

8 comments:

  1. I love your writing dear Kunal, its beauty takes me to places outside my own feelings and emotions, yet there are some words that are familiar and resound in me. I have many unwritten words in my heart but they will stay there for I have already been rejected so my verse too will stay incomplete.
    Your poem is beautiful.
    Have a lovely day!
    xoxoxo ♡

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    1. Thank You very much Dianne. It is always good to see you here. :)
      I definitely wish that your verse will be completed soon.

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  2. aaahh.. it seems like I am drinking in the beauty of your poetic prose:-) long time , Kunal

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    1. Thank You so much Stuti. yes, I was gone a long time. Will try not to make it a habit, though. :)

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  3. I look for the answers in the beautiful blank pages you gifted me. In my mind, I write a thousand words on them. Words of hope, courage and optimism. But, there is no poetry between us, says the paper to the pen. ... Wow.. brought a very vivid picture to my mind.. esp as I had written about pages of my life (http://ajournalcalledlife.blogspot.com/2012/09/pages-of-my-life.html) sometime before. But I just love reading yours..

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  4. Where have you been? You have deactivated your Fb account. I agree with Stuti, reading you after a long time and you just made my day. Beautiful prose and poetry in prose.

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    1. Hi Saru. It is fantastic to see you here again. I was not gone anywhere. And of course I was writing. I was just not publishing here. Missed being here, yes. Thank you for your beautiful words.

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