The one who never judge, tells the truth, philosophical, try to be fictitious… Inadequate.
There are so many pages in a book but there are only few you remember the most….
Sometimes, the one you don’t need to..
and sometimes the one you want to tore,
the one which you wetted while reading and the one which roasted your soul utmost….
Sometimes, the one you talk about happily but cry somewhere deep..
and the one you fought with or laugh on without any weep.
laugh on without any weep….
Parachuting out of the ship, exhaling the mere;
Drowning in the profound ocean, debuting out of the abyss;
Growing to see the shine of sun rays, trying to fetch them in my small hands;
Trying to breathe in the yell, enjoying the frustration;
Leaving one surface to reach the next,
Sacrificing life for a reason, killing the other reasons to make that one possible;
In the water but thirsty, forcing myself out to fulfil the thirst;
Losing the paths, lost in waves, trying to sculpting new ways to reach the place where magic happens…
Laughing with each and every losing battle but not giving up to try,
Sinking in the water of helpless ness and sometimes living out it dry;
Gushing on the surface fighting with giant boats,
Sometimes building a courage and sometimes killing discouraging thoughts;
Trying to leave vulnerable waves, making a thundering frantic wave, which will engross me in it and will take me to the surface of the island where magic happens…
With hope of getting successful,
Finding the mirth even when life is been dearth;
Sometimes lamming the truth and sometimes fighting with treacherous;
Roasting myself in the ocean of liars,
Collecting the ashes and turning them into the fire,
Drowsing by enigma, ecstatic for glimpses of ambition,
Believing in self, rogering with today, working for tomorrow, zoetic due to longings of future,
I will reach the place where magic happens…
Thanks for reading #tvfplay #pitchers #tribute
Hey guys, after a long span of time stranger is here with a new poem “COlORS of LIFE”
Looking at the sky wishing for my angel I scorched my eyes by the tensed light of the sun…
When I woke I found myself tangled in the blue,
In the dearth of joy, I started looking for the red love…
No green in the life but behaving like the dove…
Engraving for the food
I found Black and got banished for forbidden fruit…
Shaping the path again, I fall down to the earth.
Kissed the dust and felt the gray…rising up after the failure I found the indigo.
It filled me with the zeal and powered me to let my falls go.. . .
While trying to fly, the shine bleached my eyes often. . .
But as the cloud appeared the darkness of shadow made it soften.
Like the yellow, they supported me in my rise…
Like a drastic thought of solitude, never to materialize.”
Description: It is a story of a bird who wish for his angel to come to him and adore him but while looking he faces the tormenting shine of sun which burn his eyes. He found himself in tantrum and sadness but with a desire of love. There was no greenery near him from which he can fulfill his life. Things he founds were not worthy enough. He didn’t give up and started looking for a path but he loses the battle again and touched the ground. Again sadness kissed him hard. He lost his small wings but he was determined to live and as get motivation from the shadows of cloud he founds solace and with a new zeal he starts trying to find out the reason for life. It is just a thought of aloofness.
There was a time when people loved to make portraits willingly. They were used to pose for a quiet long time to get an image and adore them till the last breath and after that leaves it for their sons and grandsons. It was a time when people were patient. The people who believed in stuckness fo the life and the rituals. Nowadays, people like to change. Yes, it is good to change but they change they believe in temporariness of life. They don’t want anything for a long time. They believe in short term happiness. lives the life for moments without caring about the life.
Even the technology is providing us short term happiness, the captures, the shots, the pictures were for life to have a look on them when we get tired of life when we will be aged.
After Snapchat, Instagram, Hike, now Whatsapp also provides the feature of stories taking a new step for temporariness.
“from the life of portraits to one-day stories, somewhere the life became shorter, people impatient, accustomed to vacillate and high for evanescence.”
मैं शब्दो का व्यापारी हूँ, लेखक मेरा नाम है…
भावनाओ ओर कामनाओ से मुझ ग़रीब का क्या कम है?
फकीर हू . लफ़ज़ो का, न्योचछावर जो शब्दो मे कर देता हूँ. . .
जब देखता हूँ तो बोल पड़ता हू… बोल कर फिर लिख देता हूँ…
पर जिसस दिन इस दिल ने बातों को सोच लिया…
ठहराव को अपने ज़िल्मे कर भावनाओ को समझ लिया…
कलम ना उठेंगी लिखने को…
मेरी बेहया कामनाए ही मजबूर करेगी आश्रूवो को बहा दे ने को…
ना पिरो पौँगा उस दिन मेरे लफ़ज़ो को,
लफ़ज़ो को कलाम की श्याही मे बहा देना मेरा काम है..
भावनाओ ओर कामनाओ से मेरा क्या काम है ?.
मैं लेखक हू ..बस लिख देता हूँ…
रोखना न्ही श्याही को मेरी, क्यूंकी लिखना मेरा काम है…
देखा जो पंक्षी को, उसकी उड़ान भर ली,
ठुर्थुराति सुबह तो कभी नारंगी शाम अपने नाम करली,
मिला जो मुझे कुछ तो सही जो ना मिला तो शब्दो मे बयान करदी. . .
लोभ, माया, तो सिर्फ़ दर्शक है मेरे, न्ही तो इनसे मेरा क्या काम है,
ज्ब मिलेगी मंज़ील तो खुश होजौंगा अगर ना मिले तो पन्नो के सहारे उसे अपना कर जाऊँगा..
सहम के कभी, कभी नासमझाइश के चलते अपने इरादे पेश कर जाता हू..
मैं शब्दो का व्यापारी हू.. लेखक मेरा नाम है..
सहारा है कलम ज़िंदगी का मेरी, ओर सिर्फ़ लिखना मेरा काम है…
मैं शब्दो का व्यापारी हू लेखक मेरा नाम है, अगर इतनी भी ना पहचान मिले तो इन शब्दो को क्या काम है….
Thank you so much Bhuvnesh for sharing this great idea with me.
Scars are more loyal than people, they don’t leave you dexterously. They are the one, you want to rid of! but they never leave you till you had spent money on them or had done anything worse. Unlike scars, people leaves you like you were never been there with them. Even after scars get removed, they have certain influence on you. People, they don’t even care.
“I felt very sad when I was going through my diary and found nothing to post on Valentine. But the pages stormed deeply inside my head and burned themselves to come up with new ashes.”
And here is something which I found in those ashes..
” She had covetousness to touch the stars, He took her in between the fireflies “
