Flying

If only i had wings
flying would be so much easier.
I have always wanted to poke a tiny cloud.
I have always wondered what would happen if i did (poke).

Life would have been so much better with wings.
I am almost certain of it...

Half and Half

Every moment is as beautiful as it is forgettable.
The paradox is funny in a cruel kind of way.
That we are all doomed is certain.
That we have all been or will be in love at one point or another is also a fact of this life.
So is it okay to cry and brood about the loss ? It is.
Then this weird thing called life happens and we forget.
About love lost,the friends and the dead.Everything, it's that easy.
Like snapping fingers.
The pain of losing somebody,the sight of the poor.The helplessness of the whole situation.
All forgotten.
This mind,the way it works.It is magic.
Because you can always dig up and retrieve whenever you feel the need.
Forgotten but not completely.
There but still not there.Divided and breathing through life.

?

There are so many questions left to be answered.
To be asked.
Dreams that have not been dreamt and those which will always be that.
Babies that have not been born and seeds that have not been sown.
Games yet to be played and a life half lived.
What is the meaning behind all this ? And can it ever be known ?
How does things matter ?
The why of whys and the what of whats.
They are all there and yet we live as if they are not
haunting us every second,eating us up slowly and relishing it as they do.
And they will continue to torment us ( these things,these questions,the nameless whatnots )
until ...  

Of Writing and Bleeding

He picked up the innocent pen in his cold hand
and sat down to write in his diary,a list of important things he planned to do the next day.
Suddenly out of nowhere- out flew a poem.
It was almost magical.
His heart was in control and not his hand.
The brain was in a hyper active mode.
Everytime he would write a word,his face would become red.
He wondered how writers did it night after night.
How did they write about painful things without feeling it (the pain).
An act of suicide,the death of the soul
letter by letter,word by word.
A pen or a sword in disguise? Who can tell ?