Skip to main content

That Is...

Today I want to write about the imperial sadness
that spreads way above you and me;
Like the roots of a tree that threatens
the earth and embraces like an octopus.

Stoic is the sky
and there is one moon that is sad.
At this hour, darkness is silk
You can wear it and cry unnoticed.

We know not why even truths have versions.
There are different truths; stories to tell.
We choose convenience.
Or sometimes the other.

If you are afraid of heights, fly.
You may meet a cocoon who decided
to date back and became a caterpillar.

SoUmY@

Comments

Cinderella said…
When somebody writes something and you see yourself in it, you knw theres a guardian angel standing somewhere nearby and asking you feed your soul.

This piece feeds my soul.
Thankyou.
Usha Pisharody said…
At this hour, darkness is silk
You can wear it and cry unnoticed.

Gorgeous, the metaphor! Wordsmith it is! But far more than that!

With your permission, this is going to be my tweet for tonight :)
Aayushi Mehta said…
Quite astounding. Loved the last two paras especially. There is a mesmerizing beauty in this piece:)
Amazing piece of poetry
BirdBrain said…
At this hour, darkness is silk
You can wear it and cry unnoticed.

what is this.. what is this.. MAJESTIC expression..!
Amit Charles said…
darkness is silk

And loved the last line

keep it rollin;)

Popular posts from this blog

Untitled

You travel - Through unknown stations, passing empty paddy fields. over quiet rivers that rest beneath you. You bring a lot of earth along, And smell of mud, fish scales and trains.  You whisper and scream, Put your nails in me, occasionally call it love. Other nights, we make peace. Strangely at dawn, When the Sun rises and you see me sleeping,  I hear your whisper,  you travel ...   ... Deep inside me.

Together

I sit here to write An epic of love But words don't pay heed To my flowing senses. But what I write is about you. Who held the rain at her footsteps, Who could love the way Gothics shy And who can heal my scars Like I never had. And what I write is about me. Who drenched in the rain Like the raindrops, Who was loved the way He dreamt never. And who cried in the happiness beyond. So if ever the rain stops I would stand near you. If ever the scars anew I would feel your healing touch. If ever I don't sleep I would breathe you to sanity. On that rain soaked sands of Seashore And above the presence of lonesome moon, You would murmur the gentle song That I would echo in silence. And would pray, Somewhere,tiptoeing my wishes Dreams will rush up To another moment of blissful song offerings... SoUmY@

Untitled

Wish I could be a cloud one day I will love to be grey if its you To whom, through whom I traverse. Transparency is optimum; For I know you are unattainable like the sand escaping from the fist like the meaning assumed from the gist. look, oh yes, I can rhyme too. If you wish I can artify our world. Inspiration never needs a permit. You had asked, Why do I vomit blood. Interruptions in dreamy un-realism doesn't suit me. I know. So I write. So that I can breathe you in and breathe dreams out. Live long, you had wished. (Wished), did you? honestly? I will let it pass like just another Failed attempt to face reality Finds itself en-route to contamination. Oh! then what is pure? you may ask. Purity is not you, not me, but us. Purity is the way verses traverse. I will vomit to death one day. Do not pray for me. Pray for my poems who are quiet. Let them borrow my breaths. Let the poetry for us live. (And the footnotes conclude:) You - a miser in love Me - a happy lender. SoUmy@